Page 3 of Summertime Hexy
CHAPTER 2
DEREK
There’s glitter on my boots. On myboots.
I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours, and already the ground sparkles like it’s been cursed by a party god. I crouch at the end of the training field, trying to brush the dust off with the least amount of dignity I have left. It clings. Of course it does.
Because Hazel Blackmoore doesn’t enter a room—she detonates inside it.
I didn’t come to Camp Lightring to babysit chaos in combat boots. I came because the ley lines in this region are starting to hum again. Soft now, sure, but unstable. Like a heartbeat you only hear when everything else goes quiet. Something’s shifting beneath the Grove. Thorn knows it. That’s why he pulled me back into this mess.
"Community repair," they call it. A joke. A neat excuse for old weapons like me.
The morning sun slices through the trees. I wince and adjust the brim of my hat lower. My sunscreen charm is solid, but the sensation still burns like shame.
“You gonna scowl at the grass all day or are we hunting homicidal weasels or what?”
Hazel again.
I stand, slow and deliberate. She’s walking toward me in a pair of combat boots at least two sizes too big, a clipboard tucked under one arm, and a half-eaten muffin in the other.
She looks like trouble in the body of a sitcom.
“Punctuality would help,” I say.
“Punctuality is an illusion imposed by fascist time demons,” she shoots back, stuffing the last bite of the muffin in her mouth.
I sigh.
"Creature patrol. Let’s go over the protocol?—"
“No need,” she interrupts, already marching off. “I got the rundown from Lyra. Something about an ill-tempered cockatrice that keeps pooping stones near the climbing wall.”
I move to catch up, resisting the urge to walk five paces ahead. “You should hear it from me.”
“Oh? You got better bird poop strategies?”
“Strategyin generalwould be a good start.”
We march down the worn forest path leading to the creature preserve, dodging a small gaggle of shrieking campers wielding spark wands. One nearly zaps Hazel’s leg.
“Watch it, Sparklehands!” she yells, pointing at the offender. “You fry my jeans again, and I’m turning your toothbrush into a spider.”
The kid giggles and bolts.
I watch her.
There’s something about Hazel. Not her power—that's a mess. It’s the bravado. She walks like she owns every second, but her magic keeps flickering like a broken lantern. I canfeelthe fluctuation. Too much energy in the wrong spots. Not enough in the ones that matter.
When we reach the preserve gate, she leans against the post, arms folded.
“All right, Boss Bat,” she says. “What's the grand plan?”
I pull out the tracking scroll. “We start with the cockatrice near the climbing wall, then double back through the mushroom glen for sightings of that rogue badger?—”
“The one that bites love spells out of people?” she perks up.
“That’s not confirmed.”
