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The few bystanders outside in the early morning light gave them all a wide berth as they headed towards to the edge of the rapidly growing town, coming up to a massive tree that Emma was reasonably sure had been transplanted: oak trees, she knew, did not grow to such a size in just a month or two.

Can\'t we use Dad\'s storage bag, or whatever Mom has? Emma couldn\'t help wondering. Sir Bearington won\'t mind the added weight from the saddlebags, but we\'ll lose our shopping if I need to swap summons for combat.

[As a general rule, you shouldn\'t put anything you want to keep in someone else\'s magical storage. It\'s usually fine, but enchantments designed to store possessions can get, well, possessive. When they act up, items can become soulbound and unusable by anyone except the storage owner. This tends to happen more frequently the more valuable an item, if you know what I mean. Unsurprisingly, this has led to more than a few property disputes over the years.]

Never mind, Emma sighed. The more I learn about magic, the more questions I have.

[That\'s the spirit.]

Emma facepalmed, even as Elizabeth brought the party to a halt right in front of the tree. Pressing a hand against the trunk, Elizabeth whispered a few words too quietly to be overheard. A faint tremor shook the ground as the tree collapsed inward, revealing a wooden pathway that led downward into a fluorescent blue fog.

[A decision tree: connected at all times to the parent from which its sapling was cut. A useful method of fast two-way travel, limited mainly by the fact that once a sapling is planted, the magic takes root and the location cannot subsequently be changed.]

Elizabeth and Noah stepped forward into the fog, vanishing after a single step each. Emma nudged Sir Bearington to follow. Visibility vanished as soon as they entered, obscuring everything except the path ahead. Faint giggling could be heard in the background, growing and dimming without rhyme or reason as they advanced. On one particular occasion, the volume grew to a level just shy of uncomfortable, prompting Saint to jump into the fog with a hiss. A sharp scream followed, turning into dying gurgling before falling back to blessed silence.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Should we go look for her? Emma asked, as moments passed without Saint reappearing.

[She\'ll be fine: Level 10 is a milestone of some significance, give her time to process her choices.]

How does a cat become a System user anyway? Actually, do I even want to know?

[A long time ago, a rather stupid alchemist was playing around with transformation. His potion to turn a human into a cat worked flawlessly; the potion for cat to human, less so. To cut a long story short, life finds a way, and now there\'s a decent population of cats with the potential to awaken the System.]

He actually tested the potion on himself? Without, I don\'t know, telling anyone beforehand in case things went wrong?

[There\'s a considerable degree of overlap between the smartest animals and the dumbest humans.]

Shaking her head, Emma resolved not to think too hard about the logistics of cat populations as she kept Sir Bearington walking straight ahead. A few minutes later, a soft thump behind her heralded Saint\'s return, right as the fog began to clear and the path sloped upward. Her return to reality was abrupt, emerging into a forest glade. Dried leaves crunched beneath Sir Bearington\'s steps as he came to a halt. Up ahead, neither Noah nor Elizabeth were anywhere to be seen.

[As fun as hide and seek may be, we\'re on a bit of a deadline, and there are few lessons to be learnt in blind games of chance.

Divine Conduit (Anathema): ? activates, casting The Dawkins Special.]

The world shuddered, nearly throwing Emma off her steed as she gripped Sir Bearington\'s fur for dear life. She got off lightly, as illusions shattered like glass, revealing two ugly looking things with mushroom heads, stick-thin limbs and emaciated torsos. Four pairs of wings hung limply as they struggled on the floor, suddenly unable to muster their flight.

[Annoying Sprite - Level 5]

Saint pounced before Emma could decide on a course of action, barreling into the nearest Sprite and swallowing it whole. Its companion tried to run, emphasis on tried, managing barely a walking speed with a body unused to physical exertion. Against the apex predator that was the felis catus, he never had a chance.

"Thanks," Emma muttered, happy not to have to chase mischievous spirits through their home turf as she rejoined her parents, both of them now visible at a park bench enjoying some tea.

"There you are," Elizabeth was the first to notice her arrival, as she vanished her teacup with a snap of her fingers. "Just a ten minute delay between our arrival and yours; pretty good by network standards."

"Happy to be here," Emma quipped, turning her head to take in her destination, now that it was no longer covered by illusions.

It looked surprisingly ordinary, all told: two long rows of log cabins, most of which had queues out the front door; interspersed by trees, brush and a single meandering stream cutting through the centrepoint. Smaller tents surrounded the permanent structures, far less busy and identified by signposts hawking their wares rather than a name. The heady scents of the forest mixed with the sharp aroma of fresh onions, grilled meat and ketchup; the nearest tent being a concession stand offering food rather than magic.

All in all, it bore a closer resemblance to Emma\'s school trips than anything akin to Diagon Alley, as she\'d been imagining.

"Welcome to the Sherwood Gallery," Elizabeth declared. "Where anything can be found for great prices; it\'s the finding that\'s hard."