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 wasn't alone up there. Half the square's children had grabbed his hands and floated up with him, a giggling, terrified chain rising into the clouds. Wren realized the wish was spreading by touch. She had to catch them before they drifted out of reach.

Wren whispered into the jar, 'Let them all come down soft and safe.' The whole giggling chain of children floated gently to the cobblestones like falling leaves. Pip landed last, breathless and grinning. The green glow faded to calm. The wish was finally mended.