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Broom in hand, I stood before my open bedroom window. I could feel the magic weakening. That's the issue with a source you don't control. You can only tap it to a certain point before you hit the bottom of the blood bag.
"Just don't quit on me until after I get into my ritual room," I whispered to the broom.
I stepped on and the broom started to lift. It was such a strange feeling to be riding again. I remember my very first broom. I mean, sure our family flew around quite a bit when I was young. But for my ninth solstice, I had gotten my own. The freedom! That first time taking off across the sky without anyone telling me to slow down. The races with friends! The late-night escapes after a bit of mischief! That first love.
It all came back.
I hadn't realized how much I had missed it.
It made the cost of keeping the magic flowing seem like something worth any price.
I kicked off and we floated out into the night. I wanted to whoop and holler and soar and do loop de loops against the moon, but I reminded myself the magic wouldn't last forever. I needed to keep my eyes on the prize.
I turned the handle toward the window of my ritual room. The panes were filthy and the room inside was dark. I felt along the edges, ignoring the strong, but not unbearable, zaps. Those who sealed up my workshop had done it from the inside. The outside was starting to show some weakness from the elements. I pulled out a plastic knife a friend had stolen from a café the last time she was on Earth. To think that the people there thought these utensils were disposable... They conducted nothing and were the perfect insulator for a job like this. I shoved the knife through the crack and lifted the latch.
The broom bucked beneath me. "Steady, ol' Broomie," I whispered as I continued to work.
I crammed my fingers into the space between the ledge and the panes, and pulled the windows open. They opened with a "pop" as the magical seal snapped.
I leaned forward and the broom took me inside, dumping me on the ground as its power ran down. It jerked itself upright to prove it wasn't out of the fight, but I could see it was going to need a recharge soon.
"Good ol' Broomie," I praised as I picked myself up. Everything was just as I left it. Sure, it was a little dustier and could use a good cleaning, but now that I had some magic back, that wouldn't be such a problem. I walked around the room, running my hands over the old bottles holding the herbs and potions I had collected since I was a student. Every yellowed, handwritten label brought back a memory.
And, oh! My cauldron hanging over the empty hearth! There was a spider web across the top and a few spots threatening to rust, but I could have kissed it. How had I let those people take this away from me? How had I allowed myself to be a victim of their rules?
I flung my arms around it like greeting an old friend, the cast iron cold against my skin. I felt the broom sweep up next to me and lean its long handle against my side to get in on the group hug.
"We're never going to let people do this to us again," I promised, planting a little kiss on the tip of the broom. "Never again, my pretties."