Page 15 of Magical Mayhem (Stonewick Magical Midlife Witch Academy #7)

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!”

We moved on two, which settled that argument.

Halfway up, Gideon’s dead weight surged unexpectedly as his body tried to be helpful or inconvenient, hard to tell.

“Don’t you dare,” Stella barked as we all started tilting toward the banister.

At the first landing, Limora gave brisk instructions like a seasoned matron organizing a tea table after an earthquake.

“Swap sides. Bella, give Maeve your shoulder. Skonk, for mercy’s sake, stop tugging his boots like you’re ringing a bell.”

Up the second flight we went, my arms beginning to tremble, back prickled with sweat. Keegan would hate this.

He would hate Gideon in his hall, Gideon under his roof, Gideon anywhere near the rooms he kept as refuge for travelers and students and me.

And yet my gut sat strangely calm beneath the guilt.

If the circle ever stood, this was how we got there, by bearing what we could not bear, across a threshold we would never have chosen.

At the top landing, Stella led us along the quieter north corridor where there were fewer rooms and fewer curious guests. Ember’s key, warm from Stella’s palm, turned again in another lock with a contented little sigh.

“Here we are,” Stella announced softly. “Fourth on the right.”

The door opened onto a small hall. Ember would’ve chosen it precisely because it felt forgotten. One more door inside, and that one held the room.

We maneuvered Gideon through the first and second thresholds with all the grace of a furniture delivery staffed entirely by people in dramatic capes.

Bella’s shoulder knocked a frame askew, and Vivienne reached up without missing a beat to straighten it. Twobble kicked the door shut behind us and then hopped on one foot, hissing at his toes.

Inside, Ember’s choice made sudden, perfect sense.

The room was tucked under the eaves, ceiling sloping low at one side, a dormer window looking over the patio gardens.

The bed was iron, old-fashioned, neatly made with a quilt worked in indigo and white with stars and little wolf shapes stitched along the border.

A narrow writing desk stood beneath the window, and on the wall, a simple watercolor of the coastline. Nothing flashy. Everything deliberate.

And there, woven into the woodwork around the window and humming faintly along the doorframe, a charm Ember must have touched herself.

“All for the cause,” Stella murmured, repeating Ember’s words with a softness that wasn’t mockery.

“On the bed,” Bella said, practical as ever. “Head to the pillows. Let’s be gentle.”

“That’s a new one,” Skonk said, chuckling.

Somehow, we managed. Bella eased his shoulders.

Limora smoothed the quilt back. Vivienne, efficient as a field nurse, rolled a towel and slid it under his neck.

Skonk produced, of all things, a small flask and dabbed something sharp-smelling on a handkerchief, tucking it near Gideon’s collarbone.

But Gideon still hit the mattress like a felled tree, finally allowed to be still.

The iron clicked softly as the weight shifted.

“For the sins,” Skonk said solemnly.

“Which ones?” Twobble asked.

“Yes,” Skonk said, and that seemed to cover it.

I stood at the foot of the bed, my hands shaking, as my breath was finally allowed to be full. My muscles burned from assisting, and I couldn’t imagine not sleeping.

Gideon looked less like ruin and more like aftermath.

The shadows clung, but the room’s quiet didn’t entertain them. It was as if Ember had given us a still pool to set him in, so we could see the ripples honestly.

“Water,” Bella said.

Vivienne was already pouring from the pitcher left on the sideboard. Ember thought of everything, apparently.

Limora lifted Gideon’s head gently, and I pressed the cup to his lips. He swallowed once, twice, then turned his face toward the quilt, breath catching in a small sound that did not belong to someone invulnerable.

“He’ll need watching,” Limora said. “But you need to sit before you fall.”

So I sat.

“Thank you,” I said to no one and everyone. “For helping. For not asking.”

“We’ll ask later,” Vivienne said sweetly, and winked.

Stella took one slow circuit of the room, appraising it like a jeweler eyeing settings.

“Ember chose well. Quiet. Manageable. And far enough from Keegan’s usual route if he feels better, that he won’t stumble into a coronary before we explain.”

Twobble slumped against the wall, sliding down to sit with a thud. “I feel like I carried a mountain.”

“You carried the feet,” Skonk said, lounging on the little settee as if he’d paid for it. “I carried destiny.”

“You carried boots,” Twobble said.

Bella ignored them both, fingers resting on Gideon’s wrist, counting something only she could hear. After a moment, she nodded, once. “Stronger than before.”

“Because he’s not fighting to stand,” Limora said. “Some battles are easier to survive lying down.”

Silence settled, but it was more like the pause between one choice and the next.

The dormer window framed a sliver of sky so dark it looked like velvet pressed to glass. Somewhere distant, students laughed, and the summer session did its best to imitate normalcy.

My thoughts refused to be still.

Keegan, pale and stubborn, was in his bed at the Academy.

“Maeve,” Stella said quietly. “We’ll need a rotation. Who sits, who fetches. I can hold the door with a spell for a while, but I won’t waste it if we’re not using it.”

“I’ll take first watch,” Bella said immediately.

“I’ll bring food,” Twobble volunteered.

“You always bring food,” Skonk said. “Bring silence. It’s far more of a gift, Twiblet.”

“Rude,” Twobble muttered, but he smiled.

Lady Limora touched my shoulder, warm and grounding.

“Go breathe for a moment,” she said. “Wash your face. Sleep. Then come back and decide what truth you’re going to tell Keegan when you must tell him something.”

That last part knocked the wind from me in the gentlest way, but I nodded, stood, and leaned forward without thinking and straightened the quilt’s border along Gideon’s chest.

“Don’t make me regret this,” I whispered, and then wanted to take the words back because they were less prayer than threat.

His eyelids fluttered. For a heartbeat, a breath, I thought he might open them.

He didn’t.

Stella set her teacup on the desk with a click.

“All right, my darlings. We’ve delivered the goods. Let’s manage the aftermath with style.”

“We’re at your service,” Skonk said.

“Questionable,” Stella replied. “Guard the corridor. If anyone wanders this way, I want you to look boring.”

Twobble looked genuinely affronted. “I’ve never been boring.”

“Then this is character growth,” Stella said.

I drew a breath that didn’t shake and told him, “Rest. You’re not in the Wilds anymore.”