full of brooms, all shapes and sizes, hanging beneath a shelf: modern plastic ones, well-worn straw brooms and behind them, the willow besoms. Katia frowned at the archaic contraptions. None appeared suitable for sweeping or flying. She reached for the plastic broom — and the door slammed shut.

She screamed. Then felt ridiculous. “Wind. Just the wind.”

She tried the door. It didn’t budge.

“Hello? Skarn? Iggy? Finn? Anybody?”

She heard the desperation in her voice. No one was coming. She’d have to find her own way out. She took a deep breath and began fumbling around in the dim light from the crack under the door. She tripped over a bucket, stubbing her toe. “Oww!” she howled. Pain sparked clarity. She turned the bucket over, climbed on top and began to explore the dusty, musty shelf.

Among the detritus were a leather pilot’s helmet and a half-empty tube of… something. She peered at the label: Caution: A little goes a long way. Intrigued, she squeezed a drop onto her finger and took a sniff.

Whoa. Her knees wobbled. The scent was intoxicating, earthy and sweet… This must be how a truffle-snuffling pig feels. She inhaled again, greedily. Her mind spun. The room tilted. She grabbed the nearest broom to steady herself. It was a besom with a sturdy handle and a head of thick, dark bristles. “Sorry,” she said, “but I think I’m tripping.”

The besom warmed beneath her hands. More than that, it seemed concerned, so she hugged it. She was in a closet. Nobody would see. She caressed it, streaking it with the unguent. The broom grew warmer still. She had to get even closer. This was not normal, she told herself, as she wrapped her legs around the broomstick. The besom moved. She was sure of it. It tilted forward. Katia clung for dear life. As the angle grew more extreme, she slid backward into a shallow groove.

“Down, broom. Down.”

The besom continued to rise. At shelf level, she grabbed the old helmet and pulled it on with one hand. As soon as she did, the besom blasted off. Katia ducked her head into her chest and shrank from the collision that never came. Instead of crashing through the roof, she was floating on air. Still, she didn’t dare look.

“Would you loosen your grip? I’m having a hard time breathing.”

“Was that you?”

“It was me,” replied the besom, its voice deep and resonant like a bassoon.

They continued to hover above the tree line.

“How does this work?” Katia asked. “Am I in charge or…”

“We work in tandem, like lovers. That’s the easiest way to explain the mechanics.”

“Oh, um…”

“If it helps, I was a human before I was transformed,” he said. “Officially, it’s Prince Ulrich Von Pieternap of Nikdy Nikdy Zeme. Ready to go higher?”

“Um.”

Ulrich caught a draft, and they began to soar. Beneath them, the forest stretched out, dark and endless. Katia’s fear melted into exhilaration. She laughed, arms outstretched, her hair wild in the wind.

“See. Nothing to be afraid of,” Ulrich shouted.

Katia clapped her hands. Ulrich flew higher.

Katia ignored her growing unease, and they continued their ascent when without warning, the besom dropped several feet. She shrieked and gripped his handled tighter.

“A bit of turbulence. Not to worry,” he yelled, moments before they were blown sideways and into a dive.

“Are we gonna make it?” she asked.

“I’m giving it my best effort,” he said. “You might want to lay off the muffins in the future.”

“I knew I’d die young,” she muttered.

“Pull up on my staff. That’ll slow us down.”

Katia yanked the stick back as far as she could.

“Not that far,” he yelled.

But it was too late. They were already in a stall.

The last thing Katia saw was the ground rushing toward her.