Chapter 6 THE INSPECTION RULES

The inspection rules arrived by owl at 5:00 AM.

I know it was 5:00 AM because Rowan was sleeping directly on my face, which is how he has decided to wake me up every morning since the sardine incident. His tail was in my mouth.

Peck peck peck at the window. I tried to sit up. Rowan did not move. He is fourteen pounds of silver judgment.

The owl was not a normal owl. It was an Agency owl, which means it wore a tiny tie and looked disappointed in me before I even opened the letter. Its feathers were perfectly combed.

I opened it. Rowan finally moved off my face to sit on the letter, because of course he did. If there is important paper, he must sit on it. It's familiar law.

BRAMBLE HOLLOW FAMILIAR & HEARTH AGENCY

Final Bonding Inspection — Cottage 7B

Witch: Virelle Mabel Dusk (Provisional, Tier-4, At-Risk)

Familiar: Silver — Discount Bin #9 (Unclassified)

Congratulations on your provisional placement! Your Final Bonding Inspection will occur in 22 days.

You will be judged on 5 Pillars. Failure in 2 or more = Cottage Repossession & Familiar Return & Witch Relocation to Dorms.

And then the five pillars, written in that horrible official ink that smells like anxiety and old tea:

PILLAR 1: THE HEARTH SAYS HELLO

Your hearth must produce a sustained warm greeting (minimum 10 seconds of gold light + audible purr) when you enter together. Current Status: MEH (Failing). Note: Saying "meh" does not count as hello, Virelle.

They wrote my name in the note. The hearth is that famous for being rude.

PILLAR 2: THE FAMILIAR OBEYS

Your familiar must come when called, sit when told, and show affection on command in front of inspectors. Current Status: UNTESTED (Familiar ate test form last year). Liana told me that was actually Rowan. That he ate three inspectors' clipboards.

PILLAR 3: THE COTTAGE SAYS HELLO

Your cottage must show signs of recognition and warmth. Doors must open without force. Windows must not weep condensation that spells "help me". Current Status: SILENT (Failing). Cottage 7B has not said hello in 4 years.

Four years. Since Grandma died.

PILLAR 4: SHARED MAGIC

You must demonstrate one shared spell. Witch + Familiar power combined. Fire, light, growth, anything Tier-2 or above. Current Status: NO MAGIC DETECTED. Virelle, you scored 2/100 on your last spark test.

Thanks for the reminder.

PILLAR 5: THE BOND IS TRUE

Inspectors will use a Truth Vine. If your bond is fake, forced, or transactional, the vine will wither. If it blooms, you pass. Current Status: PENDING. Truth Vines are allergic to liars.

I read it three times. Rowan read it by sitting on it and kneading it with his claws, leaving tiny holes in PILLAR 5.

"We are failing four and a half pillars," I whispered. "The half is because you come when I have sardines, but that's not obedience, that's bribery. And bribery won't bloom a vine."

Rowan looked at the letter, then at me, then bit the corner of PILLAR 2 and dragged it under the bed.

"No! We need that! That's our death sentence, we need to memorize our death sentence!"

I chased him. Under my bed is where all lost things go — socks, spoons, my self-esteem, and now official Agency documents. He was lying on the inspection rules like a dragon on gold, purring.

"Rowan, this is serious! If we fail, they take you back to the discount bin! They take the cottage! I go back to the dorms where Liana will laugh at me for the rest of my life and make me clean her cauldron!"

He blinked. Slow. Unbothered. Like he had heard this threat before. Many times.

Then he did something new. He stood up, walked out from under the bed, jumped onto my desk, and knocked my grandmother's journal open to a page I had never seen. It fell open like it wanted to be found.

It was not her handwriting. It was sharper. Angrier. Written in silver ink that shimmered.

Inspection rules are lies. They want you to perform. Real bonds don't perform. Real bonds just ARE. Don't dance for them. — R

R? Rowan? My Rowan?

I looked at the cat. The cat looked at the journal. His tail was perfectly still.

"Did you... did you write this?" I whispered.

Mrow.

Of course not. He's just a cat. Cats don't write. Except familiars do. Except Tier-1 familiars do. The ones who have been with witches for decades and learn to write to warn them.

Mr. Finch said Rowan was unclassified. Not Tier-1. Discount bin. Seven years in a cage because no one wanted him.

But that R...

I touched the moon collar around his neck. It was cold. It had never been cold before. It was always warm, always humming.

"Have you... have you been inspected before?" I asked softly.

For a second, just a second, his blue eyes looked so tired. So old. Not like a three-year-old cat. Like something that had been in a bin for seven years watching witches fail and get sent away. Like something that had been left.

He sneezed. Achoo! No sparkles this time. Just sad. Small.

I picked him up. He let me, which means he was really sad, because he normally bites me when I pick him up without permission.

"We'll figure out the pillars," I whispered into his fur, which smelled like sardines and dust and something like winter. "We'll make the hearth say more than meh. We'll make the cottage say hello. We'll fake the rest if we have to."

The cottage, at that exact moment, creaked loudly. Like it heard me say fake. The floorboard Rowan had marked yesterday glowed gold again, angry.

The hearthstone puffed a tiny smoke word that hung in the air longer than usual:

...don't

Don't fake?

Or don't bother?

Rowan purred, and for the first time since he arrived, he licked my cheek. Quick, rough, like we've got this, stupid witch.

The Agency owl was still at the window, watching us with its tiny tie, judging. I flipped it off. It gasped — actual gasp — and flew away, dropping a single feather that said RUDE on it.

22 days.

We can do 5 impossible things in 22 days. Right?

Rowan sneezed on the inspection letter and finally, finally, the paper glowed gold for one second.

PILLAR 2 flickered to ...maybe.