Rose had barely dusted herself off from her impromptu crash-landing when a parchment bird swooped down and smacked her in the face.
She peeled it off, unfolded its wings, and read aloud:
"Urgent assignment: Custodial Spellwork Rotation. Report to the East Broom Closet immediately. Failure to comply will result in mandatory frog duty."
It was signed in glittering green ink by the Department of Scheduling, which she suspected was actually a goblin with a clipboard and a grudge.
Nimbus looked horrified. "They're sending you to the closets? That's practically a death sentence."
"It's just a closet," Rose said, but with considerably less confidence than she meant to.
The East Broom Closet was hidden behind a tapestry that smelled like damp regret and mildew. Rose tugged it aside to reveal a wooden door that whispered, "Don't say I didn't warn you…" as it creaked open.
Inside, dozens of brooms leaned against the walls, twitching like they were waiting for orders. Buckets floated overhead, dripping mysterious fluids. A mop in the corner blinked at her. There was absolutely no space for a person to exist comfortably.
A small gnome wearing thick goggles and a nametag that read "JANITORIAL OVERSEER: RUGGRIT" popped into view.
"You're the new assignment, then?" Ruggrit asked, squinting. "Wand discipline trouble?"
"Not exactly," Rose said. "More like... overenthusiastic conjuring."
The gnome grunted. "Same thing."
He handed her a chalk stick and pointed to a glowing circle etched into the floor. "Draw a containment rune. Any mistake, and the brooms start a mutiny."
Rose knelt and began drawing carefully, recalling Glimwort's rant about 'negotiating with magic like it's a caffeinated raccoon.' The rune pulsed faintly when she finished, and the brooms stilled.
Ruggrit raised an eyebrow. "Not bad. Most newbies summon a cleaning elemental or awaken the mop king."
The mop in the corner hissed.
"Don't tempt fate," Rose muttered, backing away slowly.
Then a single broom—taller than the rest, with a handle made of charred bone—tipped forward and let out a shriek. The others followed. In seconds, she was surrounded by a cyclone of rebellious cleaning supplies.
Rose raised her wand. "Nimbus, cover me!"
Nimbus zipped into the air and sparked dramatically. "Let it be known: we do not go down to animated janitorial tools!"
Rose muttered a spell—half-formed, half-hoped. Her wand flared and a shimmering bubble formed around her. It pulsed out with a sharp pop, stunning the brooms into silence.
One fell flat with a disappointed thunk.
Ruggrit blinked. "Huh. You pacified them with a resonance wave. Nobody's done that since the soap uprising of '82."
Rose beamed, just a little. "I improvise well under pressure."
The mop king slithered back into the shadows, grumbling.
"Get out while they're still stunned," Ruggrit advised. "The next rotation won't be so merciful."
As Rose exited the closet and slammed the door behind her, she turned to Nimbus and said, "You know, for a witch who woke up on fire yesterday, I think I'm doing pretty well."
Nimbus grumbled. "Let's just never clean again."