The next morning began with a noise that sounded like a small explosion wrapped in feathers.
Elara jolted awake in her cramped apprentice quarters above the Verdant Quarter bakery to find her spellbook smoking faintly on the windowsill. Perched atop it was a creature that appeared to be part cat, part owl, and entirely offended by existence.
It blinked at her, amber eyes luminous. "You call that a summoning circle?" it said in a voice dripping with disdain.
Elara rubbed her eyes. "You talk."
"Of course I talk. You wrote 'intelligence moderately advanced' on the ritual description, didn't you?"
"I—uh—may have overestimated."
"You did." The creature hopped down, talons clicking against the wooden floor. Its wings flicked open, scattering ash. "And under no circumstances will I respond to the name 'Snugglefluff.'"
Elara groaned, burying her face in her pillow. "Oh no. Not another miscast."
"You summoned me," the creature said crisply, "with an incomplete Familiar Binding. Therefore, I am technically free to negotiate my own terms."
Elara peeked out from under the blanket. "You can negotiate?"
"I have a lawyer."
"Oh, wonderful."
The creature tilted its head, preening one wing with regal precision. "You may address me as Thorn."
"Thorn," Elara repeated. "That's very dramatic."
"It suits me."
"You look like a puffball."
Thorn hissed softly. "Appearances deceive, apprentice."
Elara sighed, pushing herself upright. "Alright, Thorn. You were summoned for a reason—well, originally for a different spell, but maybe you can still help me fix the mess I made."
"You mean the affection enchantment that has the entire Licensing Hall gossiping?"
Her cheeks burned. "You heard about that?"
"The walls have ears," Thorn said dryly. "And apparently, the walls also have opinions."
Before she could reply, a sharp knock sounded at the door.
"Elara Mirefield," came Cael's unmistakably calm, too-early-for-this voice, "are you awake?"
She groaned. "Why does he always sound like punctuality incarnate?"
Thorn stretched lazily. "That's your supervisor, isn't it? The one under your accidental charm influence?"
"Yes. Don't remind me."
Elara flung open the door just in time to meet Cael's unreadable gaze. He looked as immaculate as ever—robes pressed, hair in perfect order, expression politely resigned.
"Good morning, Miss Mirefield," he said. "You're aware that magical activity after curfew requires registration?"
"I wasn't trying to perform magic. I was trying to make tea."
He glanced past her shoulder. "Your tea speaks."
Thorn puffed up indignantly. "I am not tea."
Cael blinked once. "I see."
Elara scrambled for an explanation. "There was… a minor ritual overflow. And now I have a familiar. His name's Thorn. He's opinionated."
Cael looked at Thorn, then back at Elara. "You've bonded an unregistered magical entity without authorization."
"Technically," Thorn interjected, "the bond is incomplete. Which means I'm not beholden to your bureaucratic nonsense."
Cael exhaled slowly, the way one might when confronted by sentient chaos. "Miss Mirefield, put on your shoes. We're going to the Licensing Hall."
Elara winced. "Now?"
"Before your familiar declares independence."
Thorn gave a smug little hoot. "Too late."
---
The walk to the Hall was… complicated. Thorn insisted on perching on Elara's shoulder, delivering unsolicited commentary about every passing mage.
"That one's overcompensating with those robes."
"Her wand alignment screams midlife crisis."
"Is that a floating kettle or a failed experiment?"
Elara hissed under her breath, "Would you please stop?"
"I'm merely observing. It's called analysis."
"Your analysis is going to get us banned from another department."
Cael walked a few paces ahead, hands clasped behind his back. "Miss Mirefield, perhaps you should consider a silencing charm."
Thorn's feathers bristled. "I heard that."
"I intended you to."
By the time they reached the Hall, Elara was convinced the day had already lasted a week. The registrar from before gave her a look that could curdle milk.
"Back again?" the woman said. "What is it this time—sentient pastries, talking mirrors, or another romantic catastrophe?"
Elara forced a smile. "Just a new familiar registration!"
The registrar eyed Thorn skeptically. "Species?"
"Unique," Thorn said smugly.
"Temperament?"
"Superior."
"Threat level?"
"Emotional or physical?"
The registrar's quill hovered midair. "Oh, we're going to have fun with this one."
Cael intervened before sarcasm became bloodshed. "Simply mark it as 'experimental classification pending.' We'll handle the follow-up review."
"Of course you will," the registrar muttered, stamping the form. "Room twelve, again."
Elara groaned. "Of course."
Back in Cael's office, Thorn settled on the windowsill, cleaning his feathers. Cael placed a stack of documents on his desk with the precision of a man assembling an argument against destiny.
"Miss Mirefield," he began, "explain, in detail, how you accidentally summoned a familiar."
Elara fidgeted. "It was… technically an energy stabilization attempt. The spell fragments from yesterday started pulsing again, and I thought, maybe if I directed the feedback through a containment circle, I could—"
"—redirect emotional resonance through a living conduit," Cael finished, eyes narrowing. "A familiar."
She nodded meekly. "It worked. Sort of."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "You've managed to combine three unauthorized practices in less than forty-eight hours."
Thorn yawned. "You should be impressed. That's efficiency."
"I'm reconsidering the concept of progress," Cael muttered.
Still, despite his exasperation, he leaned forward, inspecting Thorn with professional curiosity. "What are your abilities?"
Thorn preened. "Flight, observation, sarcasm, and emotional reading."
"Elara doesn't need help with the last one," Cael said without looking up.
Elara's cheeks flushed. "Excuse me?"
"You externalize emotions with remarkable clarity."
"That's a fancy way of saying I talk too much."
"Precisely."
Thorn snorted. "And you repress emotions with remarkable consistency."
Cael gave the creature a frosty look. "I see you've adapted quickly to her level of insubordination."
