Very Secret Society Of Irregular Witches -

Finch laughs.

The Society still watches. Enforcers still visit. But the Binding holds, because Bindings made by Irregulars don't follow the rules.

But the letter smelled of sea salt and cinnamon. And the coordinate pointed to a place not on any map: Nowhere House. Nowhere House sat at the end of a crooked lane that changed length depending on your mood. It had three chimneys, two turrets, and a door that absolutely refused to stay locked. very secret society of irregular witches

Maggit, who had not been offered tea by a sentient dwelling since the Unfortunate Incident of 2019, said yes.

Maggit had spent thirty-two years hiding the fact that her magic came out wrong. Other witches drew perfect circles; her spells hiccupped into jam jars. Other witches levitated; she made things smell faintly of burnt toast. The global witch registry had labeled her "Unstable Variance" and assigned her to a lonely cottage on a tidal island, reachable only six hours a day. Finch laughs

Lark's hands stopped kneading. "You're talking about a Binding."

The house, which had never liked her, played a single note from "Moon River" and locked all its doors. They didn't disappear. They just went irregular. But the Binding holds, because Bindings made by

The Binding took. Not with a bang, but with a sigh.