Were they still enrolled in school? Yes.
Had they been going? No.
Would they be able to graduate? Probably not.
Was that at all related to their truancy? f*ck no.
(It was related to their year-long attempt to blow up the town, if that wasn’t obvious.)
Ivy is the first person to message in their dusty, dusty group chat.
(Yes it still had one too many members)
(No they were not going to kick her out.)
(Also she’s the only one in the chat with admin privileges and they’re pretty sure her phone was crushed in the lava under the gym.)
Did we all get that email from AA?
[three likes]
Yea.
See you all there!
“See you all there!” Ivy mocks.
“What?”
It’s about nine in the morning. They’re still in the dome, chilling and summoning food from the kitchen downstairs.
Oisin hasn’t called the window guy. He will. Probably. But part of him wonders how complicated it would be to engineer a spell that could do it for him. He has his spellbook open to Fabricate on his knee and a long-form copy of Mending transcribed to a notebook in his lap. He’d examined the windows in his room and a few on every floor and he was confident that all the glass had broken inwards, meaning, theoretically, every piece was still in his house. There had to be a way to isolate the part of the mending spell which captured the memory of the object’s previous form, and reverse-engineered the procedure for fixing said object. Once he had that isolated, he simply had to carve out a place for it in the much more powerful Fabricate spell (removing the parts of the formula which reached into the caster’s mind for what they wanted to create and rerouting it to the captured memory) and then – Bingo. New windows.
Ivy smirks, looking back at her crystal. “Nothin’”
“No seriously, what have you got?” He puts the book down, pitches his elbows into the soft inside bits of his knees and creates a hammock out of his knuckles to perch his reptilian chin on. A clear bring it stance.
“Nothing!” She looks at him. “You just sound like girl scout.”
“What, because I used one exclamation point?”
Ivy dips her chin and wiggles her eyebrows. “See you there!”
“Alright, alright. Says the girl dressed like a f*cking picnic blanket.”
Having not left his bed they also hadn’t dressed for the day. She was still in her ridiculously huge, checkered pyjamas.
“Hah!” Ivy moves her legs from a splayed V position to cross under her thighs, sitting forward now. “You call yourself an adventurer but step on such an obvious landmine.”
Oisin lets out a sigh. “Here we go,” He unfolds his hands and sits back slightly. If conversation is a dance, he’s unwittingly relinquished the lead.
“I’m dressed for comfort. Because I am at home, dipsh*t. When I’m out on the town?” She flicks her hair. “No one looks better. The crop top is cinched. The three-fingered archer’s gloves are sexy, yet functional. And the trousers sculp my arse oh so right.”
He waves her off. “Alright, alright, we practice self-love in this house, but you’re on the edge.”
“But you?” She lifts her hand high so when she points at him, she points down. “You do the opposite.
“Here we are at home, with no one to admire us, and you’re here in a ribbed white tank top.” She emphasises every word.
“Yeah, yeah, okay” He turns his focus to the spells in front of him, sitting up a bit. “Where are my lodestones –”
“No, no, no.” She wags a finger, and he spies the stones clasped in the rest of her fingers. “You asked for this.”
He puts his hand out and she relinquishes them to him without missing a beat. “My boy has the tattoos on display. He has the biceps on display. And he’s complementing it all with the black and grey flannel plaid pyjama bottoms.”
“Okay Ives, I get your point. I want to try and fix these windows. I think I’ve got it.” He shuffles off the bed, books and stones in hand. He places a stone at each end of the windowsill and comes to stand by the arc of glass on the floor.
He can hear Ivy walking around the bed to post up behind him.
“And to think,” she’s taken to a kind of stage-whispering,sounding like a commentator. Like she’s approaching an animal in the wild and doesn’t want to disturb it. “In a few minutes, he’ll be donning his trademark attire: a khaki short sleeve button up with an iron-on badge on his shoulder and long green cargo pants.”
