Page 111 of Magical Mayhem

And somewhere, beyond the Wards, a wolf answered without sound.

Chapter Thirty-Three

The banquet hall felt like summer insisted upon itself. We all instinctively knew what this feast represented.

Lanterns floated at different heights, soaking into the honeyed wood tables until everything glowed.

The kitchen sprites had turned the place into a parade of garden-fresh delirium.Platters glided through the air as if the very smell of rosemary could lift them.

“Make room, loves,” a sprite trilled, shouldering a tureen twice his size. “Hot-weather stew with zucchini, sweet corn, summer beans, a suspicious amount of butter, and joy.”

Or at least that was what I imagined her to say.

Another skated past with a slab of feta crowned in olive oil and lemon zest, scattered with petals so bright they looked like confetti. Someone set down a platter of heirloom tomatoes in every shade of red known to romance; someone else followed with chilled cucumber ribbons, glossed with dill. There were baskets of herb rolls still steaming, their crusts brushed with garlic honey, and little bowls of stone-fruit chutney that tasted like memory.

I was starving, happy, terrified, and also pretending to be none of those things.

Keegan and I had been tucked at the end of one long table, close enough to the door that he could escape if his strength faltered, far enough in that no one would mistake him for a ghost. He’d insisted on walking here himself. I’d insisted on walking so close that my shoulder could have been his crutch.

Across the hall, students were loud in that post-fear way, the kind of laughter that comes when you’ve survived something together and your body needs proof.

Bella, in human form, had three rolls and the impish calm of a fox who’d definitely charmed her way into fourths.

Stella breezed past, shawl floating like a parade banner, and left a plate of lemony roast chicken in front of Keegan without a word. Ardetia stopped at each clump of students, whispering something that made shoulders settle and spines lengthen. Nova… Nova stood in the doorway a moment, watching everything with that quiet, steady gaze that has always felt like a blessing and a warning. Then she disappeared, staff tapping, to give the night some shape beyond us.

“Eat,” I told Keegan, because maybe if I said it like a command, the universe would obey.

“I am,” he said mildly, even though his fork was just hovering over a piece of chicken as if it might leap up and poke him.

The sprites set a bowl in front of me with grilled peaches on greens, curls of goat cheese, toasted walnuts, and a drizzle of something lavender and dangerous. I took a bite and forgot my name.

“This tastes like a responsible decision,” I mumbled.

Keegan’s mouth curved, barely, the fatigue still sanded into every plane of his face. “You have a very specific definition of responsibility.”

“It involves fruit,” I said. “And the illusion that I have my life together and there is no spooky cloud man lurking in the sky.”

“Wolf,” Keegan corrected.

I chuckled. “If you say so. You're more wolf than him.”

We ate, and for a few breaths, the world was as simple as bread and olive oil as everyone nourished their bodies to go with their minds.

I watched students split rolls and opinions, watched a sprite scold Twobble for attempting to steal an entire bowl of lavender sorbet.

“It’s medicinal,” Twobble argued. “For my delicate constitution”.

I watched Keegan’s hands, how steady they pretended to be, how careful he was not to reveal the tremor under his knuckles. The shadows outside had stayed sulking, for now.

Keegan caught me looking and didn’t flinch away. Instead, he set down his fork, turned his body toward mine, and the world narrowed to the square of the table between us.

“What?” I asked because his gaze had shifted into that intent gray I trusted and feared in equal measure.

“Nothing is wrong,” he said first, and I read the truth of that in the way his jaw eased. “But I need to tell you something.”

A little cold arrow slid under my ribs.

Gideon. The inn. The room key that still felt hot in my pocket even when it wasn’t there.