Chapter Twenty-Six: The Good Witch of the North?

The air crackled with an eerie stillness as the world around me succumbed to an icy paralysis. Just as my fingers were a breath away from the welcoming grasp of Esme's hand, time itself halted, imprisoning everyone in their exact positions like figures in a wax museum. My head swiveled, taking in the tableau of suspended figures when, amidst the silence, her laughter pierced the stillness. Linda had apparated with a mischievous twinkle, reveling in the chaos of our predicament.

Arms folded across my chest, my annoyance bubbled into words, thinly veiled with playful reprimand. "Linda! What in the heavens took you so long?" My voice carried a mock severity yet betrayed by the hint of a smile struggling at the edges of my lips.

With her characteristic impish grin, she ushered my friends toward their cars. Brock, sober and clear-headed, was promptly assigned to the role of driver in his own vehicle. Beside him, Grayson was settled into the role of navigator on the passenger si