I woke up to a polite set of knocks on my bedroom door.

At first, I found this peculiar, since I was more accustomed to hearing people knocking on the door downstairs. The cafe's customers woke up early. And they liked to make sure we did as well.

I blinked, waiting for the daylight to flood my irises. Instead, all I saw was my ceiling shrouded in a pale, moonlit haze. It was night. And it was very late.

Sitting up, I rubbed my eyes, and instead of turning to my bedside clock, I looked down at the bundle of smooth black fur curled up in the nest of pillows beside me.

Tutu, the flying tabby that lived upstairs in the cafe, was also starting to stir.

With the body of a small kitten and the wings of an even tinier bat, Tutu was a stalking shadow of the wilds. An alpha predator gifted from birth with deadly instincts honed to triumph in nature's bloody battle royal, he was a merciless carnivore of the forests, mountains and the plains.

Luckily for the competition, Tutu was also very picky.

He preferred other sources of food. Such as Eggs Benedict, served in his own orange bowl.

With a weary blink of my eyes, I donated our snoozing cafe mascot my pillow, then climbed out of bed. The chill of the floorboards helped jolt me awake, and I shuffled over to answer my bedroom door.

Lize was there waiting for me, a candlestick in her hand lighting up the shadows beneath her eyes.

“Evening,” she said, stifling a yawn, but still managing to bend her lips into a customary smile. A natural born people person. “Or morning, rather.”

“Good morning,” I replied, the hoarseness in my voice telling the time better than any clock did. “It feels very early.”

“4:00 am.”

“Oh.”

I swayed slightly, forcing my eyes to fix themselves on the warm flame of Lize's candlestick. Either it was dancing merrily or I was teetering like a hammock in the breeze.

Admittedly, it'd been a while since I was required to wake up before dawn, even with our clientele. Usually, even the most coffee mad waited until the sun came up before bothering us. Usually.

Lize's smile turned apologetic.

“Sorry to wake you. I know you're super tired and all, but there might be a little problem.”

I marvelled at my own optimism that I still allowed myself to feel disappointed it wasn’t news so wonderful that it simply couldn’t wait.

“That's okay. What's the problem?”

“The sky seems to be raining blue stuff.”

I blinked, mostly to continue gathering my bearings. Then I turned around.

Beyond my little window facing out towards the town's main shopping street, rooftops punctured the night sky.

For a moment, I did my best to scan for any obvious disasters.

Instead, I saw nothing except the mass of little blue petals floating down like luminous snowflakes. And then I realised those really shouldn't be there.

Lize was right. Blue stuff really was falling down.

“Huh.”

It was all I had to say.

Even had I not just woken up, this would probably still be the limit to my commentary. There was only so much I could say when glowing blue things just started descending around us.

“This is new, isn't it?” said Lize, who by standing in the corridor was maintaining the optimum distance between both her window and mine.

“I think so.”

“Another end of the world scenario being orchestrated by a flamboyant villain, you reckon?”

I took in the sight of the drifting blue petals. Even in my groggy state, I could see they were as beautiful as they were mysterious. Like a waltz of fireflies gently descending down to the ground.

I shook my head.

“If we need to ask that question, probably not. World ending villains are very professional about telegraphing their intentions.”

“It doesn't look like a natural phenomenon,” said Lize, before lifting up a foot. “Oh, good morning, Tutu.”

The black tabby paused to acknowledge Lize with a tired flap of his undeveloped wings, before plodding over to her room where hopefully there wouldn't be two noisy humans chatting.

“Is that scarf new?” she asked, glancing back at the red fabric flying like a flag behind the tabby.

“I put it on him earlier.”

“Looks cute. Where'd you buy it? Wait, was that what came in the package?”

I nodded, still unsure if it was worth the premium I'd paid on what was essentially a rebranded tablecloth.

“We can't really call him a wild animal anymore, but he's not really a pet, either. I thought about giving him a collar in case he got lost, but I don't think he'd take well to one. And to be honest, I'm not sure you can even fit a collar on a flying tabby.”

“True. The flying variety grows very fast. I think the true danger is that he'd definitely find a way to accidentally eat a collar, though. The scarf, then?”

“Chew-proof. Apparently.”

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“I hope you kept the receipt.”

“Of course. Anyway, as long as he's staying here, I figured he needed something. I wrote the cafe's address on the label inside if he ever gets lost. Or accidentally burgles someone’s house and someone needs to apologise for him.”

“It looks nice.”

“I think so, too.”

“I mean, I'm not sure if anyone is going to want to try reading the address on it once Tutu's big enough to start getting lost outside, but I like the idea. Above all, it makes him the most fashionable little tabby in the world. Anyway, doomsday blue stuff?”

“There's a perfectly reasonable chance this doesn't signal the end of the world, Lize.”

“I'm just saying, we're overdue, you know?”

“Well, I think we can find out.”

I made my way over to the window, peeking around the frame before I opened it.

A snappy, spring breeze fell inside as Lize shielded her candle, and the scent of Witschblume's orange trees in early bloom filled the room.

I stuck my head out.

The gentle cascade of glowing blue petals was undoubtedly beautiful, but before I could indulge myself in admiring them, I needed to see if it was safe to do so. Any moment now, I knew the shouts of early risers would wake the town, and if a speedy evacuation was needed, I’d have to marshal it.

I watched as petals landed on the rooftops, then just as quickly melted into nothingness. There was no pile-up of blue miasma, nor any signs of smoke or disintegration. The petals fell and then ceased to be.

