Page 70 of Magical Mayhem

I swallowed, the wordsabove my pay gradestill ringing in my ears.

Because the truth was, they were right. And I was out of excuses.

The room pulsed with an overwhelming array of stressors.

Stella huffed dramatically as though sheer personality could pin shadows down. Bella crouched with her fox tail twitching like a metronome of irritation, and Skonk tapped the frying pan against his knee in a rhythm that screamed boredom.

I glanced at Nova’s glowing staff as she continued to murmur steadying words over Gideon’s prone body, while I stood at the foot of the bed, hands clenched so tight the nails dug into my palms.

My breath came shallow, uneven. Not because of the spectacle in front of me, but because the puzzle was finally pressing in from all sides, with its edges jagged and unsolvable.

Keegan. Gideon. The circle. The Hunger Path. Sacrifice.

None of it lined up.

The magic required for the circle was ancient, older than the Academy and the Wards. It wasn’t about brute strength or fancy spellwork.

It was about will. About energy poured willingly into a tether strong enough to split the curse wide open and rip Malore’s work apart.

Willingly. That was the hinge.

And here lay Gideon, trapped in a tug-of-war between shadow and breath, his body jerking faintly even in sleep. And across town, Keegan was just as bad, fever eating him alive, curse gnawing through his ribs like it had all the time in the world. Two men on their deathbeds. Two anchors who couldn’t even hold themselves steady, let alone lend the circle the energy it needed.

And worse, enemies.

I squeezed my eyes shut. The image was too easy to conjure: me dragging Keegan here, bracing his shoulders against Gideon’s, propping them both up like dolls, and my dad standing next to me.

And then requesting old magic that was beyond me.

But then the moment Keegan’s eyes opened and found Gideon there…

The rage.

The betrayal.

The refusal.

He would never pour himself willingly into the circle if it meant tethering himself to the man who had haunted his every step and threatened to destroy Stonewick.

And Gideon, when his eyes opened?

Gideon would laugh. Even if the choice was between lending his energy to Stonewick or being buried six feet under, he’d pick the grave out of spite. He’d take Malore’s curse down with him, just to prove a point.

The circle wasn’t just about bodies in the right place. It was about unity and consent. And that consent was impossible.

The conflict was driving me absolutely bonkers.

I wanted to laugh, to cry, to rip the quilt off Gideon’s twitching form and throw it out the window. I wanted to march back to the Academy, shake Keegan until he agreed to let me carry the burden for him, then turn around and shake Gideon until he stopped being Gideon. But even in my most desperate imaginings, none of it worked.

The shadows outside grew darker. I could feel them pressing against the inn, sliding along the walls, whispering at the windows. Their laughter was quieter now, almost patient, like they didn’t need to rush. Like they knew we were already unraveling ourselves without their help.

The Silver Wolf was roaming wherever she pleased, her presence another mystery I couldn’t solve.

Keegan was sicker than a dog. No pun intended, though it shoved its way through my brain anyway, bitter and sharp.

Malore was out there somewhere, probably leaning against a tree, grinning, waiting for us to choke on our own hopelessness.

And me? I was standing here, watching it all crumble, my own reflection in the window looking more frantic by the minute, while my mom kicked her heels up at the cottage.