Page 113 of Magical Mayhem

If Gideon’s pain had become Keegan’s knowledge, then maybe the only way forward wasn’t just healing them separately. Perhaps it was untying the knot that bound them both, or risking that it strangled them together.

“Dad?” I said, without looking away from Keegan. “Did you ever hear…”

“I heard pieces,” my father said from just behind me, because of course he’d moved closer when Keegan’s voice went quiet. “Not facts. Shapes.” He slid into the chair on my other side without asking, all bulldog steadiness in human form and careful eyes. “There were disputes. Arguments about training and custody, about whose ward-line counted, about whose debt was older. You know how councils can get…”

“Petty,” I said. “Sharp.”

“Self-righteous,” he added. “People convince themselves that the thing they want is the thing the land wants, and then they act like the land deputized them. But I don’t know why that would change a boy into what Gideon became.”

I thought about what Keegan went through, but he was older. So what happened to Gideon?

Keegan’s hand squeezed mine. My throat tightened.

“If Stonewick took something from him,” I whispered, “then Malore didn’t have to build a lie. He just had to aim the truth.”

“And gild it,” Keegan said. “And promise to serve.”

And for the first time ever, Keegan had an understanding about Gideon that none of us ever had, and the reason for it was crushing.

It was killing him, and I had to find the answers.

I had to stop Malore. I had to get us to the circle.

The food in front of me tasted like a language I’d suddenly lost. No more daydreaming about the simplicity of break and olive oil.

Around us, students debated whether lavender sorbet qualified as a course. Twobble tried to trade a muffin fortwo truths and a scandal, and was denied on procedural grounds.

Stella cackled at something and then pretended she hadn’t. Ember drifted by our end of the table.

But it all felt like a blur.

“What do we do with it?” I asked, more to myself than to anyone. “If Stonewick stole something from Gideon, if the landdid or the families did, how do I ask him to stand in the circle and give his strength to a place that took from him?”

“You tell the truth,” Keegan said. It sounded like it hurt him. “You let the land tell it too.”

I stared at him. “You’d stand next to him after saying that out loud?”

He stared back. “Would you?”

We didn’t move. Then, carefully, we both smiled the same tired, feral smile that saysI will tear down my own fear if it keeps you safe.

“I’d stand,” I said.

“So would I,” he answered, and the table between us felt less like a thing and more like a bridge.

“But will Gideon?”

Twobble thunked a skillet down in front of us, startling me into the present.

“Summer hash,” he announced, hands on his hips. “New potatoes, charred scallions, garden squash, and something I’m calling ‘confidence butter.’”

“Confidence butter,” Keegan said dryly. “Will it make me immune to making a fool of myself?”

“No,” Twobble shrugged. “But you won’t care. You’re barely holding on as it is.”

He darted off to police some students talking animatedly, and Keegan shook his head.

“It’s like dealing with a toddler’s honesty,” Keegan grumbled.