On top of me was a magentic purple sky, yellow stars that looked fake at times, and lush pinkish-lavender clouds.
Mu. The flying archipelago—home to many different kinds of beings. My home.
"Come on, I hardly did anything," I argued, my hand subconsciously clenching tighter onto my broom as one of the air-traffic cops stopped me.
Again.
Fifth time this week.
"You can't stop me. I'm an official officer too," I told Rowardo, who for the past few weeks had been diligent in his work.
He hardly looked up at me
before continuing to write me a ticket.
"Still breaking the law, Miss Nelson," he scoffed, repeating the same words he'd been policing me with.
"Come on, we work in the same building." He handed me the note.
Taking a look, my eyes almost fell out.
"Eight hundred and fifty ner'ōs?! Are you crazy?!"
I raised my voice slightly higher than normal, not enough to be considered full-on shouting.
He raised an eyebrow at me, tapping his pen on the edge of the notebook.
Last time I yelled my complaints, I ended up leaving with double the price.
"Problem?"
I wanted to smack this old bastard.
"Yeah, stop fining me double the average ticket, sir!"
My voice sounded almost mocking in that last bit as he put his pen and notebook back into his pocket.
"You're on thin ice, Miss Nelson."
He didn't really sound like he meant it.
I should consider flying in flight zones more often.
"Thin ice, my ass. I'll make a complaint," I warned him like every other day.
A promise that never really gets fulfilled.
"Good. Oh—and Nelson?" he said right before he turned his own broom to fly down to Mu.
"Uhmm?"
"I heard you'll be teaching at Alker Academy. My daughter goes there," he said proudly.
"Ah. Guess I know who to give bad grades to," I said, and before he could say anything about it, I flew off again, hearing him shout, "Hey!" behind me as I flew into the purple sky.
This time, I actually made a point not to stand up, even though flying while standing felt far better—especially when you stood on the stick of the broom and let your hair out before launching down, free-falling without steering.
Then, at the last minute, pulling the broom just enough as you're about to hit the floor—gliding over it.
The thrill of it all.
Too bad it's illegal to do that here in Mu.
With the speed and push-and-pull of the maneuver, it was Rowardo's worst nightmare. One he wouldn't see, considering most broom races happened on Earth.
I had won a few races here and there over the past three consecutive years.
With the added consequence of being fined whenever that happened.
"Rowardo can go suck it!" I yelled to myself above the candy clouds, subtly turning my wrist to the left—nearly a hand's movement, like a nerve twitching—and my broom turned with it.
Behind a giant purplish-pink cloud was Cardamom, a single small island with the Cardamom Guild's building on it: a magnificent white-stone structure with blue rooftops and pillars all around.
It was nothing compared to Queen Luna's palace, but it was still magnificent.
I slightly moved a muscle in my left leg, like stepping on imaginary gas that wasn't there, going faster to get there.
Avoiding the clouds. For all their softness, they weren't real clouds.
The first time I slammed into one of them, it took me three showers to fully get rid of the strawberry-cotton-candy smell. I remember it felt like hitting brand-new delicate pillows stacked over a soft mattress.
Click—that was the sound my heels made as I jumped off the broom.
A pentagon-circle of sparking baby-blue light appeared over it, detransforming it back into a dangling golden earring; the broom was now a miniature version of what it had been seconds ago.
Soft light hit my jaw as it made a shimmering noise, hooking back to my ear.
"Flora?" I questioned as I walked into the building. My heels seemed to be the only things making any sound today.
Usually, small pixies and fairies ran about, flying left to right, here and there, with nowhere to stand still for even two seconds without ducking and avoiding them.
Continuing further into the familiar hallway, the echo of my heels mingled with paintings of the previous guild management sprawled across the walls. I don't think anyone paid attention to them.
"Flora?" I tried again. This level of silence and emptiness was unusual. And, as if on cue, I heard the sound of a tiny bell ringing—but before I could move, I slammed into a flying fairy.
Without thinking, my hand shot up flat, letting the thump-sized little creature land on it before it could hit the floor.
"Oh, dear! Oh dear, sorry," it apologized in a tiny bell-like voice, sitting up carefully on my palm. Its wings slumped down
"No, it's my fault. Are you okay?" I asked, restraining myself from poking the little thing.
It nodded, its clear wings lifting to fly again.
"Oh, have you seen Flora?" I asked, lifting my hand to give her a gentle push before letting it fall to my side.
"Yes, she's in the moderation room, Miss Nelson. —Might I also remind you, again, that entering through the balcony is highly forbidden?" the little lady began.
Like always, I just nodded, as if I'd really fly all around to get in when balconies and windows were open.
"Yes, yes. A million times, actually," I said, lifting my hand in defense as I scooted past her. "Sorry again, Plum," I added, hearing her huff and fly away, bell ringing.
I made my way to the moderation room, and, as Plum said, Flora was there—on top of her broom, on the 13th shelf of the book wall.
"Good morrow," I said, but she hardly acknowledged me, only giving a soft 'hmm' and continuing her search.
I closed the door behind me, leaving it open just an inch for my little friend to come in.
Looking around, I noticed that books and papers were surprisingly nowhere to be found today.
Some of the other fairies were sitting together at a table. Heidi, an older fairy—well, middle-finger tall—was teaching them something.
She certainly had their attention.
"Entering from the balcony is forbidden. Mira, how many times do I have to tell you?" Flora said, sounding almost exasperated at the thought of repeating herself.
Her long blonde hair moved like silk behind her, and her intricate witch's hat rested gently on her head. A blue crystal gem dangled from it without touching anything.
It was the highest rank, given only to witches who had passed a certain state of magic. And I couldn't even get my hat at nineteen.
"I… sorry?" I said sheepishly. She looked up at me, gently coming off her broom, not even making a sound like I had.
Her eyebrow raised at me, asking if I really meant it. —I didn't. We both knew I didn't.
"Ah, of course," she said, taking a piece of blank paper out for me, already knowing what I came for.
"I heard you'll be teaching at Alker Academy? Didn't know their standard had dropped," she continued, her words harsh but without ill intent. That much I had learned while being around her.
"No need to sound so excited, Flora. And how did you all find out already? It happened less than an hour ago," I said, moving my hands around to check for any tracking spells she could possibly have on me.
She wasn't above doing that.
"Kim posted it," she simply said, her tone matter-of-fact. I should have honestly known.
"You follow Kim's blog?" My brows furrowed together as I moved toward her desk, where she pulled out a bottle of black ink and a sharpened stick to use as a pen.
"That's your main concern?"
Yeah, that was my main concern—how many people were about to see me fail?!
She drew a half-circle with seven threes above and below it, and some eights as well. Her hand moved fast.
"You'll be fine," she said, as if trying to cheer me up. But with that horribly calm voice, I doubted it.
" Next year, I'll be a teacher in Álfheim. With elves! …I could see my reputation getting ruined," I complained to Flora of all people—the woman known for not listening or caring about people's problems unless money was involved.
Her eyes stayed on the circle she was drawing, now adding a pentagon in the middle and writing the name "New Bethlehem" on it, clearly ready to send me away.
"Are you listening to me?" I asked. But she just started folding the paper—once, twice, thrice—before tearing it down the middle, muttering something as the piece of paper gently landed on the floor and a burst of light blue formed a portable portal.
"You'll be fine," she repeated, this time her voice was more encouraging than before.
"You're just saying that," I told her, my back to her as my heel clicked against the marble floor.
"I know," she said simply, as the portal closed behind me.