He has his spellbook in his right hand with the notebook balanced inside. He raises his left hand to start the movements of Fabricate, thumb marking where he needs to stop and switch to Mending. “Catch him at your local wildlife enclosure, folks, feeding the whirlwyrms. God forbid he ever wear a flattering colour where a young elven diviner might see him.”
His spine slacks and his left-hand drops, other hand closing the spellbook gently over the notebook. He turns around to face Ivy.
In a moment of realisation that she’s let the joke go too far, Ivy grimaces. “Sorry, I got carried away.”
He sighs. “I love you. Please be quiet so I can try to fix our house.”
She nods and backs up. “Yep, yep, yep, I’ll be over here. Quiet as a mouse.”
“Thank you.” He turns back. Opens the book. Deep breath. Hand raises and the spell begins.
The glass starts to lift and take some sort of rectangular shape. Okay, so far so good.
The larger pieces begin to glow orange and slack like putty. That shouldn’t happen.
Hurriedly, he sweeps his hand in a small circle and closes his fist, holding it in the air for half a second and dropping it, ending the spell. The pieces clatter back to the ground.
He huffs a sigh of annoyance, tucking the two books under his arm.
“I’m sorry," she starts, hurriedly. "I should have shut up earlier. I knew you needed to concentrate, and I know that we don’t – that she’s an off-limits topic.”
“Ivy, it’s fine, I know you didn’t mean to.” He crouches, examining the glass fragments closely. There's some warping to the larger ones, but hopefully not enough that they couldn’t still become the window again. “I’m a practical caster, we can concentrate despite emotion. Sometimes even because of emotion.”
Oisin stands up, and gives his friend a comforting, small smile. “It didn’t work because the spell doesn’t work.” He lets the two books fall open in his hands, rips the Mending script out of the notebook and tucks it quickly into the Fabricate section of his spellbook. “I’ll call the windows guy after we see Aguefort. C’mon, clock’s tickin’.”
Ivy nods and goes for the door. She puts her hand on the doorknob, pauses.
“So like, you wouldn’t even consider just like a t-shirt…” She bargains.
“Hey, we might not graduate.” The wizard offers. “Whirlwyrm tamer might be my best option.”
The ranger’s eyes widen as the image crosses her mind. “They’d eat you alive. It would take seconds.”
He scoffs, offended. “Go get dressed! I’ll meet you at the car.”
Were the Rat Grinders on good terms? Yes.
Did that mean the vibes were normal? Absolutely not.
But they were making progress, and that had to count for something.
They’d all spent some amount of time in hospital immediately following election night.
Their bodies were wrecked from having hosted the rage crystals for so long, some more than others. Ruben was particularly beaten up, once the adrenaline wore off, whereas Mary Ann, because she was already somewhat accustomed to rage, physically recovered faster. Ivy and Oisin fell somewhere in the middle. But they had all stayed in hospital as long as they could, to try and stay together.
It turned out that when all of the other stuff fell away – Porter, Ankarna, the scheme, Kipperlilly – what they had left was togetherness.
They didn’t get a message from Lucy for the first week, which felt like a message in and of itself.
None of them dared ask for her. Their shame was like quicksand: none of them dared make a move lest it pull them under.
Then one day, they had a visitor.
“Hey guys!”
That was really what she said. Hey guys. Like she’d been away at summer camp.
Turns out she hadn’t been able to visit or send a message because she’d barely been able to move. The physical therapy was going to be a long process, but now with a wheelchair she was able to move around a bit more. And with time and help she’d get the muscle and mobility back in her hips and legs. Ankarna had removed all evidence of the runes – Ivy threw up into a wastebin when the cleric mentioned it – and restored her body completely, as though she’d simply been in a coma.
“So,” she said, when she’d run out of things to explain about her physical recovery. None of the others had said anything yet. “I think now’s as good a time as any, and I know we have to think about how we’re going to sort out passing junior year and all, but,” She fidgeted with her medical ID bracelet, then looked to her friends. Her expression was so open, but only Ruben and Mary Ann could meet her eye. “I want to be back. To us, I mean. I want us back.”
