Page 113 of Magical Melee
We both laughed, the sound echoing warmly through the cottage.
And after several sleepless nights spent hunched over ancient alchemy books, tracing symbols with my fingertips, and trying to decipher cryptic formulas, I decided enough was enough. My mind buzzed with half-formed ideas and half-understood theories, but my body screamed for rest. Even magical adrenaline had its limits.
“Stella,” I said, stifling a yawn as I closed yet another thick tome. “I’m calling it a day. I need a full night’s sleep.”
“Good,” she said, not looking up from the tea she was brewing. “You’ll be sharper for it. Besides, even witches need their beauty rest.”
A witch.
I kinda liked it.
Chuckling with heavy eyelids, I found myself hugging the tiny vampire.
Frank followed me to the base of the steps as I climbed to the loft. His quiet snuffles were a reassuring presence, but the moment I hit the mattress, I felt the tension drain from my body.
I tugged up the blankets and closed my eyes as I let my mind drift to quiet for the first time in days.
But the peace didn’t last.
I woke suddenly. The darkness of the loft pressed in around me. My heart pounded erratically, but it wasn’t from fear.
It was from clarity.
There was no dream that stirred me awake. It was a knowing, a deep, unshakable sense of purpose that gnawed me to alertness.
It felt like invisible vines, not unlike the ones from the hidden garden, were drawing me into the Academy. The thought of what was inside made my fingers prickle with excitement and desire—the books, the history, the spells.
I sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, and took a deep breath.
“I know what I need to do,” I whispered steadily.
The pull I’d been feeling for days, the nagging sense that I was on the edge of something important—it all clicked into place. The Academy’s gardens, the pedestal in the cellar, even the alchemy texts I’d been devouring. They were all pieces of a larger puzzle, and now I understood the next step.
But it had to be done alone.
The cottage was still except for the occasional pop and crackle from the dying flames in the hearth below.
Stella’s soft, rhythmic breathing drifted up from the couch where she’d made her bed for the night. I’d offered my bed, but she refused.
Frank was sprawled out in his usual guard-dog fashion, snoring.
I glanced at the steps leading to the main floor before eyeing the loft’s small window. I'd have to be careful if I wanted to get out without waking anyone. Stella had the hearing of a bat, and Twobble—wherever he was—had a knack for showing up exactly when you didn’t want him to.
I moved as quietly as possible, slipping the photo of my dad and me into my bra, which I hadn’t even bothered to take off, and tiptoed over to the loft’s small window. I pushed my feet into some boots I had propped near the wall and didn’t bother lacing them.
Pulling a green sweater over my pajamas and wrapping a red scarf around my neck before pulling on some purple knit gloves made me crack a smile. I’d finally become the woman who didn’t give a crap.
I glanced at the loft’s stairs and pursed my lips into a frown.
If I used the steps, Stella would hear me for sure.
But the window? That had potential.
I unlatched it with a slow, steady hand, wincing as the hinges gave a faint creak. I froze, waiting for Stella to stir, but her breathing stayed even. I pushed the window open as the cold night air brushed my skin, leaving a shiver to skitter down my spine.
Step one: complete.
I swung each leg out the windowsill and braced myself with my arms. The edge of the porch’s tiny roof was within reach.
