"A spell?" Spencer said, and let William drag him up, shoving his feet into his shoes quickly. "I -- what kind of spell?"
He followed William quickly, the greenhouse door banging shut behind them, and drew in the cool night air like the first taste of oxygen in a while. He could feel the last awful aspects of the dream-spell fading, looking up at the quiet, whole castle. A thought struck him. "The spell -- it can be fixed, right?"