Page 24 of Magical Mayhem (Stonewick Magical Midlife Witch Academy #7)

The faces around me blurred. Only one figure stood clear.

My mother.

Not the woman I remembered chasing after cruise ships and flitting from adventure to adventure, with her oversized sunglasses and a mimosa never far from hand.

Not the carefully curated, practical, pressed-linen Mom who had worked double shifts and smiled through gritted teeth, trying to pretend we were normal.

No. This woman was someone else.

I rose slowly, the bench scraping against the stone floor with a screech that echoed through the silent hall. My knees trembled, but I forced them straight. She turned toward me, and when her eyes, still familiar, still part me, met mine, I almost forgot how to breathe.

She looked… at home.

Her hair, once cropped neatly, fell in long, easy waves threaded with silver, the kind that looked earned rather than endured.

Her clothes were not the bright vacation colors she used to wear when she would sweep back into my life from a trip, smelling of sunscreen and expensive perfume.

No, now she wore soft earth-toned robes that clung as though they belonged in these halls, woven with threads that caught the candlelight.

And her eyes…oh, her eyes. They carried shadows of exhaustion but also a depth I had never noticed when I was younger.

I realized, in a single heavy rush, that she had been carrying something all along. Protecting me from it. Trying, failing, hiding. She hadn’t just been my mother. She had been a witch caught between duty and fear, and she’d chosen to keep that truth from me.

But curses don’t respect secrets. They had gnawed through our family anyway.

“Maeve,” she said softly, her voice neither shy nor commanding. It was simply hers.

My throat closed. I wanted to fling a hundred questions, a thousand accusations, all the words I had rehearsed over the months of silence.

Why did you truly leave Stonewick? Why did you let me think I was ordinary?

Why didn’t you tell me what I was, what our family carried? Why did you let me grow up blind?

But none of them came out.

Instead, I whispered, “Mom.”

The word tasted both bitter and sweet on my tongue.

The hall had gone utterly still. The midlife students, who had only moments ago been laughing over their pudding, sat frozen, their spoons hovering, their eyes wide.

Nothing like a midlife soap opera to watch while dining.

Lady Limora, ever regal, had even set down her goblet with a soft thud, lips pressed into a line of surprise. Vivienne’s jaw dropped so far she nearly swallowed a sugared almond whole. Opal elbowed Mara, who looked caught between gasping and giggling.

I took a step closer. My hands were shaking.

“You look… different than earlier,” I managed.

Her lips curved into a small, rueful smile. “So do you.”

Something in my chest cracked. I hadn’t expected her to say that. I hadn’t expected her to sound like she saw me as more than the daughter she left behind…as if she finally saw me as a witch in my own right.

“Why aren’t you at the cottage?” I shrugged. “What are you doing here?”

Her smile faltered, but her gaze stayed steady. “What I should have done a long time ago.”

The words hit me like a stone to the chest. They were too big, too heavy, and too late.

“Besides, Miora was about ready to hang me up at the stake,” my mom whispered, and I chuckled.

Before I could press her for details, the curtain at the far end of the hall rustled, and another figure stepped in.

Grandma Elira.

Her presence always filled a room. She was regal without trying, her silver hair braided like a crown, her eyes carrying decades of calm. She moved with that same quiet grace that had met me the moment I’d come inside the Academy.

The students straightened instinctively as she passed, like flowers reaching for the sun.

But when her gaze landed on my mother, the calm cracked.

She nearly gasped.

The sound echoed through the hall, louder than it should have, as though the stones themselves carried it. Her fingers clenched into a fist, knuckles pale, her breath catching in a way I’d never heard before.

“My daughter-in-law,” Elira whispered, her voice both wonder and wound.

The words broke something in me. They’d never met.

“Well, ex technically,” my mom muttered, and I elbowed her.

The hall erupted into whispers, the midlife witches leaning into one another, their eyes darting between me, my mother, and my grandmother like they’d stumbled into a play they hadn’t bought tickets for.

Lady Limora leaned forward, eyes sparkling with gossip. Vivienne’s fork clattered onto her plate, forgotten. Mara mouthed something I couldn’t catch, while Opal sat wide-eyed, practically vibrating with excitement.

But I barely noticed them. I was caught between two women, both rooted in me so deeply I didn’t know where to stand.

My mother’s chin lifted, her expression steady, but I saw the flicker of unease in her eyes. As though she’d been bracing for this moment, but no amount of bracing could ever make it easy.

Elira’s fingers trembled faintly. It was the first time I had ever seen her falter. She, who had stood unflinching against curses and shadows, was suddenly unmoored.

And me? I stood frozen, my heart pounding so loud I thought the whole hall could hear it.

It was as though the curse itself had twisted to watch us, holding its breath, waiting.

I thought of Keegan, sick and sweating in his bed. I thought of Gideon, half dead and hidden in the inn. I thought of Malore, laughing in the shadows, waiting for us to fall apart. And here was my family, fracturing and mending under the weight of secrets too long buried.

