Page 26 of Impawssible Magic

“Gerry’s got a friend!” Zeph is actually crying now. “This is the best night ever!”

Anouk produces a compact umbrella from somewhere and holds it over her drink with perfect composure. “This happens more often than you’d think.”

The cloud is growing. Sakura’s efforts to contain it are making things worse—the drizzle becomes a downpour, then small hail, then what might be snow.

“Buckets!” Zeph waves at her staff. “Get the buckets! We’re doing weather again!”

Two bored-looking servers appear with what seems like a practiced collection of containers, positioning them around the table to catch the various precipitation. Anouk hasn’t moved. Her umbrella is somehow staying perfectly dry despite the chaos.

“Steadying breaths.” I reach across the table and grab Sakura’s hand. Her skin is cool, slightly damp, trembling. “Hey. Look at me. Slow breaths. Think calming thoughts.”

“I’m trying⁠—”

“What’s the most boring thing you can imagine?”

“I don’t—” She meets my eyes, panic flickering. “Filing? Administrative paperwork?”

“Perfect. Think about filing. Alphabetizing. Very dull. Very organized. Nothing emotional about filing.”

The cloud sputters. Shrinks. The snow turns back to drizzle, then mist, then nothing.

Sakura slumps in her chair.

“Thank you.” Her voice is small. “It’s been getting worse. I don’t know why.”

“You’re unanchored.” Anouk’s tone is gentler, the coven leader giving way to a warmer woman. “We all are, in different ways. The magic looks for outlets when it can’t find stability.”

The table goes quiet.

Unanchored. The word settles between us, heavy with meaning. Four witches, and not one of us anchored the way we’re supposed to be. Anouk, who lost Corwin to death six months ago. Me, whose familiar betrayed her. Sakura, whose magic runs too wild for any familiar to match—I’ve watched her do it twice now. And Zeph, who’s never bonded with one at all, chaos witch that she is, too much of a live wire for most familiars to want the job.

“Being a witch without a familiar is difficult.” Anouk’s voice is measured, careful. “The instability. The loneliness. The feeling that you’re missing an essential piece of yourself. I know because I’ve lived it for six months now.”

Six months. Corwin, the owl. I remember the whispers when I first arrived—the coven leader’s familiar died, a fifteen-year bond shattered. “But”—she meets each of our eyes in turn—“you are not alone. None of us are. That’s the point of nights like this. To remind ourselves that isolation is a choice, not a requirement.”

Zeph’s usual manic energy has softened. Sakura is still clutching my hand. I find I don’t want to let go.

“That was almost inspirational.” I manage. “Very coven-leader of you.”

“I have my moments.” The ghost of a smile crosses Anouk’s face. “Now. I believe Zeph promised us non-sentient drinks. Shall we start over?”

The next two hours pass in a blur of conversation, laughter, and carefully chosen beverages that don’t cause precipitation. We talk about magic. About Mistvale. About the upcoming Harvest Convergence and Zeph’s determination to finally beat Grandmother Peach in the dessert competition. (“It’s been forty-seven years. Forty-seven. I have a plan this time.”)

We talk about the men in our lives—assigned protectors who are definitely just professional obligations and absolutely not anything else, thank you very much.

We don’t talk about dead birds or mysterious symbols or the feeling of being hunted.

For one night, I let myself pretend everything is normal.

The walk home is quiet.

Sakura went back to her studio an hour ago, supported by an umbrella Anouk conjured and strict instructions to practice her breathing exercises. Zeph closed the bar with promises of “round two next week, you’re all legally required to come.”

My steps echo on the cobblestones, slightly unsteady from two Starlight Specials and a “Witch’s Brew” that Zeph swore was non-magical.

She lied. I can see my own breath in colors.

Moonthread Square opens before me, the Whisper Oak standing sentinel at its center. My shop is dark, wards humming their familiar pattern, everything exactly as I left it.