Page 27 of Muddled Magic

The not-dog rose from its supine position on the floor at the end of the hall, its lean height blocking half of the iron door from sight. The hallway seemed to narrow as our focus riveted on each other. When I didn’t back off, its muzzle lowered, lips peeling back to reveal glinting fangs.

By the Green Mother, its head’s big enough to chomp off my entire face.

Warning flashed in its eyes, and it released a low snarl. On the peg behind it, the key to the grimoire’s resting place glinted as sharply as the sound of a starting pistol.

Raising cuffs that whizzed with red sparks and burning runes, I opened myself to the full power of my magic, to the tree of power that stretched from my core and down every vein. The backs of my eyes pricked when my ivy-green irises began to glow with magic, just as Grandmother’s had. I still shook as I had outside the library, but it was not in fear this time. It was determined anticipation that set every nerve alight.

I whispered,

“Quick as a rabbit, one, two, three.

Speed my steps to keep me free,”

and flashed forward.

It was my unmastery of the spell that kept me alive. I ricocheted off the walls of the narrow hallway, rattling the framed pictures of ferns and other pressed flowers on their hooks. The not-dog snarled, head swinging left, then right, then left again, its front paws splaying wide as it fought to both guard the door and track my erratic passage down the hall. My frantic movements were so out of control that I actually body-slammed into the not-dog on accident, both of us sprawling on the floor.

It was safe to say we were both stunned for a moment—the not-dog for actually finding itself taken down, lying on its side, and me discovering it was my body that was pinning the not-dog to the floor—before we both scrambled to our feet.

The not-dog practically launched me into the air as it lunged upright, and I grunted as I slammed into the iron door. My face was surely going to bruise, but hey, the key was right there.

I managed to snatch it off the peg before the glamoured beast seized my dress and tore. The seams immediately burst, my dress becoming nothing more than a sail clinging to my body with a bit of bodice string.

My yelp died in my throat as the air whooshed out my lungs, my back crashing against the unyielding floorboards. But I still held on to that key in a death grip—Dad’s training had taught me to never release a weapon.

As the not-dog pounced, wide jaws angling for my throat, that’s exactly what this iron key became. Shouting in a mixture of fear and desperation, I channeled every ounce of battle magic down my arm and into the two stubby teeth of the key as I rammed it upward.

I know I should’ve aimed the punch, but I didn’t care where it landed, if it knocked the beast back, if it crushed ribs, if it blasted a watermelon-sized hole through it. So long as that punch got those fangs away from my face, I was going to call it a success.

The not-dog howled as what looked like a green cannonball blasted it off course. Its head snapped back—no fangs in my neck, ha-cha!—but as it pitched to the side, its front paws raked down my body.

I screamed as my left forearm was shredded by razor-thin claws—those weren’t thick dog nails at all. The other paw finished shredding my bodice strings, those claws ripping my dress clean off as the beast collapsed to its side, whimpering.

My own mewling cries joined it in the hallway, the pain threatening to rob my mind of consciousness.

Stay. Awake. Meadow.

Blubbering, for oh my Green Mother did my forearm feel like it was on fire, I kept my battle magic up as I sidled over to the thrashing monster. It wasn’t dead—I wasn’t even sure I could kill it it—but it was down for now. I approached as close as I dared, just enough to grab the edge of a piece of ruined dress still snagged in its paws and yank it loose. Without looking down at my arm for fear of passing out or bringing on a fresh wave of hysteria, I bound from my elbow to my hand up tight and clamped it hard against my bare stomach.

Then, with a fearful look over my shoulder, I rammed the key into the lock and twisted.

When the iron door swung open, I chanced another glance at the not-dog; it was still thrashing on the floor, head and neck rising but the rest of its body unable to complete the command.

A little whine of fear escaped me—that creature could rise at any second—and I lunged inside to grab hold of the family grimoire. Revulsion rippled up my arm at the feel of the wrinkled leather skin beneath my fingers, but the creature inside the emerald was silent. Just as I had suspected (and hoped)—the parasite only fed on the robed elders of the coven. Even so, I made sure when I tucked the spell book under my arm to have that emerald facing outwards just in case it decided to get snackish.

With my back against the wall to put as much distance between me and the not-dog as possible, I skirted down the hallway until I was clear of its flailing limbs and ran.

The next few moments were a blur as my emotions fluctuated from elation at stealing the grimoire to fear that the not-dog had recovered and was chasing after me to dread that my family would find me before I could finish my escape. At some point I must’ve uttered Rose’s Camping Spell, for items were quite literally flying off the shelves or wiggling free from closets and packing themselves into boxes and bags.

I arrived at the kitchen after diverting briefly to my bedroom to retrieve my goldfish plant and my keepsake box with its meager trinkets and treasures—plus a new dress—the effects of the Camping Spell stacking everything it had assembled by the back door as it was accustomed to do. The hearth’s flames were no longer red but a vibrant shade of emerald green. It was still working to protect the estate.

Biting my lip, I debated whether or not to take the extra moment to heap more wood onto the fire.

It only took me a second to decide.

This was my family, one who’d been cursed and taken advantage of and was doomed to remain enslaved to that thing inside the grimoire if I didn’t act.

I hurled more wood onto the fire.

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