Chapter Twenty-Nine

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It was not a complicated spell, as such.

But Miracle Max had been out of the miracle business for years, and sometimes enchanters got rusty. At least that's what he told himself as he tried to remember the parts of the spell that were not on the crumpled scrap of paper he had ripped out of his spell book.

He wasn't sure he knew the entire enchantment, or if it would even work if he could remember. But he had to try.

Miracle Max cleared his mind, took in a deep breath—and coughed long and loud.

He had also been out of the breathing deeply business for a few years, and sometimes getting old took its toll. He had just celebrated his one hundred and fiftieth birthday. He hoped this spell would get him to his one hundred and fifty-first.

Taking a slightly shallower breath, Max closed his eyes and began to chant the spell that, with any luck, would save them.

It would take a miracle.

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