"Goodnight, Lina," three voices whispered back in unison.
And in the lead-lined dark, safe and warm within the earth, I finally fell asleep.
23
"Rule 417, Section C," Arthur said, adjusting his glasses.
He was standing on a wooden crate in the middle of the Archives basement, a makeshift general addressing his troops. The "troops" were a ragtag collection of student leaders: the Captain of the Football Team (Werewolf Division), the President of the Fae Gardening Club, the head of the Vampire Chess Society, and a few miscellaneous witches who just liked causing trouble.
"Rule 417," Arthur repeated, tapping a very thick, leather-bound book with a ruler. "Explicitly states that all magical incidents, no matter how minor, must be reported to the Dean's office in triplicate within one hour of occurrence. This creates a paper trail for safety purposes."
"So?" a werewolf named Brutus asked. He was chewing on a pen. "We're under lockdown. We can't do big magic."
"So," Arthur smiled. It wasn't his usual shy, librarian smile. It was a sharp, terrifyingly bureaucratic smile. It was the smile of a man who knew exactly how to weaponize a filing cabinet.
"If a student sneezes sparks? Report it. If a potion bubbles two degrees too hot? Report it. If a shadow looks at you funny? Report it."
Arthur leaned forward.
"Dean Marrow wants order. He wants control. We are going to give him so much order he chokes on it. We are going to drown him in his own red tape."
Amelia, who was sitting on a velvet cushion in the front row, stared at him. Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes were wide with a mix of shock and undeniable attraction.
"We're going to bury him," she whispered to me. "That's... oddly hot."
"Focus, Princess," I whispered back, suppressing a grin. "This is Arthur's moment."
The campaign began at 8:00 AM sharp.
Marrow’s office hours.
I was stationed near the Dean's office, ostensibly studying for my Nonlinear Magical Theory exam, but actually acting as a lookout. I had a clear view of the waiting room, where Mrs. Higgins, the Dean's secretary, was settling in with her morning coffee.
Mrs. Higgins was a Gorgon. Not metaphorically—she actually had snakes for hair, which she kept neatly pinned under a hairnet. She was terrifying, efficient, and hated paperwork.
The first student arrived at 8:05. It was a freshman elemental named Poppy. She looked terrified, clutching a stack of papers.
"Excuse me," Poppy squeaked. "I need to file a Level 1 Incident Report."
Mrs. Higgins looked up. Her hair hissed softly. "A Level 1? That's for life-threatening emergencies, dear."
"Oh, it felt life-threatening," Poppy said earnestly. "My plant... it grew an extra leaf. I think it might be aggressive growth. I need the Dean to sign off on its pruning. Section 4A ofthe Safety Protocols says unauthorized biomass expansion is a Class B violation."
Mrs. Higgins blinked. "You want the Dean to sign off on... a leaf?"
"It's the rules," Poppy said, wide-eyed.
"Fine," Mrs. Higgins sighed, sliding a tray forward. "Fill out this form. In triplicate."
At 8:10, five more students arrived.
"I need to report a temperature anomaly," a Fire Elemental stated. "My tea was too hot. 210 degrees instead of 200. Potential fire hazard."
"I need to report a Poltergeist," a Banshee said. "My shoelace untied itself. Twice. It's clearly a haunting."
"I forgot my locker combination," a Vampire said, looking grave. "I suspect a targeted Memory Hex."
By 9:00 AM, the line stretched out the door, down the hallway, and spilled into the quad. Every single student held a stack of forms thick enough to kill a small mammal. They were chatting, drinking coffee, and waiting with the patience of saints.
