Page 33 of If The Shoe Fits

“What rule?” I ask, trying for casual, though my voice comes out just a little too high-pitched.

“Oh, well, if you showed up to assembly you’d know,” Agatha says, her tone laced with mock-disapproval.

I ignore it.

No way was I about to sit through an assembly with him on stage, looking all broad-shouldered and commanding, pretending I’m not dying inside.

We stop at the ballroom and pop open the crates.

The first thing I notice?

Dust.

So. Much. Dust.

It clings to everything like it’s part of some ancient curse.

Inside?

Stained-with-time crepe paper decorations, a couple of cracked disco balls, and—oh, hello—life-size cutouts of the former principal and his secretary.

Why? Who knows.

I keep digging, pushing past the creepy cardboard figures, and finally unearth a few strands of twinkle lights and some duct tape.

That’s it. That’s all we’ve got.

“What the heck? This stuff is ancient,” I manage to say, just before a round of uncontrollable sneezing overtakes me.

Dust flies everywhere, and I bend over, clutching my stomach.

“Holy heck,” I mutter between sneezes, blinking away tears. “Thank the Goddess I do my Kegels daily.”

Agatha is laughing so hard she’s doubled over, but eventually, she straightens and waves a hand at the mess.

“Oh my Goddess! Maybe we should just scrap all of this and order something from Congo?”

Congo, the magical world’s answer to Amazon, is both brilliant and terrifying.

It’s not abadidea, but the school’s budget is, well, laughable at best.

I shake my head.

“I mean, I guess, but it’s so expensive. And you know how the Academy operates. Shoestring budget, duct-tape solutions—literally.”

I wave a roll of duct tape at her for emphasis.

Agatha groans, throwing her hands in the air.

“Ugh! Why can’t we just conjure what we want with our magic?” she yells, mostly to the room.

We both know why.

Magic used for personal gain ends badly.

Always. It’s one of the first lessons we learn as Supes—never mess with the balance.

“Don’t worry,” I say, trying to sound optimistic as I toss the duct tape into themaybe salvageablepile.

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