Page 3 of The Mechanics of Broomstick Racing

“Are we sure about that?”

“Well, I’m not asking him,” Tawny said as she giggled.

“Anyway,” Zephyr continued, “we need someone. Desperately. I can’t keep cleaning the bathroom every other day, and when you do it—”

“I got confused and accidentally grabbed your broom for cleaning once,” Tawny argued.

“I hope I wasn’t hired just for this,” a woman said from the doorway. Zephyr nearly jumped, but she hung onto the counter to keep herself from floating away. She hadn’t even heard the new woman enter.

Tawny elbowed Zephyr and pointed. “Look, you don’t have to talk to the customers anymore. Karah is starting today.”

“Hi, Zephyr. I’ll be behind the counter with Tawny and apparently also cleaning the bathroom,” the woman, Karah, said, while holding her hand out to introduce herself. When Zephyr accepted the handshake, a small spark of electricity made her jolt. Karah blushed. “Sorry. I’m a little nervous. I haven’t worked since my daughter was born. And that was, uh, a decade and a half ago.”

Oh, gods. Zephyr recognized that magic. Karah was a Finnegan. Neil’s older sister. “Don’t worry about it,” Zephyr said when she realized she had been silent for too long. “I’ve had worse accidents than that at my last job.”

Both Karah and Tawny’s faces fell.

Stop bringing up your crash, Zephyr inwardly screamed at herself. Outwardly, she smiled a little too wide. “It’s great to get an extra pair of hands. The register hates me.”

“You just refuse to sweet-talk her,” Tawny joked. “She needs a gentle hand and a lot of praise.”

“Sounds like me,” Zephyr said. This time, her joke hit, and the women giggled together. Even if she had returned to her hometown with her tail metaphorically between her legs, Zephyr couldn’t deny that she didn’t hate the new company. Her racing days had been filled with so much aggression—something she had taken part in herself. It was nice to be around softer spirits again.

Strange, but nice.

WITH HER POSTAL SATCHEL slung across her chest and her helmet back on, Zephyr mounted her broomstick. Dale remained inside the Post, nestling in Tawny’s wild brown hair. He could be a lazy bird, and some days, he didn’t accompany Zephyr on her race through the town. Zephyr shivered and shook out her hands before she gripped the broomstick’s pale handle. Tawny waved a quick farewell through the large picture window before she resumed Karah’s tour of the post office.

Once Zephyr pressed the START button on her stopwatch, she was off.

The magic satchel was a godsend. At every mailbox, Zephyr simply whispered the address and reached inside her bag. The correct mail found its way into her hand without fail. It did wonders for her time. Despite the wind fighting against her, she was on track to beat last week’s record until…

Neil Finnegan got in her way.

He stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed, wearing a worn, grease-stained navy-blue jumpsuit. The black boots he wore were only half-laced, so when Zephyr failed to stop her broomstick in time and struck Neil smack in the chest, his boots flew off entirely.

His grandstand against her was not so grand anymore.

Zephyr rolled on the ground, bringing herself to her hands and knees. She fought to catch her breath, and she heard Neil doing the same nearby.

“Dammit, Finnegan,” she rasped. She kicked at him as he struggled to stand and missed. “I could have killed you!”

“Exactly my point!” He wasn’t nearly as breathless as she was. Upright again, Neil grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked her to her feet. At least her red canvas sneakers were still on. He scolded her. “You can’t fly that fast so low to the ground. If you want to race, Zephyr, you need to get some damned height.”

A year ago, that wouldn’t have been a problem. But how could an air witch admit that she now had a fear of heights?

Maybe a more mature one could, but not Zephyr.

“If you wanted to knock boots,” she snapped, nodding toward his lost footwear, “buy me a beer first.”

He froze before he returned, “Be serious.”

Never, she thought. Zephyr squirmed. “Now let me do my job before I headbutt you. You’ve ruined my time,” she warned him, tapping her motorcycle helmet. She flipped her visor up and dug in her delivery bag until she felt the weight of his mail appear magically in her hand. Pulling the bundle out, she waved the envelopes at him until he accepted them from her. “Here’s your mail. Looks like it’s all bills. Good.”

He used the envelopes to point at the metal bench in front of his shop. “This isn’t over. I’ll be there every morning except Sunday to make sure you don’t run someone over.”

“You jumped out in front of me,” she protested. “If it gets you off my ass, I’ll use the road next time.”

“And get hit by a car?” he argued. “Just stop flying so close to the ground. You’re safer in the air.”