A lot.
More than I’ve ever cared about anyone before.
Her gaze scans the crowd until it lands on me, and a beatific smile unfurls on her lips. She parts from the witch she entered with and makes a beeline towards me. As she weaves her way through the gawking witches and warlocks, I notice she still has her backpack on, and it bounces against her with every step.
I stand from the table and move to meet her, placing my hands on her arms and checking her over for injury. I know Soraya assured me she was okay, but I need to see with my own two eyes that she’s alive and breathing.
I realize she’s studying me just as intently, and I swallow, feeling a surge of emotion I can’t quite articulate.
“Hi,” I say lamely, internally chastising myself for being an awkward idiot.
Hi? Really? That’s the best I can do?
Izzy’s lips quirk. “Hi.”
“I’m so happy to see that you’re okay,” I whisper, my throat clogging with the enormity of my emotions for her.
A shudder reverberates through her, and she squeezes her eyelids shut. “I should be saying that to you. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Hurt me?” I shake my head adamantly and then begin to guide her towards one of the long wooden tables. “No. Not at all. I’ve just been worried sick about you. After Soraya took you away, I didn’t know if?—”
I clamp my lips together, not wanting to voice my deepest fears out loud. Doing so might make them come true.
Izzy finally reopens her eyes and places her hand in mine, giving it a squeeze.
“Is this supposed to be the cafeteria?” Izzy asks, expertly changing the subject, which I’m grateful for.
We were venturing into dangerous territory where I may have said words I’m not ready to say. Some confessions are meant to be internalized only.
“Apparently.” I allow my gaze to travel around the spacious room for the first time.
I was too consumed with worry for Izzy to pay attention before, but now I can’t help but marvel.
The walls are made of ancient stone, etched with glowing runes that shimmer faintly in the dim, flickering light of enchanted lanterns hanging from the vaulted ceiling. These lanterns float just above head height, casting an ethereal glow that dances across the room, making the entire space feel alive with energy.
The wooden tables seem to stretch endlessly, covered in mismatched but beautifully crafted dinnerware. Some plates float gently in midair, levitated by spells, while others appear to grow from the wood itself, sprouting like flowers in bloom. The air hums with the scent of herbs, spices, and freshly baked bread.
Above the tables and lanterns, the ceiling is a dark expanse of enchanted glass, showing a constantly shifting sky that doesn’t feel right. Sometimes, like right now, it’s a deep twilight with sparkling stars. Other times, the swirling colors of an aurora borealis fill the expanse, or the sun will glare down.
Witches and warlocks of all ages sit scattered across the room, talking in hushed tones or laughing. As I watch, transfixed, a steaming pot of stew manifests on a table in front of an older witch, the smell of simmering meat and vegetables swirling through the air. The warlock across from her flicks his wrist, and a pastry flutters down from the ceiling and lands perfectly in his outstretched hand.
“If we have to do that to eat, then I’m going to starve,” Izzy whispers to me, evidently following my line of sight.
I snort but silently agree.
I have yet to do any magic. The most I’ve done is a few healing spells over the years. There’s no fucking way I can conjure food from nowhere.
I claim my seat on the bench at the long table, and Izzy sits beside me with Celeste on her other side.
Almost immediately, a plate, cup, and silverware materialize in front of her.
“What do you want to eat?” Celeste asks Izzy, swiveling to face her. She brushes a strand of curly orange hair behind her ear. “Spaghetti? Steak? Chicken? Salad? Soup?”
Izzy seems taken aback. “Oh…um…whatever you’re having.”
Celeste nods once, her lips pinching, and then waves her hand in the air. Almost immediately, two bowls of beef stew appear before them, still simmering and steaming.
Izzy gawks.
