Nana's wish shop smelled of cinnamon and warm brass. It was Wren's first morning as keeper, and the wishes woke up grumpy. Little glass jars glowed dim on the shelves, half-done and muttering, rattling against the wood. On the counter lay Nana's open ledger. Three names were underlined twice. Below them, in Nana's loopy writing: 'Mend these before the wishes turn, or they'll run wild by nightfall.' Wren swallowed and read the first name.

The third name was a boy, Pip, who swept the square. His jar buzzed and rattled hard, glowing bright green. The note said he'd wished he could 'fly like the birds.' Wren ran outside just in time to see Pip drifting up over the rooftops, yelling for help.

Pip floated higher every second, grabbing at chimneys and missing. The wish had given him flight but no way down. 'I can't stop going up!' he wailed. Wren scrambled onto a roof, holding the buzzing green jar, and reached for his kicking foot.

Wren missed his foot by an inch and Pip sailed up out of reach. Thinking quick, she tied a rope to the jar and threw it like an anchor. It looped around Pip's belt. She heaved, and hand over hand she reeled the frightened boy back down to the rooftop.

Safe on the roof, Wren spoke into the jar with a steady voice. 'Keep your feet on the ground unless you choose to rise.' The green glow settled. Pip's boots thumped down and stayed. He hugged Wren tight. The last wish was tamed, and the sun was barely past noon.