Silence. Ruben lay his head back on his hospital bed, fatigued.
“Well?” She looked between them: Mary Ann in the chair by the window; then Ruben; then Ivy in her hospital bed; finally, to Oisin, stood against the wall, staring at his shoes. “Someone say something.”
Mary Ann jumped down from the armchair and walked over to Lucy. With the Genasi in her wheelchair, the two were almost eye to eye. The Kobold hesitated, then kissed her friend on the cheek. “They’re paralysed by shame. We would love to have you back, if you could ever have us.” She stepped back, adding as an afterthought. “I am ashamed too, to be clear.” She gave a small shrug. “But someone had to talk.”
Lucy let out a laugh, and motioned to hold Mary Ann’s hand, who gave it. She looked to Oisin, who still did not look at her. Hadn’t since about five seconds after she’d walked in.
From inside the wastebin, Ivy gurgled. “If we do this, we’re gonna need so much f*cking therapy. I don’t even know if therapy exists for this kind of thing.”
“Reconciliation counselling.” Ruben said, his voice hoarse.
“What like, marriage counselling?”
He nodded. “Same type of thing.”
Ivy screwed her eyebrows. “But, we didn’t cheat on one another.” Her inquiry was surprisingly gentle and patient, and Oisin remembers feeling a soft recognition that this was Ivy. Inquisitive, but not judgemental.
That’s my best f*cking friend – curious, and quick-witted and deeply, deeply kind. Take that, you creepy agro-f*ck.
He was already staring at the floor: addressing hell came naturally.
“We broke Lucy’s trust.” Ruben said, still staring at the ceiling. “And we broke each other’s hearts.”
There was a pause.
“Mary Ann, if you can pass me my crystal. I know a guy in Bastion City. He’s not cheap, but he’s good.”
“Ask him if he’s okay being paid from a dragon’s hoard. Otherwise we’ll talk to the school.”
So they’d started therapy with Ruben’s distant cousin, Dr Abe Rumbuckle. It began as in-patient daily sessions, then twice a week. Now they were on a small break, under the guise of focussing on school, but would recommence weekly sessions during the summer.
It became apparent from the first hour that Oisin would not – no, could not – talk to Lucy directly. It took three days to break that down. Longer to get him to talk to her about what had happened. By their final day as in-patients, they had reached somewhere that could be called “colleagues,” or “classmates” if you were being generous.
[She goes to say goodbye as they go their separate ways from the hospital. He sees her coming, ducks and beelines for Ivy’s car.
Ivy hugs her friend gently. Lucy is still not solid on her feet, but she wanted to spend her daily standing time on this moment. Her parents are a couple steps behind her with her chair, talking to Dr Rumbuckle.
“See you soon, babe.” Ivy smiles. Despite herself, she’s crying again. God, this keeps happening. “I’m- I’m so sorry about him, I don’t know –”
“Hey, hey,” Lucy coos, smoothing her hair. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault. I know he doesn’t mean anything by it. We’re all going through it: just looks different on some people”
Ivy sniffles, uses her sleeve as a tissue. “You’ll call me tomorrow?”
Lucy nods. “Of course, babe. Get home safe.”]
Ivy and Oisin arrive at the reception of Principal Aguefort’s office. Mr. Copperbloom, a halfling man in his forties and Aguefort’s secretary, waves them through to an alcove reserved for waiting. “Your fellow party members are already here.”
Oisin blanches. “We’re the last to arrive?”
Mr Copperbloom gives him a small look of sympathy as they pass his desk.
In the alcove are three chairs along each wall, each row bookended by small tables.
Ruben sits on one side, strumming idly at his ukelele. Mary Ann and Lucy are on the other side. Conversing quietly, they stop as Ivy and Oisin approach.
