Page 134 of Magical Mayhem

Ardetia’s vines whipped forward like living whips, snaring two of the creatures and snapping them into curls of smoke. Her students hurled herb bundles at the ground, and bursts of rosemary and sage filled the air, stinging the shadows back.

Bella’s laughter rang sharp as she shifted midleap, her fox form darting low between the beasts. She struck with claws tipped in fox-fire, darting in and out as her cluster of students copied her feints, illusions flashing to confuse their enemies.

Ember hovered higher, her glow brightening until the hall glowed like dawn. She raised her translucent hands, and her students poured their memories into her circle, sharing names, faces, and love, and together they forged a shield of light so fierce that half the shadows flinched from it.

Stella shouted louder than all of them, brandishing a teapot like a weapon.

“Breathe in this spell, you brutes!” she barked, hurling sachets of rosemary and salt across the floor. Her students followed her with ladles and spoons enchanted to burn, of all things, and when they swung them, the shadows actually recoiled, shrieking.

Lemonia’s runes flared from the floor, sharp lines blazing as her group poured their magic into the symbols. Each sigil pulsed, then fired in sequence, bolts of light spearing into the advancing wave.

The entire hall blazed with a patchwork of defenses. Spells arced like comets, herbs burned, charms hissed, fox-fire darted, and the shadows writhed.

Pride swelled in me so fiercely I thought it might lift me off my feet. This was what the Academy had been waiting for.

Why its doors had opened again.

The students weren’t just learning; they were fighting. They were defending Stonewick.

But pride was fragile, brittle under the hammering weight of what pressed against us.

For every shadow they repelled, three more pushed through. The tear in the air widened, spitting lightning that crackedagainst the Wards, and they shuddered like cloth pulled too tight.

I ran forward, throwing my palms wide. Fire leapt from my fingertips, Hedge and flame magic sparking together into a line of burning vines that lashed across the nearest wave of shadows. The beasts shrieked, dissolving under the strike, but the ground smoked where they’d touched.

“Maeve!” Keegan’s voice roared above the ruckus.

I spun to see him, standing near Ardetia, his hazel eyes alight. He had no weapon but himself, his wolf crouched in every tense line of his body. The curse tugged at him; I could feel it, but still he stood, bellowing orders to the students around him. “Push harder! You’re stronger than shadows!”

He threw a punch, and I swear the air itself cracked under his fist, sending a shadow sprawling into smoke.

His wolf might weaken him, but the mage in him might save him.

A group of students shrieked as another shadow slithered under their defenses, its claw sweeping toward them.

My heart lurched. I ran, slamming my palms to the floor. Vines erupted, twisting up to form a wall, and the shadow’s claw struck harmlessly against them.

“Stay in formation!” I cried. “Trust your instructors. Trust each other!”

The hall rattled as another lightning strike slammed the runes, and a crack splintered across the ceiling. Dust rained down, mixing with smoke and sage.

Everywhere I looked, students were bracing, holding, trembling, but not breaking. Their wands glowed, their charmshissed, their runes flared. Some faltered, but others stepped in, shouldering the gap. They were fighting together.

And yet…

Worry overtook my pride.

This was only the beginning.

The shadows weren’t fighting to win tonight. They were testing, pushing, weakening us piece by piece. Malore was laughing somewhere beyond the tear; I knew it in my bones. Laughing and waiting for the moment we thought we’d won, so he could strike the final blow.

Another beast lunged. I spun fire through my palms, striking it down, the heat searing sweat across my brow. My arms shook, my magic humming too loud in my veins.

I risked one glance toward the students nearest me. A woman with silver streaks in her hair held her wand high, her eyes wild but resolute. A shifter at her side bared his teeth, claws sparking with fox-fire. A fae witch traced runes with trembling fingers, her lips moving in prayer.

They weren’t warriors. They were mothers, fathers, teachers, shopkeepers. People who’d come here for second chances.

And now they stood at the gates of war.