Page 26 of Magical Mayhem (Stonewick Magical Midlife Witch Academy #7)

The book weighed heavily in my arms as I climbed the stairs back toward Keegan’s room. The library still sang in my ears, book sprites squeaking triumphantly from the shadows as though I were carrying their prize. The Call of the Wild Ones.

But it wasn’t just about dragging Keegan’s mother into the open, or convincing Gideon to lend a reluctant hand, or even about me taking on more than I could possibly bear.

It was about the message.

Malore thrived on fear. He had always been a master of fractures—splitting families, splitting factions, splitting people apart from themselves.

The curse wasn’t just a weapon; it was a reminder that Stonewick was weak, divided, unable to stand.

When we defeated the first one, he was quick to divide again, but this time, he included his own puppet as well.

Gideon.

But maybe the answer wasn’t to outmaneuver him with some brilliant spell or hidden weapon.

Perhaps the answer was to show him that his techniques were no longer effective.

That the very thing he’d spent decades feeding on, his division, was unraveling.

That Stonewick was stitching itself back together, stronger than before.

The Silver Wolf was just one thread in the process of unification and reuniting the clans.

But another piece was the midlife students laughing in the banquet hall, their forks clattering, their magic sparking wild and unpolished. So were the teachers, the sprites, and even the goblins with frying pans and tempers. The Academy wasn’t just standing again.

It was breathing and alive.

And Malore needed to see that.

By the time I reached Keegan’s door, my heart was hammering, and my conviction was sharper than it had been in days.

I knocked once, softly, then pushed the door open.

The fire in the hearth glowed low, casting long shadows across the wolf carvings on the bedframe. Keegan was propped up against the pillows, eyes half open, his breathing still rough but steadier than it had been.

Relief punched through me so hard my knees nearly buckled. He looked better, not good, but better. The gray pallor had eased from his skin, and his gaze sharpened when it landed on me.

“Maeve,” he rasped.

I shut the door behind me, crossing the room quickly. Nova and Ardetia weren’t here. That alone felt strange, as though someone had left me in charge of something I wasn’t qualified to handle.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.

He exhaled slowly, his lips quirking faintly. “Like I’ve been trampled by a herd of elk. But I’m upright.”

I chuckled softly, though my chest ached at the sound of his voice. “That’s progress.”

He studied me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve got that look again.”

“What look?”

“The one you get when you’ve decided something reckless.”

I smiled faintly. “Maybe. But it’s not reckless. Not this time.”

He arched a brow. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

I hesitated, clutching the book tighter against me. For a heartbeat, I almost told him about Gideon and about the way he lay in the inn, shadows curling over him just as they curled over Keegan. The words clawed at my throat.

But not now.

Not when his breath was steadier, and when his eyes had a spark of fire again. I couldn’t risk shattering that fragile progress.

So instead, I took a deep breath and said, “I’ve been thinking about Malore. About what he feeds on. And I know now that the only way to defeat him is to turn the game he’s playing.”

Keegan tilted his head, frowning. “How so?”

“Division,” I said firmly. “He thrives on it. On splintering clans, on driving wedges, on making us believe we’re too broken to fight.

But Stonewick isn’t falling apart anymore.

It’s strengthening. Sure, the shadows stretch in the skies above, but there’s something below them building, and he can’t stop that. ”

A smirk traced his lips.

“The students are back,” I went on. “The Academy is alive again. My mom is here. She walked into the Academy like it had been waiting for her.

The Silver Wolf is circling. Fae, shifters, witches…they’re all being pulled back, whether they like it or not. Whether we like it or not, unity is on the horizon. The land is stitching itself together.”

“And Malore hates it,” he whispered.

I leaned closer, my voice fierce despite the tremor in it. “So we show him it’s working. We show him that his techniques aren’t scaring us apart anymore. We make him see Stonewick united. That’s the only way to win. That’s the only reason to invite your mother back with open arms.”

Keegan stared at me for a long moment, his breath shallow, his eyes unreadable. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth curved upward.

“You sound like someone I almost believe,” he murmured.

“Almost?” I asked, raising a brow.

He huffed, a sound halfway between a laugh and a growl. “Almost. Because you’re forgetting one thing: Malore won’t just sit back and admire the view. He’ll fight harder. He’ll push back twice as strongly. He always has.”

I nodded. “Then so will we.”

Silence stretched between us, filled only by the crackle of the fire.

Keegan shifted, grimacing as he tried to sit straighter. “You’ve got more fire than sense, Maeve. But… maybe that’s what we need.”

His words warmed me, even as my heart pounded harder.

Because the truth was, I wasn’t sure I had more fire than sense. I only knew I had to keep moving because once I stopped, I might not move again.

I reached for his hand, clasping it in mine. His skin was warm, his grip faint but steady. “You’re not alone in this, Keegan. None of us are. Stonewick’s stronger than it’s ever been, even if it doesn’t look like it. And Malore needs to see that.”

His gaze softened, the storm easing for just a moment. “You really believe that?”

I squeezed his hand tighter. “I have to.”

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling like he was letting go of something heavy. When he opened them again, there was a spark there—a small one, but real.

“Then I’ll hold on,” he said quietly. “For you. For Stonewick. For whatever comes.”

My throat ached. I wanted to lean down, to press my lips against his forehead, to promise him it would all be okay. But I knew better. Promises like that broke too easily.

So instead, I just sat there, holding his hand, letting the fire’s warmth seep into the silence.

For now, it was enough.

But outside the window, the shadows hissed and coiled tighter as though they, too, had heard my words.

And they didn’t like them one bit.

Keegan’s hand lingered in mine, his thumb brushing weakly across my skin. The flicker of firelight caught the storm in his eyes, softer now, but still burning. My chest ached with how much I wanted to keep him hidden here, safe, and mine.