“Hey guys, sorry we’re late. We’d have come earlier if we’d known you’d be waiting.” Oisin looks to Lucy, nods. “Hey Luce.”
She smiles back. He always makes a point of addressing her individually as early as he can in conversations now. Break any sort of tension before it’s allowed to build.
“Nonsense,” she says. “Ruben and I arrived five minutes ago.”
Ruben smiles and moves his bag so Oisin can sit. Ivy takes the seat next to Mary Ann.
“I’ve been here for forty-five minutes.” Mary Ann adds, taking out her Quokki Pet.
Ivy looks over her friend’s head to shoot a quick questioning look to Lucy, who shrugs.
“Anyone know what Aguefort might want?” Asks Ruben.
“It’s gotta be about graduating.” Oisin replies. “Whether we can do it, what it’s going to take.”
“Whatever it is, we’re going to do it, right?” Ivy asks, a small bit of doubt crawling into her voice.
Lucy reaches for her friend’s shoulder, letting her elbow fall loosely over Mary Ann. “Of course, Ivy. Am I right, lads?” She wiggles an eyebrow at their arcane duo, borrowing some of Ivy’s Sylvan slang.
Ruben fiddles with the pegs of his ukelele. “I think any illusion I had of making it in music is gone, at least for now. Time to strip it all back and remember why I was called to it in the first place.” He looks off forlornly, then notices his friends' slightly confused expressions. “That’s a yes. I’m in.”
Oisin nods firmly. “I want to do this. I want to finish the year. I want to go to college.” Absentmindedly, his hand moves from fiddling with the clasp on his spellbook holster to instead turn the signet ring on his right pinky.
He glances at each of his friends. “I want to see if I can be a real adventurer. Without, you know…” He trails off. They all know.
Lucy casts her head down, and a sombre feeling falls over them.
After a moment, Ivy straightens up, features set into a determined look.
She pulls a knife from the sheath in her boot – god she does dress cool – stands up and takes it to the front of her maroon jeans where her Rat Grinders badge is sewn. Prying the edge up with her knife, she rips hard, taking some of the fabric with it.
Appraising the damage, she shrugs. “Looks cooler this way, I reckon.”
She looks to Oisin, whose mouth is slightly open, raises an eyebrow as a question and turns the handle to him in offering.
He looks at her. Looks at Ruben and Mary Ann, who’s put her Quokki pet in sleep mode and is watching him now. He sees Lucy, catches a look of surprise and a little hope that after a moment of his hesitation starts to morph into something like disappointment, veiled thinly with acceptance.
Before she can say It’s fine, or we don’t have to, he grabs the hilt.
Ivy breaks into a grin. “Attaboy, Oisin!” she hollers. He blushes at how her voice echoes in the quiet office space. Whatever.
He dips his shoulder forward and starts to copy with the blade the small repetitive motion that Ivy had used. He can’t seem to get it right, keeps making small holes in the actual fabric of the shirt before he dips out and tries again. After twenty seconds Ivy huffs. “Oh, c’mon then,” and reaches for the top loose section of the badge.
“Hey, what are you –” He moves the blade out of the way and realises what’s about to happen a split second before it does. “Wait, no – ”
He jerks his shoulder away and the additional force takes an arch-shaped chunk out of his short sleeve, stopping at the hem. They both freeze. The fabric hangs by the remaining connected stitches, a flap the size of Ivy’s palm.
He can’t tear his eyes away from it.
“Well,” She squeaks, snatching the knife out of his hand and quickly cutting the flap free. “I told you, this shirt does you no favours.” She quips nervously, dropping the fabric into his now empty hands.
He looks at it. Looks at her. Looks back at it. Looks back at her.
“What the f-”
“Oh, easy breezy!” Ruben cheers. They look over and see a perfectly removed badge in his hand, shirtsleeve intact.
