She scratches a glowing circle in the dirt. It shimmers.
Luz grabs Willow’s hand.
Eda chuckles, ruffles Luz’s hair.
She draws three more glyphs on her arms, her notebook pages flapping. Fire. Ice. A vine.
LUZ It’s not a spell. It’s a language.
A fight erupts. Luz hides behind a rock. She sees Willow and Gus sneaking around the back.
She launches a ball of purple fire at the guards, creating a smokescreen.
LUZ I’m Luz. And I’ve read enough books to know: when a weird girl gets in trouble for magic, you don’t run away. You run toward.