For the first time, I understood: this wasn’t just my fight. It had never been just mine.

But standing between my mother and my grandmother, I also understood something else. Nothing in Stonewick would ever be simple again.

The silence in the banquet hall stretched thin as a thread until I finally found my voice. My throat was tight, but I forced a steadiness I didn’t feel.

“Sit with us, Mom.”

The title felt foreign on my tongue, both too heavy and too light, but she smiled faintly at it, and for the first time in years, I saw her shoulders soften.

She moved gracefully, as though she’d always belonged here.

The robes she wore shimmered faintly in the candlelight, marking her not as an outsider but as a witch who had reclaimed her truth.

As she lowered herself onto the bench beside me, I studied her with the awe of someone rediscovering a forgotten painting. She looked… radiant. Whole in a way I had never seen when I was a child or an adult.

Back then, she had always seemed on edge and uptight.

Now, though? Now she looked like herself, the self she’d hidden for too long.

It made something inside me ache, because if she could wear her truth so openly now, why hadn’t she let me see it then?

The thought burned, and with it came another: the Silver Wolf.

If my mother could come back, if she could slip into Stonewick’s halls as though she’d never left, then so could others. All those who had fled, who had hidden when the curse rose, were returning. But for what?

Was this gathering momentum for a fight? A rally of all factions before the final clash?

Or was it an ending…one last circle drawn before the world cracked apart? Worse, could it be a farewell? A chance for everyone who’d once loved Stonewick to see it alive before it fell?

And the sacrifice…

The fear pressed heavily in my chest, and I shook my head, refusing to let it take root. Not here, not tonight.

The smell of honey and butter grounded me. My pot pie still steamed, the crust flaking as my fork pressed through. I forced myself to eat, to taste, to be present in this moment of warmth, even as the storm clawed above us.

The kitchen sprites, ever attentive, zipped back through the hall with trays balanced high over their heads.

They deposited a plate in front of my mother with a chicken pot pie, golden crust glistening with butter.

One sprite even placed a sprig of lavender on the edge as a garnish, beaming proudly before darting off again.

“Thank you,” my mother murmured, though I wasn’t sure if she spoke to the sprite or to the Academy itself.

The women around us wasted no time.

Lady Limora leaned forward, eyes bright as emeralds. “So you’re Maeve’s mother. I must say, you’ve kept us all in suspense. Do you have any idea what your daughter’s been through these past months?”

Opal clapped her hands together. “She’s been magnificent, absolutely magnificent! You must be proud.”

Vivienne, never one to be left behind, leaned across the table. “And your robes! Simply divine. Did you weave those yourself? Oh, tell me everything.”

They crowded closer, their voices overlapping, as questions and admiration tumbled in a cascade of chatter.

My mom’s expression flickered between startled and amused, but she seemed to soften under the attention.

For once, she didn’t deflect. She let them talk, nodding, smiling, answering in her calm, steady way.

And as I watched, something inside me unknotted. Seeing her like this, comfortable, even radiant in her own skin, was a kind of balm I needed.

Maybe someday, Celeste would see that in me.

I rose quietly, circling behind her. When she glanced up, I leaned down and wrapped my arms around her shoulders. She stiffened for the barest moment, then melted into the embrace, her hands reaching up to press against mine.

For all our history, for all the secrets and silence, she was still my mother.

“I’m glad you’re here,” I whispered, my voice catching.

She tilted her head back to meet my eyes, and for the first time since I was a child, her gaze carried no distance, no hidden wall. “So am I.”

That nearly undid me.

I kissed her temple, straightened, and forced myself to step away. The warmth of her presence lingered, but I couldn’t stay. Not tonight.

“I’ll leave you to the stories,” I said lightly, patting Lady Limora’s hand as she all but leaned across the table with another eager question. “Keep her entertained for me.”

“Oh, darling, we intend to, but first I must deliver food to Stella,” Lady Limora explained, her eyes glittering with mischief.

My mother laughed softly, the sound threading through the hall, and I carried it with me as I turned and slipped away.

Because while they surrounded her with chatter and admiration, I had work to do.

Plans to make.

If my mother could step through the Academy gates, then so could the Silver Wolf. And that was what Stonewick needed most, not whispers, not shadows circling at the edges, but her.

How to entice her, though? That was the puzzle. Wolves didn’t come when called. They came when the pull was undeniable.

I knew what I wanted: to see her stride through these halls, fierce and unyielding, a living answer to the curse’s laughter. To see Keegan’s face when he realized he wasn’t as alone as he thought. To show Stonewick that even those who had fled could return and stand again.

But I also knew the risk. To invite her was to invite every choice she’d made, every scar she carried. She might bring salvation, or she might bring an ending.

Still, as I slipped out of the hall and into the dim corridor, the weight of my decision pressed against me with certainty.

I would find a way to call her.

And if the Silver Wolf answered, Stonewick might change forever.