Epilogue Cendi
ONE YEAR LATER
The last time I’d seen the courtyard this full, it involved an accidental gnome migration and the resulting paperwork. At least on godmother graduation day, the benches overflowed with happy people, not tiny herbivores desperate to destroy the hydrangeas.
We’d hung enough streamers to trip a centaur. Ward-orbs hummed above the towers, glassy and solid. There wasn’t a hint of magical trouble. Even the clouds looked like they’d been told to behave.
Rows of benches jammed the lawn, sagging under the weight of, well, everyone.
Families dressed in every shade from “barely managed to button the shirt” to “fashion is pain, pass the glitter.” Faculty in full regalia, some already inventing reasons to hover near the cookies.
Friends waving from clusters, like islands of inside jokes.
The littlest students from the other side of the academy zigzagged along the front, swinging homemade signs bigger than their heads: “Go Jessie!” “Ms. Ault is our Hero!” “Jaylyn is Magic!” I spotted at least one “#TeamRobbie.”
At the far edge, Ms. Maple hovered near the start of the aisle, wringing her hands and looking like she might vaporize from pride and nerves. Her hair had staged a small rebellion, half of it worming loose from the bun on the back of her head. She beamed at everyone and no one, cheeks bright pink.
The dais groaned under the dignitaries, but the real story landed in two spots.
Freddie standing beside Mr. Vanderflit, and the Headmaster, John, conferring with Headmistress Beth about order of ceremonies.
I never imagined Freddie would get out of a stasis field and launch straight into “most popular staff member” status, but after the past year, nothing surprised me.
Maybe I should have put money on the fact that Jessie, now officially a full teacher, looked more at home in her robes than I ever would in a business suit. She stood at the podium, shoulders back, wand polished to a shine, beaming at the sea of faces.
I would have paid cash for a stiff breeze. My knees wobbled just thinking about walking across the stage. At least I didn’t have to go first.
John pushed up to the microphone, gaze sweeping the crowd with the perfect mix of warm grandpa and head honcho.
“Today, we graduate class seventy-eight,” he began, “with the highest pass rate in two decades, and more wild hallway pranks than any year on record.” Laughter rolled across the benches, loud and genuine.
Beth, standing to the side like a favorite aunt who’d seen it all, took over.
“What we honor is not perfection or bravado. We honor the craft, the kindness, and the steady hands that turn magic from showbiz to service. Today’s graduates have patched, rescued, studied, and most importantly lifted each other when nobody was watching. ”
She paused. “And if you noticed the cookie tray refilling itself, you have Ms. Maple to thank. And the baking club, who may have used the staff oven without written permission.”
I grinned. Maple’s blush deepened. Behind her, a cookie appeared in the tray.
The speeches stayed short. No one lost focus. Which, with this crowd, was an achievement worth a newsletter headline.
Jessie stepped up, pages in hand, confident in a way that made me proud just watching her. The teacher’s robes fit her, and so did the responsibility. She didn’t clear her throat or tap the mic. She just raised her chin and started calling names.
First from our trio. Jaylyn with hunched shoulders, hands tight, trying not to cry. She gave up as soon as Jessie called her name. Full tears down both cheeks. You had to love the honesty. She crossed to the dais and took her diploma.
Robbie’s turn next. He squeezed my hand, steady, no dramatics, as if managing a hardware store full of angry customers. When Jessie called him, the cheers went up, with my voice maybe the loudest.
Robbie took his ribboned diploma from Beth and bowed.
Then, finally, me.
I stepped up, every cell in my body screaming that this was a dream sequence. The bunting. The orbs. Jessie’s proud smile behind the podium. The crowd going misty. For three seconds, I stared at the stage, unable to move.
Then I found Emily in the crowd. I’d finally been allowed to tell her everything. She’d taken it like a champ and immediately wanted to know when she could be a godmother.
Front row, right in the sunshine, hair loose and shining, eyes wide. She had her phone up, and she was both crying and laughing. Sob-laughing. Big, messy, and beautiful.
Something inside me clicked into place.
I belonged here. I belonged with the magic and the rules and even the accidental honeysuckle explosions. But more than that, I belonged out there, too. Among the students, the friends, the real world. A Godmother.
I walked the steps, heart steady, and met Jessie’s gaze. She waited with a small, quiet smile, the kind that said she saw more than she let on.
“Cendi Ault,” she announced. “Godmother, gardener, and fixer of things most people never notice.”
Jessie placed the ribboned diploma across my palms. The moment had weight, and warmth, and strangely no panic at all.
It was just right.