That was all the eyeball analysis I had available to me.

With nothing else for it, I held out my hand and allowed a petal to drift casually into my palm. It wasn't my greatest idea, but because people were people, someone was going to touch it, eat it or lick it within two minutes. I may as well volunteer as guinea pig while I still could.

“Oh.”

I did a little jump, involuntarily straightening my posture as the petal melted away upon contact.

But not before striking me with the most peculiar tingling sensation.

Not uncomfortable, nor painful. Just peculiar. As though I'd experienced a restless butterfly landing on my skin.

Lize stepped into the room, feeling it was now safe enough to close the door behind her so that Tutu could get some peace.

“Your hand's still there,” she noted, keeping a watchful eye for smoke to start spewing up. “Not magical acid or pretty burning magma, then?”

“I don't think so. Want to have a feel?”

“Not until I get my own hero's sword imbuing me with latent powers of heavenly protection, no.”

“It's not so bad. It only tickles.”

“You think dragons swishing their tails at you tickles.”

“Well, it does. Dragon's tails are used almost exclusively for self-grooming. As a result, they've developed fibrous hairs on the scales which make the sensation more pleasant.”

“Elise.”

“Oh. Right.”

I closed the window.

However, before I could begin considering what I should, or indeed could do about the shower of gleaming petals, the decision was taken away from me by a letter walloping into the freshly closed glass pane like a barn owl at the end of a very bad day.

The wings sprouting from the envelope pushed off from the glass, looking bent and dazed as it immediately searched for a new mode of entry.

Lize and I waited patiently as the sounds of falling soot proceeded to echo throughout the cafe, followed by the sight of a blackened envelope zipping towards me from downstairs. It flipped itself several times over as it hovered in front of me, scattering some of the chimney soot onto the floor.

I felt a small pang of despair. The broom was all the way downstairs.

I reached out and opened the envelope. A letter smelling faintly of orange peel blew into my face before I could pluck it out. If the use of an enchanted envelope didn't give the sender away, then the zesty aroma did.

By law, all official correspondence needed to be marked by a seal of melted marmalade.

“Fan mail?” asked Lize, dodging the winged envelope as it flew by to escape via the chimney again.

I blinked at the tiny, if neat scrawl I was subjecting my eyes to at this late or early hour, then shook my head.

“Unlikely. I don't think many of my fans reside in the castle.”

Lize put on a look of feigned indignation on my behalf. I readied my return head shake for whatever she was about to say.

“Actually, I have it on good authority that the castle guards have a tip jar they fill up just for you. When it’s someone’s birthday, they use it to pay for a combo set lunch when you’re on shift.”

Morbid embarrassment, and just a bit of confusion made its way across my face.

“There’s no way that can be true.”

“Your genuine surprise would be cute, if it also wasn't eyeball-rolling worthy. As long as you're doing the official heroine thing, they don't need to haggle with goblins. That's worth a lot of tips.”

“Are you absolutely sure this tip jar exists, because I’ve never–”

“Oh, it exists,” said Lize, her smile only missing the innocent whistling of someone solely responsible for most of the embarrassing occurrences in my daily life. “Anyway, the letter?”

I held it up, then scrunched my eyes. Lize carried her candle closer.

Dear Miss Rowe,

By order of Duchess Cadence Loventeidt, you have been duly summoned to Castle Witschblume to advise in matters of imminent planetary oblivion.

Please present yourself to a member of staff upon arrival. Tea and biscuits will be provided.

Sincerely,

Lady Uxna of the Blood Shrieker Tribe.

I skimmed through the ensuing fineprint that always made up the bulk of official correspondence, before noting it was signed by the head maid and de facto castellan of where I was summoned.

My stomach gave a rumble.

As terribly unhealthy as it was, the prospect of nibbling on her trademark snacks and beverages as my pre-dawn breakfast was enough to tempt the guilt I was certain to be bowled over by as a result.

Lize raised an eyebrow at the letter.

“Told you it's an end of the world thing,” she said.

“It's not an end of the world thing,” I replied, now only 90% sure it wasn't. “The duchess is professionally inclined to view all abnormalities in her domain as potential existential threats.”

“To be fair, Witschblume does brew up a few.”

“Not in our time.”

“Like I said, overdue.” Lize glanced over her shoulder at the window. “Need an umbrella?”

“No, it's okay. I'll need both hands for the broomstick.”

“Oh, right. I guess they'll let you fly in if it's an emergency.”

“Only as far as the gate. I once saw a delivery witch try to pop her head through one of the windows. The repulsing charm hit her square in the face. She couldn't tell the sky from the ground after she got up.”

Lize gave that envious look she did whenever I talked anything about the castle.

To her, it must have seemed like a wondrous fairground of magic, history and old artifacts. I didn't have the heart to tell her that the tea and biscuits were usually the best thing.

“I'll be back in time for work,” I said, before immediately backtracking. “Maybe. Hopefully.”

“Don't worry. If the sky stays like this, it'll be a very quiet shift.”

Lize smiled, then exited the room so I could get changed. I stretched out my arms and yawned.

Before long, I was looking at the sword propped unceremoniously against the wall. I wondered if I should fork out the money for one of those fancy heat insulating sheaths that were all the rage with heroes these days. Lately, my sword burned so brightly that it felt like I was carrying a wedge of the sun on my back.

I glanced at the window, at the bits of unidentified stuff drifting down from the clouds, then sighed.

I had a feeling I was going to feel very toasty today.