Page 28 of Magical Mayhem (Stonewick Magical Midlife Witch Academy #7)

I tumbled into the in between and here and then.

It wasn’t like stepping into another room. It was more like being submerged in water. A place where I was weightless, muffled, every sound stretched thin.

Colors bled at the edges, shadows bent strangely, and everything seemed suspended, waiting.

And there he was.

Gideon, not the man who had cursed Stonewick, not the wasting form lying in the inn bed, but a boy.

A boy sitting on the edge of a cliff, fog curling around his small frame, his knees pulled tight to his chest. His hair fell untamed across his brow, and his eyes, those sharp, stormy eyes that would one day stare down clans, were glassy with longing.

He was staring out at Stonewick.

It glowed in the distance, warm lanterns bobbing through the streets, voices rising in laughter carried faintly through the wind. He leaned forward, straining as if he could drink it in, as if sheer will could bridge the distance.

I felt it then…the hunger and desperation. Not for power, not yet. For belonging. For roots.

The fog thickened, and the scene shifted.

Now Gideon was older, his body stretched into awkward angles, his face sharper. He walked through a hall cloaked in mist.

Shadowick.

The place was heavy, oppressive, every surface slick with condensation. Faint whispers threaded through the walls, words in no tongue I recognized.

Gideon moved quickly, shoulders tense, his jaw set. He was following someone…a tall, cloaked figure whose presence oozed unease.

Malore.

The fog clung tighter, and I could feel Gideon’s pulse quicken as he trailed behind. Fear. Not respect, not even obedience, but fear so sharp it hollowed him out.

And then a voice, Malore’s voice, slick and sharp as broken glass: “You will never belong to them, Gideon. But with me, you will be remembered.”

My stomach turned as I saw another figure fainter and more distant ahead of them both, but then…

The vision shifted again, faster this time, like pages flipping. Gideon stood in a stone chamber, a table spread with maps of Stonewick. His face was older now, hardened, the boy long gone. He traced the lines with his finger, eyes burning with both determination and something brittle beneath it.

Maps.

I felt his thoughts like an echo in my own mind. If they will not remember me as their son, then they will remember me as their curse.

It was like being struck in the chest.

The fog swirled darker, thicker, and I stumbled forward. The chamber dissolved, and suddenly I was there at the moment Stonewick was divided.

I saw him standing in the clearing, with his arms outstretched, and shadows writhing like serpents at his command. His face was pale with strain, sweat dripping from his brow. And yet, beneath the grimace, I felt it.

Not triumph.

Not even satisfaction.

Loneliness.

It bled through the curse like ink spilled in water. He hadn’t just wanted to shatter Stonewick. He wanted Stonewick to see him. To know his name. To remember.

The curse tore through the Wards, the land itself crying out, and I was swept up in the force of it. The shadows lashed, the village’s glow dimmed, and I felt his chest seize with a mix of agony and awe.

He whispered, though no one but the Hedge could have heard: Now they’ll never forget me.

The words scorched through me.

The scene shifted again.

Time spun forward.

Gideon now sat alone in a dark chamber, candlelight flickering across his sharp features.

Scrolls and books piled around him, his eyes hollow with exhaustion.

He wrote feverishly. Notes were scrawled in a language twisted and broken.

He wasn’t just plotting a strategy. He was building walls.

Walls of shadows, walls of lies, walls to keep the ache of silence at bay.

And still, even here, I felt it beneath every plan, every line of ink. The echo of a boy staring longingly at Stonewick’s lights, whispering to himself that someday he’d matter.

They have what is mine.

I stumbled back, shaking my head, my own breath ragged.

“Why, Gideon?” I whispered into the dreamlike dark. “Why this way?”

The Hedge pulsed, a low thrum like a heartbeat. And suddenly, he was there again, not the boy, not the plotting man, but Gideon as I knew him now.

Cold, handsome, shadows clinging like armor. But his eyes weren’t mocking or cruel. They were tired. So very tired.

“You still don’t understand,” he said, his voice rough, low, as though dragged from some deep cavern.

“Then tell me,” I urged. “Tell me the truth.”

His gaze locked on mine, and for a heartbeat I thought he might. But then the fog thickened, curling around him, pulling him away like smoke.

“No one ever wanted the truth,” he whispered.

My heart ached. “I do.”

But the fog swallowed him whole.

The Hedge shivered, the visions dissolving. The boy, the man, and the curse, they all scattered like leaves in a storm.

I was left floating in gray silence, the weight of his memories pressing heavily on my chest.

And I still didn’t have the answer. Not fully.

But I had a glimpse.

It wasn’t just power. It wasn’t just Malore.

It was loneliness.

It was loss.

The Hedge pulsed once more, then buckled. The world tipped, spinning, dragging me toward waking.

And the last thing I heard before the visions shattered was Gideon’s voice, faint, fraying at the edges.

“Don’t let me fade.”

The Hedge pulled at me like undertow, urging me back to waking, but I dug my heels into the fog and refused to let go.

Not yet.

Not when I could feel it. Something pivotal and something buried in Gideon’s bones was so close to revealing its secrets.

