Page 54 of Magical Mayhem

“Interesting,” I muttered, though a part of me warmed at the idea that maybe the Academy was calling and she was here for me, not just because she’d grown tired of chasing a man with a cruising problem and a tendency to drink too many pina coladas.

She tilted her head, studying me with eyes that, for the first time in my life, looked almost vulnerable.

“Do you think you can forgive me for keeping so much from you?”

I thought of my daughter and smiled, knowing I was starting to do the same exact thing to Celeste. I wanted to protect her by keeping this from her. The only difference was that Celeste had found out before I’d planned, thanks to a fake boyfriend.

I thought of Keegan, of the shadows eating at him inch by inch.

Of Gideon, slipping like smoke through every crack we tried to seal.

Of the dragons I’d sworn to protect.

And the Wards straining under the weight of too much hope and not enough time.

Forgiveness felt like a luxury I couldn’t afford.

So when I looked at her, at my mother who had hidden so much and yet returned now, I wondered if forgiveness wasn’t exactly the kind of magic we both needed.

I didn’t answer right away.

Instead, I stood, carrying my empty cup to the sink. The kettle still steamed faintly, ready for another round. I busied my hands, buying myself time.

Behind me, I heard her sigh.

“You’ve created something here,” she said. “Something I never could. I always thought your Grandma Elira was the strong one, the one destined to shape Stonewick. I left because I couldn’t bear the comparison. Because I needed to protect you. And now I see you stepping into that role with more grace than I ever had.”

The words stunned me, more than I wanted to admit.

Dad cleared his throat. “She’s not Elira. She’s Maeve. And that’s more than enough.”

I turned back to them as my throat tightened, and for the first time in years, I saw not just my parents, separate and flawed, but something almost like a family again. Imperfect, fractured, but maybe still capable of mending.

And the parallels between Shadowick and Stonewick were uncanny.

Chapter Seventeen

A muffled clatter rose from the cellar beneath us. Not the scuttle of mice or a broom dropping below. This was a deliberate sound.

My gaze snapped to the cellar opening, just in time to see it swing open.

Miora emerged, brushing imaginary cobwebs from her sleeves, her expression as sharp as the iron poker she leaned on. Her eyes landed first on me, then slid to my mother with all the warmth of a cold slug in January.

“Ah,” Miora said, arching one pale brow. “So the prodigal has returned.”

My stomach sank. Miora wasn’t exactly the welcoming committee when it came to my mom, and my mother had a talent for rubbing people the wrong way just by being in the same room.

The two of them, facing each other in the cottage, felt like a duel about to break out over the teapot. There was a lot of history there, and most of it, I didn’t understand.

My mom set her cup down with a soft clink.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” my mom said sarcastically.

“Very funny,” Miora replied.

That did it.

I winced, already anticipating the sparks. My mom leaned back in her chair, one leg crossing over the other, eyes narrowing in a way I knew too well.