Page 41 of The Mechanics of Broomstick Racing

“On purpose?”

“Mostly.”

Zephyr simply sighed. “I hope you remember how to fall.”

The broom’s magic gave up on them six feet from the ground. They tumbled off the broomstick together, rolling in a soft, though utterly soaked, meadow.

The adrenaline keeping her sane through all of it left Zephyr at once. She stared at the unforgiving sky, no longer the master of her fear, and began to sob. Levina, for once, was polite enough to pretend not to notice.

THEY CROSSED THE FINISH LINE side by side, with Dale hovering overhead like an over-sized hummingbird. Zephyr’s arm was slung over Levina’s shoulder as they limped forward. There was a scattered crowd, and before anyone noticed they were coming, Zephyr shouted, “What’s our time?”

Shouting and laughing and a lot of crying commenced from the waiting crowd. Karah pushed her way through them all, and as she caught her daughter in a fierce embrace, the clouds parted.

“You’re grounded,” Karah sobbed. “You’re grounded forever.”

Levina didn’t argue. She held tight to her mother as her grandmother watched from her chair, a half-smile cutting Hattie’s wrinkled face.

The rain did not stop, not for everyone. After ruffling Levina’s windswept hair, Neil came for Zephyr. While the storm his sister conjured dissipated, Neil approached in a cloudburst of his own making. Rain spilled in a five-foot radius around him, and Zephyr gladly braced for his downpour.

His eyes shone, and her ribs protested when he kissed her so hard they both tumbled to the ground. She landed underneath him and used his body to shield herself from the torrent.

Her doctor might disapprove, but Neil was worth the pain. Zephyr kissed him back, and she tried to convince herself that kissing in the rain was romantic. Especially when it was magicked by the man holding her so tightly.

Neil pulled back, only to mutter into her neck, “You’re crazy.”

“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night,” she recited in return. It was not the official motto—she had looked that up after Hattie had questioned her on it—but Zephyr decided that she loved it, anyway.

“You make me crazy,” he said. His voice broke then, raw and honest and breaking her heart.

“She’s okay. I’m okay.” Zephyr squinted up at him. “None of this is your fault. You know that, right? I mean, I’m not sure how I feel about you digging through my garbage to secretly fix my broom, but you couldn’t have known—”

“This isn’t your fault, either,” he said. When her eyes cut away, he repeated, “This isn’t your fault.”

She almost asked where Jaxon was, but she found she didn’t care. But she hoped Hattie had given him the evil eye before he had vanished. Unfortunately, the evidence of his curse had been smashed against a mountain. Without it, she doubted they’d get justice—at least where the law was concerned. But later, she could make a few phone calls…

Neil dragged her attention back to him. He kissed her forehead, her nose, and then her mouth. His hands wandered, but only so he could ask if she was hurt anywhere and if he needed to get off her—

“Yes, please. Get off her,” Levina demanded. “As if today couldn’t get any more embarrassing.”

The last of the rain cleared as Neil stood, bringing Zephyr to her feet along with him. Zephyr posed with her fists pressed against her hips. “Now, when the Pumpkin Hollow Gazette asks what happened here today, make sure everyone throws the words hero and humble around. I want the front page to be accurate tomorrow. Or I’m not delivering it.”

Chapter 22: The Finish Line

Zephyr’s number wasn’t heavy today, and her wrist only ached a little underneath the brace she wore. There were no butterflies in her stomach, nor bile in her throat. Only serenity. And a little overconfidence, but she saw nothing wrong with that.

Today was her race day, and for the first time in her career, Zephyr wasn’t doing it alone. One of her crew snapped a temporary headset onto her head, testing the incoming audio and the microphone. She’d swap over to the mic in her helmet later. She was nearly ready, but her broom, new and beautiful and very expensive, had yet to arrive.

Her crew chief was late.

“I’m here!” Neil said as he entered the pit. All at once, a trio of crew members surrounded him, sliding a headset onto his head, too, and shoving clipboards and tablets in his face. His outfit was the same as always—only he had replaced his navy coveralls with a slim black and red version. Zephyr’s number, 33, was splayed across his back. Neil glanced at the weather reports and the map for the race, but he only had eyes for her.

He pushed through the crowd, promising his attention to the rest later, and presented her with her broom. “It hasn’t left my sight. I’ve checked it twelve times. You’re safe.”

“I know I’m safe. You kept it in our bed last night. You were cuddling it. I thought you were trying to make me jealous.” She took her broom with a smile, admiring the redwood handle and pausing when her fingertips traced a few words burned into the wood. Words that hadn’t been there before.

“You found that already?” Neil rubbed his forehead and pulled down the brim of his ballcap. “My sixth beer made that seem like a good idea.”

“You always had nice handwriting,” she said.