Page 23 of Magical Mayhem

He accepted the plate with a grin, his fingers brushing mine. “She’s scarier than the curse.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll put it on a teacup.”

His laughter filled the room again, and for a moment, the shadows seemed to recede.

We ate together quietly, trading little quips. I teased him for his sudden and terrible manners, and he teased me for fussing like Stella.

The fire cracked in the hearth, and the scent of herbs and honey butter wrapped us in warmth.

But even as I laughed, I couldn’t shake the darker edge in his eyes. The curse still coiled beneath the surface, waiting to spread more. And though he smiled, though he kissed me, though he told me he missed me, I could feel it lurking, biding its time.

I pushed the thought aside, determined to hold onto this moment.

Because tonight, he was mine, and that had to be enough.

The fire crackled as I pushed the plate back onto the table. Keegan leaned into the pillows, looking far too handsome for someone supposedly bedridden. His hair was mussed, his shirt loose at the collar, his smile soft, but those shadows still clung to the edges of him.

I wanted to banish them. To keep him laughing forever. To keep us in this room where curses didn’t exist.

Instead, I cleared my throat and said, “Keegan, can I ask you something?”

He looked at me over the rim of his cup, brows raised. “That sounds suspicious.”

“Maybe it is.”

His mouth tugged into a grin. “Go on then.”

I hesitated, then blurted, “Have you ever heard of… magic mushrooms?”

For a heartbeat, silence. Then he gave a snort that turned into a deep rumble of laughter. He sniffled and shook his head, eyes gleaming. “I never suspected you were one to dabble, Maeve. Here I thought you were a tea-and-scones kind of witch, not one for… well, experimental greenery.”

“First of all, it wouldn’t be greenery. It would be fungi. Spores, to be exact.”

He wiggled his brows. “Even better.”

Heat shot up my neck. “No! Not like that.” I swatted his arm, though I was laughing too. “Not the kind Stella would have to stage an intervention for. These are in the Wilds.”

He arched a brow, smirk tugging. “The Wilds, eh? Sounds even more suspicious. Should I be worried you’re sneaking off for secret mushroom picnics with goblins?”

“Stop.” I shook my head, grinning despite myself. “Listen. Nova said they haven’t been seen for decades.”

The humor drained from his face instantly. His jaw tightened, his eyes sharpening. “Oh?”

“Yes.” My laughter faded, my throat tightening as I thought of the glowing caps. “They’re called Sillipa. They glow red, huge…some the size of pillows…and they.” I swallowed, remembering the way the voice had coiled around me. “They make you hear things. Things you’re afraid of. Or things you want.”

His gaze locked on mine, searching. “And you heard?”

I couldn’t answer. Not fully. Not yet.

“It doesn’t matter what I heard. Only that Nova thinks their spores… twist the mind.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, every trace of humor gone. “I’ve lived my whole life around Stonewick, Maeve. I’ve never heard of them. Not once.”

My stomach sank. “Never?”

“Never.” His voice was firm, final.

The shadows in the room seemed to lean closer. The crackle of the fire dimmed, the scent of roasted herbs suddenly cloying.