“I hate seeing you like this,” I whispered, my voice raw.

His lips curved, faint but real.

“And I hate you worrying about me.” His gaze held mine, steady despite the exhaustion in his body. “But I can’t stop worrying about you either, Maeve.”

That undid me. I leaned in, closing the space between us, and pressed my mouth to his.

The kiss was soft at first, a promise more than a claim. But then he shifted, pulling me closer with what little strength he had, and the fire deepened. His lips tasted faintly of tea and smoke, and his breath hitched against mine, his hand trembling as it slid to the back of my neck.

My heart pounded so fiercely I thought the shadows themselves might hear it.

But I forced myself to pull back, my forehead resting against his.

“Rest,” I breathed, stroking his hair. “Please. I won’t be far.”

His eyes fluttered shut, but his hand didn’t let go.

I meant to leave.

Truly, I did.

But Keegan’s hand lingered in mine, his breathing slow and steady at last, and the warmth of the fire wrapped itself around us like a spell. The exhaustion I’d been holding off for days seeped through me all at once, heavy and relentless.

I told myself I’d just stay until his breaths evened out. Just a moment. Just long enough to be sure.

My eyelids betrayed me.

The chair at his bedside looked too far away, so I slipped onto the bed beside him, careful not to jar his healing body. His warmth was immediate, soothing, his scent a familiar mix of pine and smoke. I let out a long breath, my head tipping against the pillow.

Only a quick nap, I promised myself.

The darkness welcomed me almost too eagerly.

At first, it was the usual shadows stretching, corridors that never ended, whispers I couldn’t quite catch. But then I felt it. Not the cold edge of Malore’s laughter, but something heavier, more human.

Gideon.

I braced, expecting his arrogant smirk, his cruel taunts that slithered like snakes into my thoughts. But when he appeared in the shifting haze, he wasn’t the Mage who had cast Stonewick into shadow.

He was slumped, weary, and his eyes were hollow.

“You again,” I muttered, though even my dream-voice shook.

He didn’t sneer. He didn’t bare his teeth. He looked at me as though he barely recognized who, or what, I was.

“Why do you keep showing up?” I demanded.

“I’m not,” he said flatly. His voice cracked, low and raw. “You are.”

Something twisted in my chest.

“You need help,” I whispered.

His laugh was hollow. “Don’t waste pity on me. If I die, no one will care.”

The words struck like a lash. I almost denied it, but they rang too close to truth.

And it shouldn’t have bothered me.

He was the enemy.

Gideon was the one who had nearly broken Stonewick. The one who had twisted shadows into chains, cursed my dad and Keegan the first time.

But the image of him lying in the inn, his chest rising shallowly, shadows coiling tightly around him, tangled with this dream version, and his cracked voice and hollow eyes.

The thought that no one would notice, that he would slip into nothing, forgotten, that pierced deeper than I wanted to admit.

“Is that why?” I asked quietly.

He blinked.

“Is that why you did it?” I pressed, my dream-self trembling as the words spilled. “When you cast the curse? Was it because you wanted to be remembered? Because you thought no one cared?”

His eyes snapped to mine, a storm flaring in them. “You think I destroyed Stonewick for attention?”

“I think,” I whispered, “that you didn’t want to disappear.”

The silence between us roared, louder than any argument.

His shoulders sagged, and for the first time, I saw something flicker there, not anger, not arrogance, but fear.

“You don’t understand,” he murmured. “No one ever understands.”

“Then tell me,” I urged. “For once in your life, just say it.”

The shadows around us thickened, curling like smoke, muting the edges of his form until he looked more nightmare than man. But his voice cut through anyway, low and broken.

“I didn’t want to be forgotten.” His eyes locked on mine. “And after what was taken from me, I surely would.”

The words clanged inside me like a tolling bell.

That was it, wasn’t it? All the cruelty, the destruction, the curse itself was rooted in that hunger. Not for power. Not for victory. For memory. And loss.

He wanted to matter.

But what was taken from him?

And though everything in me screamed that I should not care, that I should never let such a confession take root, my chest ached anyway.

Because hadn’t I, too, feared vanishing into nothing?

Hadn’t I worried, after Alex left, after Celeste grew up, after my own life crumbled, that maybe I was already fading?

That maybe no one would remember me if I didn’t fight for something bigger?

“Gideon,” I whispered, my voice catching.

His gaze softened for a fraction of a heartbeat, and I saw, not the Mage, not the enemy, but the boy he must have been before shadows sank their teeth into him.

The dream warped, the air vibrated, the ground beneath me cracked like glass. His form blurred, his voice echoing.

“Remember me.”

I gasped, trying to reach for him, but the shadows surged like a wave, pulling him back, drowning him.

The darkness collapsed around me.

And then…

A frantic knock jolted me awake.

I sucked in air, sitting upright so fast my head spun. The room swam back into focus as the fire burned low, Keegan shifted beside me, and his breathing was heavy but steady. My hand still rested over his, grounding me in the reality of his warmth.

The knock came again, louder and more urgent.

“Maeve!” a voice hissed through the door. “Open up, quickly!”

My heart slammed in my chest.

I slid carefully from the bed, tucking the quilt back over Keegan’s shoulders. He didn’t stir beyond a faint groan, lost in his own troubled dreams.

I padded across the floor, my bare feet soundless against the rug, every nerve in me taut. The dream still clung to me, Gideon’s broken words echoing, If I die, no one will care.

I reached for the door, pulse hammering, the urgency of the knock rattling straight into my bones.

And as my hand closed over the latch, I whispered to myself, “This better not be about him.”

Because I wasn’t sure how much more I could take.