Page 53 of Magical Mayhem

I walked into the kitchen, which was only a few steps away, and filled the kettle.

I found the tin of Stella’s focus blend on the shelf and hesitated, then pulled out the Moonlit Comfort instead. The first thing you should offer the unexpected is comfort, and the second is a clean cup. I lined up four, because I was done pretending I didn’t count myself among the guests when trouble sat down in my house.

The kettle began to sing in a small voice. I took it off before it could get loud, because loud felt like a lie tonight.

Quiet truths. That was all I could hold at the moment.

I set the cups on the tray and let out a deep breath.

“All right,” I told myself. “Let’s see which storm decided to thunder in tonight.”

I took one step, then another, from the small safety of the kitchen into the even smaller bravery of the sitting room, and lifted my eyes to meet the woman who had come to change the shape of my night.

Steam curled up from my dad’s teacup, the sweet scent threading through the air. He muttered his thanks, fingers wrapping around the porcelain with a reverence that made me realize just how long it had been since I’d seen him do somethingas human and ordinary as drink tea rather than his old life of snuffling kibble.

My mom’s lips curved as if she’d expected the jab, maybe even welcomed it. She accepted the teacup I offered with surprising grace, her fingers steady and poised. She took a slow sip, then let out a sigh that was half weariness, half relief.

“Your stepdad has lost his marbles,” she said finally, the words delivered with the same brisk tone she used when returning a blouse at a department store. “And I don’t have the energy to chase them any longer while they roll around… on or off a ship.”

Again, it was as if time slowed and the same problems arose in her life.

A chuckle slipped from me despite the knot in my chest. “Is that code for something? He didn’t fall off a ship, did he?”

Her playful scowl was so familiar it was almost comforting.

“Heavens no.” But her lips pressed together, thin and pursed, and I knew, absolutely knew, she wasn’t giving me the whole story.

I leaned back, crossing my arms, unwilling to let her off easy. “So you left him mid-buffet line, or did you at least wait until after karaoke night?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Maeve,” she chided, though her eyes sparkled with a hint of pride. “It wasn’t mid-buffet. It was just after we docked.”

Dad snorted into his tea, muffling his laughter. For a split second, it felt absurdly like I was five years old again, both of them volleying dry commentary across the dinner table. Except back then, my mother wasn’t a witch in my mind. Back then,she was just the woman who signed field-trip permission slips with a ballpoint pen and knew how to fold fitted sheets without breaking a sweat.

Now, here she sat sipping tea like a woman who could set the curtains aflame if she sneezed too hard.

The truth pressed at me, sharp and unrelenting.

“You hid being a witch from me my whole life,” I whispered. “An entire side of who I am. Do you even know what it’s been like to stumble into Stonewick, into all of this, with no clue? To find out everyone knew but me?”

Her shoulders sagged, and for once she looked less like the sharp-eyed woman who could cut down anyone with a glare and more like someone carrying a secret too heavy for too long.

“I thought I was protecting you,” she said softly. “From this world. From the pull it would have on you. From expectations that I didn’t believe you should have to carry.”

I laughed, though it came out in a jagged tone. “And how’d that work out for us? Because I’m pretty sure I’m carrying them now anyway.”

She winced but didn’t argue.

Dad set his cup down with a clink.

“She should’ve told you, Maeve. We both know that now, but there was more to it and...” His voice was quiet but firm, and then he stopped.

The two of them in the same room…that alone felt surreal. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d seen it. Their energies had always seemed to cancel each other out, oil and water pretending to share a glass. Yet here they were, sharing tea like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Why now?” I finally asked the question in a low, heavy tone. “Why come back again? Because your husband misplaced his marbles? Or because something bigger is pulling you back?”

Her gaze flicked to Dad, then back to me.

“Both,” my mom admitted, her voice softer than I expected. “I couldn’t stay away any longer. Stonewick is stirring, Maeve. And whether I wanted to admit it or not, you were always going to be at the heart of it. When I was here last, leaving was extremely difficult.”