He sees their dumbstruck expressions and shrugs. “I ironed them on for all of us in the first place, so I figured if I reheated the glue, I could probably pull them off.” He looks at his own sleeve again. “Came out better than I thought, and it only took a cantrip.” He stands up and walks around Ivy and Oisin to examine where their patches were.
“But yours is cool too, Ivy. The rips add to the aesthetic.” His eyes widen as they move from her pants to Oisin’s sleeve. “Oh, dude! That is not what I would have done.”
Oisin looks at Ivy, incredulously. “You don’t say?”
“Nah, I personally like a ‘clean and presentable’ look, especially if I’m seeing the principal,’” the tie-dye wearing, barefoot teen offers, “But that’s just me. I’m gonna see if Mary Ann and Lucy want a hand ungluing theirs.”
“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea, champ.” The dragonborn did not blink, a manic look growing over his features. Ivy scratches the back of her neck, very clearly holding in a laugh.
Once Ruben was out of earshot – “I’m going to f*cking murder you.”
“I know, I know, but later, this is a good party moment!”
“My face will be the last face you see.”
“Yeah, yeah, and my family should expect a closed casket, I know.”
“If there’s even a body –”
“Ahem.” The whistly voice of Mr Copperbloom quells the group. “Principal Aguefort should be about ready for you.”
“Of-f*cking-course he is, well –” Smoke exhales out of Oisin’s snout as he glances exasperatedly down at his raggedy half-sleeve. He looks at his friends, each of them holding their freshly removed Rat Grinder badges. He catches Lucy’s eye and smiles. The way she smiles back makes him realise this is probably the first time he’s properly smiled at her since she’s been back.
“Let’s get this over with?” He offers.
They nod and stand, following Oisin to the door of the office.
In the back of his mind, as they approach, he registers Aguefort’s voice talking to someone in the office. Oisin’s hand is an inch from the doorknob when it swings violently inward.
Adaine Abernant, her features crafted into a look of frustration, goes to bound out of the office, and instead runs straight into Oisin’s chest.
Behind her are the rest of the Bad Kids, and the Rat Grinders find their own expressions of shock mirrored in the other party.
Adaine recoils, face flaming red.
“Uh, hi,” The teenage boy finds himself babbling. “I didn’t- we didn’t. This wasn’t planned, I promise.” Of course it wasn’t planned, you moron.
She meets his eye briefly, expression unreadable. The rest of her party don’t move, seeming to be taking cues from her. With their height difference, her eyes line up with his shoulder.
“Half your sleeve is missing.” She says flatly, turning and pushing past him without another word.
He might as well be stunned. The rest of her party awkwardly shuffle past him as he partially blocks the doorway.
“Why didn’t you tell us they were here?” Ivy hisses.
“I told you I’d been here forty-five minutes.” Mary Ann replies at a completely regular volume. She reaches up, and Gorgug bends down to give her a quick kiss. She ruffles his hair, before he stands up and leaves. “I thought I was being clear.”
“Mr Hakinvar, are you quite alright?” Aguefort’s voice and his friends’ gentle nudges bring him out of his stupor.
“Yes, of course, Principal Aguefort. My apologies.” He enters the room and closes the door behind them. He takes one of the five seats in front of Arthur’s desk, not noticing the sixth chair that’s been moved to a back corner of the room.
It’s only when they’re twenty minutes into their ninety-minute meeting, outlining their summer project and the unexpected involvement of the Bad Kids (“who are partaking entirely of their own volition, which you should not take lightly”), that Oisin notices the lack of weight on his left hip.
His spellbook is gone.
“Of course, Professor A, and thanks again. We really can’t emphasis enough how seriously we’re going to take this project. It’ll have our heart and soul, just you wait. Alright, then, bye now.” Ruben shuts the door with a loud chuckle, then turns to his friends. “Alright what the f*ck is going on?”
“Oisin’s spellbook, they took it.” Ivy replies, back to the door, starting to scan the room whilst they huddle up. Mr Copperbloom gives them a disapproving look.
