Melford was not a wizard. At least, not a particularly good one. Sure, he had all the qualifications-he wore the robe, he had the wand, and he could even sort of speak in Latin. But the results were. less than spectacular.

Standing in the middle of Master Thistlethorp's cluttered study, Melford looked down at the broom in front of him. It was supposed to be a simple task—levitate the broom, clean the floor. He had read the chapter about levitation in his spellbook at least five times, and the incantation was practically etched into his mind. But still, it had never worked.

Sighing, Melford raised his wand. "Levitate," he growled, and pointed at the broom.

Nothing happened. Suddenly, the broom began to shake. The bristles started to quiver, and before Melford could do anything, it shot upwards into the air, spun around, and began performing a series of wild, erratic loops as though possessed by some wild spirit. It crashed into a stack of books with a resounding thud, scattering them in all directions.

Melford groaned. "Why does this always happen?"

"Because you're terrible at magic," came the voice of Master Thistlethorp from the doorway. "You can't even clean the floor without turning your broom into a flying hazard."

Melford whirled, affecting-and failing-an air of competence. His mentor, Master Thistlethorp, stood with his arms crossed, looking very cross. The long gray beard and furrowed brows gave him a wise, imposing aspect; neither fact made Melford feel any less like a scolded child.

"I—I can do this," Melford stammered, taking a step forward. "It's just. I need a bit more practice. One more try, and—"

Thistlethorp raised an eyebrow. "No more tries, Melford. I've been patient with you for months now. But this?" He waved a hand around the study, taking in the chaos-the books, the broken objects, the cat, which had just upended an entire shelf of vials-"This is not progress. I've had enough. It's time for you to go out and actually do something useful.

Melford's face fell. "But I am doing something useful! I'm—well, I'm learning."

"Learning?" Thistlethorp snorted. "At this rate, you'll learn how to summon a plague of frogs before you manage to clean up your own study."

Melford frowned. "Okay, I admit, I'm not perfect yet. But give me a chance to prove myself! I'll go out, find something—anything—and bring it back. Something important! I can do it."

Thistlethorp eyed him skeptically. "Fine. But you're going to do something useful, not something disastrous. You're going to the Enchanted Forest. Find the Heartbloom Flower. It's rare, it's magical, and it's important." He handed Melford a rolled-up piece of parchment.

Melford accepted it eagerly, trying to ignore the feeling of impending doom. "The Heartbloom Flower. That's it?"

That's it. But don't get cocky. The forest is full of dangers, and the flower is guarded by some of the trickiest creatures in the realm. The forest will try to stop you. And if you fail. well, let's just say your education here will be over."

Melford gulped. "I'll be fine," he said, trying to sound confident. "I'll leave right now and come back with it. Easy!

Thistlethorp shook his head and muttered something under his breath, probably to the effect of what a state modern wizardry was in, and sent Melford on his way.

It was the very picture of Melford's imaginings: the trees were thick and close together, giving the impression of mystery and little welcoming of outsiders. The trees were towering above, their gnarled branches twisting into odd, unnatural shapes. The air was heavy with the scent of moss, damp earth, and a hint of magic. In the distance, an owl hooted ominously.

Melford clutched his wand tighter and glanced down at the map Thistlethorp had provided. The forest appeared to go on forever, and the map itself seemed more of a suggestion of a map than an actual guide. It was a mass of squiggly lines and erratic markings, none of which did anything in the way of explaining where Melford was supposed to go.

"Great," Melford muttered, thrusting the map back in his cloak. "Easy as falling off a log."

The first few minutes were uneventful, except that Melford had managed to get hopelessly turned around in the first five minutes; he had no idea in which direction he was supposed to be heading. Was he walking toward the Heartbloom Flower, or about to walk into the den of some magical creature who would try to eat him?

A rustling in the underbrush drew his attention. He froze, swiveling toward the noise. Out of the shadows hopped a little beast-half squirrel, half rabbit, and dressed in a tiny, glittery vest. It stopped in front of him and blinked, weighing him up, apparently.

"Uh. hello?" Melford said with caution.

The creature cocked its head and then blew out an impatient breath. "Are you lost, or are you just hopelessly inept at everything you do?"

Melford blinked. "Excuse me?"

The creature flicked its tiny paw, as though waving him off. "I'm talking to you, wizard-boy. You look like you've never been in a forest before. You've got that deer-in-the-headlights look about you.

"I—well, I've been in a forest," Melford said defensively, "but this one's. different."

"Oh, really? You noticed?" The creature rolled its eyes. "You're looking for the Heartbloom, right?"

Melford's heart skipped a beat. "You know where it is?"

The creature grinned, showing minute pointed teeth. "Not telling you. I'm not in the habit of helping lost wizards." It turned to leave, but then paused and glanced over its shoulder. "But if you manage to avoid the talking vines, you might get close."

Before Melford could respond, the creature hopped away, disappearing into the undergrowth with surprising speed.

"Well, that was. helpful," Melford muttered, shaking his head. "Talking vines? What next?"

After an hour of wandering, Melford finally stumbled upon what he believed to be the Heartbloom. It was a delicate, pale flower with shimmering petals, growing at the base of a large, ancient tree. The flower glowed faintly, and as Melford knelt down to inspect it, he felt a strange sense of calm wash over him.

But before he could reach out to pluck it, a voice rang out from above.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Melford jumped back, his heart racing. Looking around, he saw nothing. But then the voice spoke again, this time from just in front of him.

"I said, don't touch me."

The voice startled Melford, who looked down to see a small, green plant with thin vine-like arms and sharp, glowing eyes standing right next to the Heartbloom, blocking his path.

"Who. who are you?" Melford asked, trying to keep his composure.

The plant's eyes narrowed. "I'm the guardian of the Heartbloom, obviously. You want it, don't you?"

Melford nodded. "Yes, my mentor sent me to get it. He says that it can give wisdom."

The plant huffed out a short, bitter laugh. "Wisdom? Well, that's rich. You're going to need a lot more than just a flower to get any of that, wizard."

Melford frowned, irritated by the tone in the plant's voice. "I'm not here for your sarcastic commentary. I just need the flower.

The plant crossed its vine-like arms. "Oh, you're just going to take it? I'm afraid you'll have to prove you're worthy first. I'm not just going to hand it over to some clumsy, inexperienced wizard who thinks they can waltz in and take whatever they want."

Melford was about to protest when the plant stepped forward, its vines ominously rustling. "If you can pass my test, you can have the Heartbloom. Fail. and well, let's just say you'll wish you stayed home with your broom disasters."