In the week that followed, Autumn found herself waiting anxiously for any word from Oliver. She could feel the tension in Zoya, who had started to break mugs at the shop with a regularity that suggested both a barely-contained fury and a ridiculously strong grip. Lizzie might have been counselling mercy for whoever it was that had placed the spell on Cas, but, looking at Zoya, Autumn felt that, if they found the culprit, there wasn’t going to be much time for a truth and reconciliation commission.
Now she was at the regular Friday evening net session, standing at the wicket, finding the pads on her legs incredibly constraining, trying to adapt her body to the unusual posture required for batting. She was having a hard time remembering to breathe. Compared to this, casting spells was easy.
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