Page 23 of Spirit Storm

"So, transfiguration could be on the table."

"Likely not. You’re a guardian angel."

"But you don't know."

"We don't know," I admit, interrupting.

“Thanks, P.” Asher waggles his brow. "Now, come on. I want to try out that door knocker. Did you see that thing?”

CHAPTER SIX

The door knocker is an iron grotesque with the hanging ring locked to the little demon’s ears and the ball of the knocker hanging just below its elongated upper lip. The moment Asher reaches for it, the thing comes to life and tries to bite his fingers.

Asher screams like a teenage girl in a slasher movie, and both Wylder and I crack up. We’re still doubled over laughing when Mica opens the door and finds us.

Mica has her turquoise hair tied back in a knot and held in place with what I’m pretty sure is a forge pin. Her arms are bare, a heavy apron hanging over her sleeveless shirt. “What are you guys cackling about out here?”

“Who knew knockers could be so aggressive?”

Mica’s mouth falls open, then shuts as if she’s just not sure how to answer that.

I pull myself together and wipe the tears from my eyes. “Sorry to disturb the peace, but that was too funny.”

She studies us for a moment, and then casts a wary glance over the academy grounds behind us. “Come inside.”

The smell hits us first. The tang of molten metal, woodsmoke, and something magical fills the air and sits at the back of my throat.

The front foyer of the forge castle is flanked by a room left and right, and straight on, there is a stone wall with a closed door.

In front of the door, sits a smoke-gray Persian with fur dusted in ash and eyes the color of old amber. His tail, singed with a bald patch at the tip, lashes once as it takes us in.

“Hello, Brimstone.” I give the Guardian of the Cinderheart Crucible a respectful nod.

“You remembered.”

“I did. You make an impression.”

His tail flicks, but I’m not sure if it’s in annoyance or just out of habit. “We’re in the middle of a lesson. Why have you interrupted us?”

Okay, so definitely annoyance.

“We wanted to check on Mica’s well-being and to see if she needed anything from us.”

The cat blinks at me. “And what do you think you have that would be of help to an apprentice of an ancient forge during her days of training?”

“Uh… well, when you say it like that…”

Mica scoffs. “Such a grumpy puss. Seriously, Brimstone, all work and no play makes Mica a miserable woman. Give me five minutes and I’ll be firing things up like a boss.”

The cat’s amber eyes narrow on her. “Promises, promises.”

With a twist of his body and a dismissive flick of his tail, the cat steps through the now-open door, and leaves us.

“Tough crowd,” Asher says.

“You have no idea.” Mica chuckles and waves for us to follow her through the door and into the forge area.

Smoke moves in slow coils near the ceiling, and the forge itself blazes at the far end of the space. It glows with a deep arterial orange that throws long shadows across the stone floor.