Page 18 of Impawssible Magic

“Leaving! But I expect updates. Detailed updates. This is the most interesting thing that’s happened since Rhodes got his mane tangled in Grandmother Peach’s rose bushes.”

He vanishes before I can ask, leaving a lingering impression of fox-grin and barely contained chaos.

Caius sighs like a man who has dealt with Veren Tahann for far too many years and is considering retirement. “The symbol. The Archives might have information, but Grandmother Peach guards those records like a dragon guards gold.”

“I’ll introduce myself to the witch. This afternoon.”

“Aslan.” His voice stops me at the door. “Be careful.”

“I’m always careful.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

I don’t turn around. I know exactly what he means.

A ghost drifts past me as I leave The Den, clutching a to-go mug from The Crescent Cup, the vampire-run coffee shop that apparently serves specters now. I don’t stop to think too hard about the logistics.

Sunny Clearwater is outside Moonpetal Bakery, sweeping her doorstep with more enthusiasm than the task requires. Her familiar—a grumpy toad named Biscuit who I’ve never seen look anything other than homicidal—sits on a nearby planter, judging everyone who dares to exist within his line of sight.

“Aslan!” Sunny beams like I’ve made her entire morning just by existing. “You’re out early. Want a scone? I made blueberry today. They’re enchanted for mood improvement, but honestly, I think it’s just the butter content. Sixty percent butter. It’s basically a heart attack in pastry form.”

“I’m fine.”

I accept the bag because arguing with Sunny is like arguing with sunshine—pointless and vaguely guilt-inducing.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Tell the charm witch I said hello. I’ve been meaning to stop by—I hear her crystal work is incredible.”

Biscuit croaks what might be agreement or might be a death threat. Hard to tell with toads.

“How do you know I’m going to see⁠—”

“Oh, honey.” She pats my arm with the energy of someone comforting a confused puppy. Sunny Clearwater has been feeding me scones since I first arrived in tiger territory, and in years of acquaintance, she has never once failed to know things she shouldn’t. It’s less mystical than it sounds—she just pays attention, which most people don’t.

“There’s no—I’m not going to⁠—”

“Uh huh.” She waves me off. “Go protect your witch. Tell her about the shop’s history! The building used to be a cheese shop in the 1800s. Very romantic. Allegedly haunted by a ghost who just really liked Gouda.”

I leave before she can tell me about the ghost’s favorite variety.

Moonthread Square opens up ahead—cobblestones gleaming, the Whisper Oak spreading its ancient branches, fairy lights still twinkling in shop windows. A construction crew is working on Radiant Aura across the way, and I can hear them discussing weather patterns with the resignation of men who’ve learned that magical mishaps are just part of the job description.

“She sneezed and it hailed,” one of them says. “Inside. Hail. In July.”

“Could be worse,” his partner replies. “Remember the fire witch on Lakeside? She got startled by a spider and took out three mailboxes.”

Whisperwind Charms sits on the corner, bay windows throwing rainbows across the morning fog. The hand-painted sign sways slightly in a breeze that doesn’t quite exist.

Three nights. I told myself it was duty. It wasn’t.

I cross the square before I can talk myself out of it.

The bell above her door chimes when I push inside, and her scent hits me like a physical blow. Warmth and copper and defiance wrapped in skin.

She’s behind the counter, glaring at a crystal like it’s her sworn enemy.

“I know you don’t like the east window,” she’s saying. “But the morning light is optimal for charging and I will not have this argument again. You’re a crystal. You don’t get to have preferences.”