IT WAS a mess of magic.
And barking.
And lots and lots of shouting. Slade and his father seemed to be having a family argument while not-really-aiming magic at each other, which did not result in any injuries, but did result in Lucas's heart leaping in his chest every time one of them lobbed a burst of magic at the other that deliberately--he was sure it was deliberately--missed and instead zapped too close to a shelf or storage box.
Lucas thought Laurie was the only one who was actually aiming to strike either Cr醱a or Mister Scontun, but he hadn't hit either one of them yet. Lucas had no idea if he should be grateful for that or not.
Blue bolts flew through the air, met by green, and the gold of little fireballs zinged past Lucas's nose twice, even though Lucas had *told* Laurie, he'd *told* him no fire, but Laurie was too busy casting apparently the only three spells he knew to listen as Lucas cried, "My books! Don't set my books on fire!"