A Thorn in the Side of Evil

My fingers, still a little shaky from the whole “rekindled magic” situation, twitched. It felt like I’d just woken up from a very long, very grumpy nap, and the world was still a bit blurry around the edges. Lily, bless her relentlessly optimistic heart, was practically vibrating with excitement next to me. “Amy, look! The brambles are actually… *moving*!”

I squinted. She was right. The thorny vines, which had been looking more like sad, forgotten spaghetti for weeks, were starting to writhe, like a grumpy cat stretching after a particularly uncomfortable slumber. It wasn’t the majestic, terrifying surge of power I remembered, more like a mild case of indigestion. But it was a start. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Lily. They’re just clearing their throats.”

The air, which had been thick with the cloying scent of decay and despair, was beginning to shift. A faint, earthy aroma, tinged with the sharp sweetness of pine needles, started to push back against the gloom. It was the smell of Blackwood, my Blackwood, waking up. My magic, still a bit like a sputtering candle, was coaxing the brambles, urging them to remember their purpose. Their purpose, of course, was to be spectacularly thorny and generally inconvenient to anyone with ill intent.