“Why would they do that? We’re supposed to be working together.” Lucy adds.
“I just don’t know how I missed it.” Oisin shakes his head in confusion.
Ruben snorts. “Right.”
“I know how you missed it.” Offers Mary Ann. Oisin rolls his eyes at them and opens his mouth.
“We all know how you missed it.” Ivy beats him to it, looking past them. “And she’s sitting in the waiting area.”
Ivy jerks her chin in that direction, but any hope of their being discreet is lost as each member turns their whole body.
The Elven Oracle is alone in the alcove. She’s in her combat boots, jeans, and a merch tee of some kind, with her staple denim jacket draped over the neighbouring chair. The only thing different is the lilac scarf tied around her hair like a headband. It’s a good colour on her, emphasises the golden lowlights in her hair. His thoughts go fuzzy for a split second. She definitely hadn’t been wearing that before.
In her hands is his spellbook, which she is perusing like it’s a magazine in a dentist’s office.
He averts his gaze and realises his friends are all looking at him. Ivy is the only one without a sh*t-eating grin. There’s pity in her eyes, and he knows she’s thinking of their conversation that morning.
“I can go talk to her.” She offers. “See what the deal is –”
He holds up a hand, shakes his head. “No, no, no. It’s fine, I’ll talk to her,” he cracks his knuckles, “wizard to wizard. I’ll meet you guys outside in a sec.”
They all nod and move for the door. Ruben slaps him, playfully but still too hard, on the side of his leg. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
Oisin feels the familiar buzz of the bard’s inspiration. “Thanks, Hop.”
“You dropped this.” The Oracle says, not looking up from her reading.
“Hmm, did I though?” Oisin stops a few feet from her, by one of the coffee tables, and shoves his hands in his pockets.
She catches his eye, closes the book and extends it out to him as she stands. “I’m sorry about that. It also wasn’t planned.”
He takes the book, wraps it against his chest. Now that she's standing he can see her shirt. Encased in an elaborate design of books, ships, and fire, is the name: Compass Points Library.
She looks nervous. Or uncomfortable, more so. He supposes he should expect that. Be thankful it isn’t naked hatred, or worse, fear.
“I’m not exactly this summer project’s biggest fan.” She shoves her hands into her back pockets, letting her elbows swing idly. “Fig and Riz, they thought it would make me feel better. They clearly didn’t think much else, in the moment, but Riz…” She trails off, making a face like she’s tried to put her goblin friend into words before and never succeeded. “Rogues, man.” She settles on. “What can you do?”
He grimaces. “Right, rogues. I know the feeling.”
Her eyes go wide. “f*ck, sorry – or actually, not sorry. Well, maybe a little sorry –”
His expression mirrors hers. Two deers in their own headlights. f*ck this conversation is a minefield. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re not sorry and I don’t expect you to be.”
“Okay,” she breathes, the pink tinge to her cheeks abating. “So,” she straightens up. “No harm, no foul?”
“That depends.” He can’t resist. Wizard to wizard, after all. “See anything you like?”
He almost chokes, realising the unintended double meaning.
“Hah! Please,” Adaine breezes right past it in favour of scholastic competition. “I was just checking to see if there was anything dated later than winter break, seeing as you don’t come to class anymore.”
“You been keeping an eye out for me?” The line slips out despite himself. What am I doing?! God, Ivy is rubbing off on him.
“You think I need your f*cking spells?” She fires back.
He holds a hand up. “You’re right, I forgot who I was talking to.”
He thinks he sees something in her expression that reacts to this, but blink and it’s gone.
It takes a moment, but he realises he’s staring. Is she staring?
He clears his throat. “Right, well, thanks for –” He holds the book up and waves it. Idiot.
“Yeah, well, don’t get use to it.”
“Never.” He turns and walks towards the door to the hall where his friends are surely waiting. Ivy will hopefully have moved them far enough down the hall that it’s not obvious they’ve been waiting for him.
