Did you not?The Arcade’s expression could have been carved ice.And when I am finished, I will pull the Forest of Emeralds up by its roots and have its magic as well. You will be helpless. You will be, at long last…
Normal.
The word sliced through me like a jagged cut from a dull knife. Truth brought shame. Ihadwished for normal, once upon a time.
But that time had passed, and I wasn’t that Zelda anymore.
“I am notnormal!” Anger sent tremors through my body. I seized my mother’s hand, then Poppy’s. “And neither are they! And that’s…” I looked at Mom. “That’sokay. We don’t have to be normal.” I felt Berron behind me, then, placing his hands on my shoulders. Supporting me.
My mother; my friend; my… Berron. I had things to say to him, when this was done.
You will not stop me,the Arcade said.You are weak.
“Not being ‘normal,’” I said, “is ourstrength.” My hands sparkled, as they often did after I had petted Jester, since that day at the charity auction when he ate the four-leaf clovers.
Take me down and the barrier falls with me. You will destroy what your grandmother helped build.
Was I destroying my grandmother’s legacy? The shop still stood. My memories burned bright. Grandma protected New York the best way she knew how. So did I.
Was this destruction—or was it evolution?
I saw the faces of those I loved most, and I knew the answer.
“Let it fall,” I said. “It’s time to try something new.”
I squeezed Mom and Poppy’s hands.Fire, I thought.Fireandflight.Fireandsoaring over the city fueled by magic and the sun—
And love.
Love for the magic of New York. Of my mother and my grandmother. Of the witches, the Gentry, and the Blessed.
The world was growing dark, but we were a beacon; we shone; we gathered to ourselves everything the Arcade could never take, never understand.
My chest hurt. I had never given birth, but some primitive part of me knew that something was coming.
A new creature, born of flames.
Wings, unfolding in silver cascades, beating in slow motion like the chambers of my heart. A head adorned with delicate curling feathers. A pointed beak. Eagle-like claws. A body as gracefully shaped as an expensive vase in the Met.
A phoenix!
None of us had ever manifested a true familiar—but together, we had created something even greater and more beautiful than any familiar I’d ever seen.
The bird rose, trailing sparks. It flapped its wings, setting a course for the Arcade.
The wind from its wings blew hot against us, whipping the cold air to make whirlwinds that sent the pillows tumbling off the couches and across the turf.
But the firebird hung in mid-air—not retreating, not getting closer to the Arcade.
“Why isn’t it moving?” I said.
“Magic can only go so far,” Poppy said. “It has to burn something to keep going.”
“What can it burn?” Mom said. “It’s in the sky!”
“And if it sets anything on fire,” I said, looking at Bryant Park, the library, the surrounding buildings, “someone could get hurt.”
Berron’s hands left my shoulders.
