Page 158 of Magical Mayhem

The words she’d almost spoken in the Academy before the skies cracked and tore everything apart.

She still hadn’t told me.

And I realized, with a hollow certainty, that I needed to hear it. Whatever it was, whatever truth she had buried all these years, it mattered now.

Because if tonight had taught me anything, it was this: nothing stayed hidden forever. Not curses. Not betrayals. Not family secrets.

I drew in a breath, steadying my pulse as the summer air wrapped heavy and warm around us. Keegan’s hand was strong in mine, Twobble leaned close, Skonk muttered something about “blasted yarn,” and the courtyard hummed with broken laughter and quiet tears.

But my gaze stayed locked on my mother.

And the words echoed, louder than ever.

She wanted to tell me something.

And I couldn’t wait much longer to know what it was.

“Mom,” I said, my voice steady though my insides felt like the shifting staircases in the Academy. “You wanted to tell me something before everything erupted.”

The courtyard chatter softened around us. Students still whispered, teachers still compared their battle wounds, but in that moment, the air seemed to sharpen, every sound a little distant, every breath a little too loud.

My mom stilled. She glanced at my dad, then at Keegan’s mother, as though measuring how much of herself she wanted on display. Finally, she nodded and let out a long, slow breath that seemed to empty her of everything she’d been holding.

“I think,” she said, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it, “we should go somewhere private.”

I shook my head quickly, my pulse thrumming. “Everyone here is friends and family. Anything you tell me, I’ll tell them.”

Her eyes softened, but the worry stayed, building in the corners like storm clouds. Worry wasn’t exactly what I needed right now, especially not with Gideon missing and a rogue yarn wizard running about. But there it was etched across her face.

“Maeve…” she started, and something like embarrassment flickered in her gaze. It startled me; my mother was not a woman who embarrassed easily.

She looked down at her hands, then back at me. “It’s something I should have told you long ago. It’s something I never should have run from.”

I frowned, my arms crossing. “That you’re a witch, you mean?”

Her lips pressed together, then curved into a tiny, sad smile.

She nodded. “Partially that. But there’s more. Much more.”

My brows knit together, confusion prickling sharp at the edges of my exhaustion. “Okay,” I said slowly, narrowing my eyes at her. “Then why did you leave exactly?”

My dad shifted beside her, his hand sliding over hers, fingers curling around like an anchor.

“Because she knew your grandmother would be looking for you,” he said, his voice low, solemn. “Hoping that you would be an heir.”

I blinked, stunned. My grandmother. Elira. Of course.

I looked around the Academy grounds and saw the ancient stone walls, the glowing lanterns, the arches that seemed to hum with quiet magic. It was so beautiful here at night, the kind of beauty that begged to be eternal.

“Grandma Elira wasn’t wrong about that, I suppose,” I whispered.

But my mother was shaking her head before I even finished.

Her face was pale, and her lips parted in a way that made my stomach drop. “Not that Grandma. Not Elira.”

Her voice was barely above a breath, but it hit me like thunder.

I froze. My mind scrambled, clawing for an explanation.