He’s halfway down the hallway towards the corner where he can see peeking out a backpack with a plush strawberry.
“You’re putting the cart before the horse, by the way!”
He turns and sees Adaine shouting from where he’d just left. She's got her jacket wrapped around her waist such that the body of it covers her spellbook holster. God, that's clever.
“What?”
She crosses her arms and looks at the ground. “Just, you know, by the way.”
“Yeah, no.” He turns but doesn’t walk towards her. “that’s not the bit – what are you talking about?”
“The glass repair spell.” She answers. “You’ve structured it wrong. It’s not going to work.”
He frowns. “How do you know it’s not going to work?”
She raises her eyebrow. “Well does it work?”
He huffs. “No, not exactly, you know, not yet.”
“Here, look,” she’s striding towards him. He’s aware that from here his friends just might be able to hear him get royally schooled by the Elven Oracle, because from the look on her face – and hell, is it a look, and god, is it a face – that is exactly what’s about to happen.
He hands her the book, crosses his arms, and co*cks his head to feign some kind of scepticism that she has it all worked out, knows that will make her victory all the sweeter.
But she’s not looking at him, doesn’t give him the time of day. Elven f*cking Oracle, he thinks - without bitterness, only wonder.
She cracks the book open to where he’d left his notepaper with the Mending script and a crude scaffold of the hybrid spell.
“See, here,” she points at where he’s designated the mending portion to slot in. “You want the procedural memory that Mending captures to go here – the way it can glean how something was broken and turn that into instructions for how to fix it.” She looks up, and he remembers to nod – remembers to breathe – so she continues. “But that’s way too late in the spell. You’re halfway through a powerful transmutation, glass is becoming hot sand again and you’re asking it to remember it was pieces of a bowl, or a statue, or whatever. Am I making sense?”
She is, he thinks, but his train of thought has caught on end of that last sentence. A bowl, or statue, or whatever. And he realises she called it a “glass repair spell.” Not a window repair spell.
He’s staring again. “Yeah, uh, it’s a window, actually,” he blurts out. f*ck, she’s going to think I am actually stupid.
“Whatever. Look, I sketched a rough draft,” She’s pulling a folded piece of paper from her back pocket. Lays it flat next to his rendition. He forces himself to focus this time.
“You’re subjugating Fabricate to Mending, because you assume that the more powerful spell should encase and direct the less powerful, but that’s not always true. In fact, in this case, it needs to be the other way around for the spell to work at all.”
She pushes the papers on top of one another and closes the book, faces him directly and puts the book in his hands. She waits for him to make eye contact again before she speaks. Slowly, with every word enunciated in her flute-like Falinel accent.
“Your spell doesn’t work because you think its primary objective is to manipulate matter, but it’s not. Its primary objective, is to fix a f*cking window.”
She lets go and turns to walk back down the hallway.
The back of her t-shirt is script. Under her hair he can't read the first few lines, but in large, curling calligraphy the bottom of it reads Go with love, me hearties.
She disappears, and after almost exactly ten seconds, he hears Ruben giggle, which breaks all of his friends in turn as they scamper out of their hiding spot around the corner.
Still in a haze, he turns to them, spellbook gripped close to his chest.
“Oh, that was amazing.” Ruben hoots, wiping a tear from his eye. “They should post that on WorldStar. Wow.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” Lucy tries.
“What happened to your window?” Mary Ann asks.
“Ah, that’s on me.” Says their ranger. “Omelette gone wrong.”
Ivy is looking at him. Just seeing him. Like she always has.
She doesn’t have to say it. He can see it on her face.
But she’s raising her finger, and the message arrives all the same.
You are so f*cking screwed.
[That’s my best bloody friend – Intelligent, caring, with a crush on Adaine Abernant that is selfless and adoring, even if the size of it could rival the sun. Take that, you raging-pedo c*nt!]
