Page 48 of Magical Mayhem

“Not yet, anyway.” Stella shrugged.

As we snaked through the Butterfly Ward, down the narrow alley and into Stonewick, the inn’s familiar eaves came into view.

Keegan’s hotel—his home, his pride. I prayed he would forgive me for this. That was when the circle called us all together, and he would understand why Gideon had to be part of it.

Because if he didn’t… we were finished.

Stella jingled the key lightly.

“Well, darlings,” she said, her voice laced with amusement and steel. “Shall we deliver our cargo?”

I tightened my grip on Gideon’s arm, looked once toward the glowing windows of the inn, and we hauled him up the final steps inside.

Chapter Fifteen

The six of us and one very unconscious shadow of a wicked man made the kind of procession that would’ve gotten us thrown out of any respectable establishment. Good thing Keegan’s inn was in the middle of a magical village.

Between the two goblins sniping at each other, an elderly vampire with scarlet lip liner askew, a fox shifter trying to shoulder a man twice her size, Lady Limora and Vivienne gliding like competent battalion commanders, and me clutching a handful of shirt and prayer, we probably looked like a traveling hex.

“Left foot, right foot, drag like you mean it,” Lady Limora said in that serene, queen-of-the-garden voice, as if we were practicing a waltz instead of smuggling Gideon past lantern light.

Vivienne peered around the droop of Stella’s shawl, now successfully draped over Gideon’s head.

“If my mom could see me now,” Skonk said, laughing.

“I vote we stop commenting on the dragging and simply… don’t drop him,” Vivenne suggested.

“Seconded,” Bella grunted, adjusting her grip. “One, two, hoist.”

Twobble shuffled backward, boots squeaking. “If anyone asks, we’re rehearsing for a play. A very depressing play.”

“Hush,” Stella breathed, but she did it with a fondness that made the word velvet. “Maeve, darling, front door or side?”

“Side,” I whispered.

We veered toward the inn’s south entrance, past a row of rain-wet crates that smelled faintly of apples and oak.

The floorboards had the good sense to creak only once—friendly, not tattling. Keegan had trained them well.

We shuffled into the narrow service corridor.

Somewhere ahead, a small hearth kept a gentle fire, and I felt like I could almost breathe.

Vivienne took a bracing sniff. “Keegan’s hotel always smells like someone just decided to make soup and serve hard apple cider with a bit of romance in the cards.”

“Accurate,” Stella said. “Romance first, soup second.”

“Soup always first,” Twobble muttered, nearly catching his heel on a braided rug. “Oof. Someone move that before I collapse.”

“Step around it,” Skonk said, not moving it.

We reached the main back stairs. The balustrade rose in a graceful curve, with wolf-head finials at each landing.

It was Keegan’s not-so-subtle nod to the life that lived under his skin. Brass sconces glowed along the wall. The floor runner was handwoven, dark blue, threaded with cream, soft enough that even our clumsy freight seemed quieter climbing over it.

“On three,” Bella said, breath hitching. “One. Two.”

“Wait,” Twobble wheezed. “Is three the moving part, or the counting ends on three, and then we move after three—ow!”