The air around me thrummed, sharp and electric, as though the memory itself resisted my intrusion. My skin prickled, my heart hammered, but I pressed forward.

“Show me,” I whispered. “I need to see.”

The fog churned violently, then thinned.

And there they were.

Gideon, not the boy and not quite the man yet, caught somewhere in between. His jaw was strong, but his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He stood in a cavern dark with fog, torches barely sputtering in the corners.

Opposite him loomed Malore.

I’d never seen him like this, not so close. His presence pressed like a weight on my chest, his smile razor-thin, his eyes glittering with hunger. He leaned in, his voice curling around Gideon like smoke.

“Stonewick is your enemy,” Malore murmured, almost tender. “It always has been. They never welcomed you, never saw you, never cared. They stole from you. But I care.”

Gideon’s fists clenched at his sides, his throat working as if he wanted to argue but couldn’t.

“You were meant for more,” Malore went on, each word deliberate, poison-sweet. “You are meant to be the Mage that watches over all magic, the one who decides who deserves it. And I will serve you. All I ask is that you claim what is already yours.”

Gideon’s voice cracked when he finally spoke. “How?”

My breath caught.

Malore’s smile widened, terrible and slow.

“By casting a curse. Divide the lands. Rip their families apart. Let the bonds that hold them snap like brittle thread.” He leaned closer, his words hissing into Gideon’s ear.

“Because then, you will see who the real enemies are. It is the ones that stay who will be the hardest to break.”

The cavern shook with the force of the moment, the torches sputtering high, shadows leaping along the walls. Gideon’s face crumpled with fear, sorrow, and longing, and they all fought beneath the surface.

I stumbled forward, wanting to scream, to tear Malore away from him, to tell Gideon not to listen. But I couldn’t touch them. I was only a witness, a phantom in his past.

The memory seared itself into me, burning brighter than any other. The moment Stonewick was condemned. I witnessed the moment Gideon let loneliness twist into weaponry, and Malore bent him into a curse.

My knees buckled. The energy rushed through me, hot and unbearable, every nerve alight.

“No,” I gasped, clutching at the air. “It wasn’t power. It was this. This moment.”

The Hedge convulsed, throwing me backward, and I tumbled hard into darkness.

When I opened my eyes, I was back in the inn room.

Gideon was coughing violently, his entire body jerking with the force of it. Shadows spilled from his mouth with each ragged breath, curling black against the sheets.

The sound alone was enough to bring the others crashing back in.

The door slammed open, and Stella swept in first, her shawl flaring like a cape.

Twobble tripped on the threshold but scrambled up quickly, eyes wide as saucers.

Ardetia moved with swiftness that made her hair nearly blaze, her hands already outstretched.

Nova came last, her staff glowing faintly, her eyes locking on me immediately.

“What happened?” she demanded, striding to my side.

I couldn’t answer.

My breath came in ragged gasps, my body trembling from the Hedge’s grip. I still felt Malore’s words crawling through my skin, felt the echo of Gideon’s anguish like a bruise on my heart.

Nova dropped to her knees beside me, her hand steady on my arm.

“Maeve,” she said sharply. “Focus. What did you see?”

My lips parted, but no words came. I couldn’t speak them aloud.

Not yet. If I did, the horror of it, the simplicity and cruelty of Malore’s manipulation, would solidify, and I wasn’t ready for that.

Instead, I turned to Gideon.

His coughing slowed, but his chest still heaved. His eyes flickered open, stormy and bloodshot, and for a fleeting moment they locked with mine.

There was no arrogance there, no cruelty. Only weariness. And beneath it, something raw.

Help me.

It was written in the tremor of his gaze, though no sound escaped his lips.

My throat tightened.

Stella hovered behind me, her bracelets clinking as she wrung her hands.

“He looks worse,” she muttered, her voice pitched high with tension.

Twobble nodded furiously. “Worse, absolutely worse. If he gets any worse, we’ll need an undertaker, not a healer. Just saying.”

“Twobble!” Stella snapped, though her own eyes were worried.

Ardetia placed a hand over Gideon’s forehead, her lips moving in a quiet fae incantation. The shadows recoiled faintly under her touch, but they didn’t vanish.

Nova’s grip on me tightened, steady and unyielding.

“Maeve,” she said again, her voice low now, meant only for me. “Whatever you saw, whatever truth the Hedge gave you, it matters. Hold onto it. We will need it.”

I nodded faintly, though my mind still spun. Malore’s words looped endlessly in my head: It is the ones that stay who will be the hardest to break.

He had turned Gideon’s very longing into a weapon. He had twisted loyalty into chains.

And Stonewick was still paying the price.

Gideon coughed again, weaker this time, his body trembling under the effort. My hands itched to reach for him, to anchor him, but I stayed frozen, afraid of what tether I might strengthen if I did.

The room buzzed with voices. Stella fussed, Twobble fretted, Ardetia chanted, but all of it blurred. Nova’s presence at my side was the only thing that kept me from collapsing outright.

I clutched my knees, bowing my head, my breath ragged.

I had wanted answers.

And now I had them.

But they weren’t just Gideon’s answers. They were Stonewick’s doom, Malore’s design, the blueprint of every shadow pressing down on us.

And I had no idea how to stop it.