"I bond fast," Thorn said.
Elara rubbed her temples. "Can we please not start a philosophical debate about feelings before breakfast?"
"Breakfast is a mortal construct," Thorn declared.
"Wonderful," Cael said flatly. "We've summoned a nihilist pigeon."
That earned him a glare and a defensive flutter of feathers.
---
Despite the absurdity, the trio made progress through the morning. Cael studied the crystal fragments, Elara recorded magical fluctuations, and Thorn alternated between criticizing their handwriting and rearranging the ink bottles into precise circles.
By midday, something peculiar happened.
The fragments began to hum—not chaotic this time, but steady, resonant. A faint glow spread across the desk. Cael and Elara both leaned closer.
"Is it stabilizing?" she asked.
He nodded slowly. "It's syncing with your emotional frequency."
Thorn cocked his head. "In simple terms?"
"She's becoming the anchor," Cael said. "The spell recognizes her as its source and is aligning to her energy."
Elara's heart leapt. "So I can fix it!"
"Possibly," Cael said, though a small smile threatened the corner of his mouth. "If you don't explode first."
"That's comforting."
But even he couldn't entirely mask the spark of intrigue in his eyes. Together, they watched the glow intensify until it condensed into a single rune hovering above the fragments.
Elara tilted her head. "What does it mean?"
Cael leaned forward. "Completion. The spell's acknowledging a final sequence."
"Then let's finish it!"
"Carefully," he warned.
She raised her hand, channeling focus into the rune. The air thickened, humming like an instrument string. Light swirled—first pink, then white. For a fleeting moment, everything felt perfectly balanced.
Then Thorn sneezed.
The rune popped like a soap bubble.
Energy rippled outward in a wave that knocked over the ink bottles, scattered papers, and sent Cael's quill spinning into the ceiling.
Elara staggered. "Thorn!"
"Not my fault!" the creature protested, shaking out his feathers. "There was dust!"
Cael closed his eyes and took a deep, measured breath. "Miss Mirefield," he said quietly, "your familiar is allergic to magic."
Elara winced. "That's… unfortunate."
"It's catastrophic."
Thorn puffed up indignantly. "I am not allergic. I am merely reactive."
"Reactive?" Cael repeated.
"I sneeze when magic misbehaves."
"Then we're doomed," Elara said.
"Likely," Cael agreed.
The office was a disaster zone by the time they recovered. Papers floated in midair, still carrying residual enchantments. The affection charm fragments pulsed faintly, flickering like mischievous fireflies.
"Maybe," Elara said, brushing glitter off her sleeve, "we could channel Thorn's… reactions. Use them to release the excess energy safely."
Cael paused. "Weaponized sneezing."
"It's creative!"
"It's absurd."
"It's both!"
Thorn preened smugly. "I'm flattered."
Cael exhaled in defeat. "Fine. But if this results in another magical explosion, I'm sending the incident report directly to the High Council."
---
They set up the experiment in the courtyard again, the same one where heart-shaped bubbles had once floated like laughter. This time, containment circles surrounded the rune fragments, and Thorn stood at the center, feathers ruffled but proud.
Cael monitored the readings with meticulous precision. "On my signal, Miss Mirefield. Focus only on emotional neutrality."
Elara nodded, though her stomach fluttered nervously. She glanced at Thorn. "Ready?"
"Born ready. Possibly."
Cael lifted his hand. "Begin."
Elara closed her eyes, channeling energy toward the fragments. The glow intensified, swirling around Thorn like ribbons of light. For a moment, it seemed to work—until Thorn sniffled.
"Don't you dare," Elara whispered.
"I can't—help—it—"
He sneezed.
This time, the burst of magic didn't explode—it shimmered outward in a gentle wave, rippling across the courtyard like wind over water. The heart-shaped bubbles that had once haunted them rose again, but now they were clear, crystalline, and silent.
The rune stabilized above Thorn's head, shining bright gold before dissolving into nothing.
Elara blinked. "Did it… work?"
Cael stared at the now-dormant fragments. "It worked."
Thorn looked smug. "You're welcome."
Elara whooped and threw her arms in the air. "We did it!"
Cael actually smiled—a real, unguarded one this time. "It seems your chaos has some utility after all."
She beamed at him. "Admit it—you're impressed."
"I'm… cautiously optimistic."
"That's practically a compliment from you."
"It's the highest you'll get."
Thorn hopped onto her shoulder. "So, what now?"
"Now," Cael said, "I file my report, you complete your probationary term, and hopefully no one ever enchants anyone again by accident."
Elara grinned. "That sounds boring."
He gave her a sidelong look. "Boring is good."
"Boring's never magic."
He sighed, but the corners of his mouth twitched. "You're going to be the end of me, Miss Mirefield."
"Then at least it'll be entertaining."
---
Later that night, when the Hall was silent and even the quills had stopped fluttering, Cael sat alone in his office. The fragments now rested safely sealed in a crystal box, their light gone. He should have felt relief. Instead, he found himself glancing toward the door, half-expecting her to burst in with another crisis.
He caught himself smiling again.
"Spell Request Pending," he murmured, reading the stamped form still pinned to his desk. Somehow, it felt like more than paperwork now.
Out in the city, under a crescent moon, Elara walked home with Thorn perched proudly on her shoulder. The streets glowed with lanterns, laughter spilling from the late-night taverns.
"Admit it," Thorn said smugly. "You're growing on him."
Elara smiled softly. "Maybe. Or maybe
he's just learning that magic isn't supposed to be perfect."
Thorn tilted his head. "And you?"
She looked up at the stars. "Maybe I'm learning the same."
Behind them, unnoticed, one of the crystalline bubbles drifted after them through the night, glinting faintly before vanishing into the wind.
End of Chapter 3