Spell Sweeper by Lee Edward Fodi

Author:Lee Edward Fodi
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2021-09-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

And the Winner of This Year’s Wizard Games Is . . . No One

I RACE OUT OF THE library—I have to fetch my spell sweeping gear to clean up the slime, but, more importantly, I want to see if I can catch Harlee.

I nearly plow right into her, charging from the opposite direction.

She skids to a halt. “Did you hear that? It came from the library—didn’t it? Who’s in there?”

I should be the one interrogating her, but Harlee has the sort of voice that compels you to answer. It’s probably sorcery. “Just Zuki. And Miss Epigraph, of cour—”

“Did you do something?” Harlee asks accusingly. “Experiment with something you shouldn’t have?”

“What? Because I’m a MOP?”

“Because you’re a novice wizard,” she says. “Maybe you—”

“Me?” I cry. “What did you do?!”

Harlee suddenly slumps against the wall and slides to the floor with her eyes closed. It’s only now that I notice the beads of sweat rolling down the sides of her forehead. It’s not how I’m used to seeing her, and I have to admit that it’s strange that she was running toward the scene of the crime instead of away from it. Still, Harlee’s clever. Maybe this is all part of the ploy.

“What do you think I did?” she murmurs after a moment, her eyes still shut.

“Someone robbed the library,” I tell her, watching her carefully.

Harlee’s eyes fly open. “What did they take?”

“Riva’s stuff. Like you don’t—”

“Come on; I want to see,” she says, climbing ponderously to her feet.

“Actually,” I say, “I have to get my gear. The place needs purging. There’s a mess in there.”

“There’s a mess everywhere,” Harlee says, gesturing to the nearby window.

One glance outside makes me rush through the nearest door and into the school’s main courtyard, where the tournament is being held. Correction: was being held. Because it turns out that everyone experienced that wave of nausea and confusion.

The courtyard looks like a battlefield—after the battle is over, and in this case it’s clear that the losing side was Dragonsong Academy. I’m not sure who the victor was, but it’s pretty evident that no one will be awarded a trophy for this year’s Games.

Students and teachers are slowly picking themselves up off the ground, groaning and mumbling, rubbing their foreheads or the backs of their necks. Familiars are still wandering, fluttering, or slithering in circles, bumping into things, like someone slipped mugroot ale into their feed bowls. The rain is still misting, but the courtyard lights are blazing brightly, revealing a scene of misery. Everything has been trampled; there’s not a table, a signpost, or a chair left standing. Even some of the windows in the surrounding buildings have been shattered. I spot Gusto nearby, tending to Yuna, who has one of her knee-high socks rolled down. It looks like a familiar nipped her because a trickle of blood is leaking from her shin.

“All the familiars went hysterical,” Harlee says, appearing behind me.

I flash her a suspicious glare. “And you don’t happen to have one, do you? Interesting.

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