Page 3 of Magical Mayhem (Stonewick Magical Midlife Witch Academy #7)

The Academy doors swung wide, and I stepped into the summer air.

A sea of midlife witches surged forward, dressed in everything from linen trousers to floral sundresses, wide-brimmed hats pinned with charms, and glittery sandals enchanted to never trip them up.

Their voices rose in a chorus of excitement, echoing against the stone arches. Some carried satchels overflowing with books, while others brought woven baskets filled with jars of tea and jam to share with their classmates.

One particularly determined woman arrived balancing a portable cauldron under her arm like a prized casserole. The air filled with a suspicious waft of singed lavender that suggested someone had tried a spell on their hair on the ride in.

I stood in the entryway, with a smile plastered to my lips so tightly it could have been stitched there.

“Alright, alright, back it up before she faints.” Twobble squeezed his way through the crowd with the determination of a goblin in a pie line.

He skidded to my side and tugged on the hem of my cloak.

“Breathe, Maeve. In and out. Otherwise, they’ll think you’ve turned into a marble statue and haul you into the garden as decoration. ”

I choked back a laugh and leaned down. “I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” he whispered gleefully. “And you’re terrible at it, which is fine.

That’s why I’m here. I’ll distract the crowd.

See?” He hopped onto the nearest bench, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted, “Welcome to summer session! Complimentary biscuits will be available in approximately twelve seconds.”

“Twobble.” My voice was a warning, but it was too late. A dozen pairs of eyes snapped toward him, and the students erupted in cheers.

A flutter of motion caught my eye as Lady Limora glided forward. In her hands, she balanced a tray of honey biscuits and sugared figs, the platter shimmering faintly from the kitchen sprite's handiwork of summer delicacies.

“Not twelve seconds,” she announced with a smile, “but now.”

The witches gasped as though she’d presented them with the crown jewels. Hands reached, treats were passed, and laughter spilled into the corridor. Lady Limora met my gaze across the bustle, her smile serene, her eyes saying what mine couldn’t.

You’re not alone. Just breathe.

I mouthed a thank you, and she inclined her head, graceful as always.

But the truth was that I was a hot mess inside. Between learning there was a goblin underworld beneath me, shadows hanging in the skies, Malore waiting to pounce, and Keegan barely holding on, I was at my wits’ end.

Oh, and did I mention I needed to get archenemies in a circle to sing 'Kumbaya' to save us all?

The students voiced questions to anyone who would listen as excitement tumbled from them faster than I could catch.

“Will there be broom-flying this term?”

Good question, considering I’d seen it before, but never tried myself.

“My cauldron won’t explode if I leave it in the dorm, will it?”

Depends on what you put in it.

“Are there yoga classes for stiff knees?”

Brilliant idea, and there would be shortly.

I murmured reassurances and pointed them toward their dormitories, all while trying not to notice the way the light outside the tall windows flickered strangely.

Shadows caressed the skies, tugging at the edge of the day, and the Wards hummed louder to keep them back.

Keegan.

Was he resting, or was the curse gnawing deeper?

His mother had returned, the Silver Wolf, fierce and mysterious, yet his father was nowhere to be seen.

Malore stalked the edges of my dreams, broad-shouldered and merciless.

And Gideon, always Gideon, waited like a vulture, three steps ahead, mocking me with every move.

“Headmistress!” A cheerful voice broke through my spiral. One of the new students with her wide-brimmed hat spotted me. “This place is more magical than I ever dreamed.”

I laughed, genuinely this time, and reached to squeeze her hand. “You’ll find it never stops giving.”

She giggled and darted off toward the Butterfly Ward with two friends in tow.

Twobble reappeared at my elbow, his arms already stacked with pilfered biscuits. “You’re welcome, by the way. My distraction was a success. You can breathe again. And look, provisions.”

“You’re supposed to hand those out, not steal them from Lady Limora.”

He grinned, sugar dotting his chin. “Distribution is a delicate art. I test for poison first, considering the state we’re in.”

“Likely story, buddy.” I grinned and shook my head.

Lady Limora swept by again, this time setting down pitchers of sparkling lemonade that refilled themselves.

“Thank you,” I whispered again, meaning more than just for the lemonade.

Around me, things blurred into a kaleidoscope of color and sound.

Students hugging, old friends reuniting, spells fizzing in nervous hands.

A wand snapped, shooting out glitter that rained across the marble floor.

Someone sneezed and conjured a bouquet of dandelions by accident.

A cluster of women near the staircase compared their planners, debating whether evening meditation would conflict with potion-brewing.

Even for the summer session, it was lively. It was hopeful. It was exactly what the Academy wanted.

And yet, I couldn’t shake the hollow in my chest. Every laugh felt like it might splinter. Every shimmer of magic reminded me of the shadows pressing back harder, waiting for one misstep.

Twobble nudged me, mouth full. “Hey. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Look like you’re at a funeral when you’re at a festival.” He waved his hand around. “This is good. This is healing. So what if the sky’s got more attitude than Stella after midnight? We’ve got tea, cookies, and witches in flower crowns. Nothing evil can compete with that.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m adorable,” he corrected.

A group of students swept past us, their chatter high and bright. Six weeks of classes. Six weeks of learning charms, Hedgecraft, fae lore, and fox shifter tricks. Six weeks to keep them safe while shadows prowled at the gates.

I caught sight of Lady Limora in the distance, her elegant form bending to listen as a student proudly explained the embroidery charms she’d stitched into her satchel.

Stella would have loved to be here, but her shop had to stay open for the tourists.

Ember glowed faintly from the upper balcony, watchful and quiet.

Bella lingered near the greenhouse doors, fox ears twitching, already alert for danger.

And me, Maeve Bellemore, recent divorcee turned accidental headmistress, smiling until my cheeks ached, praying my students didn’t notice the storm gathering overhead.

Twobble tugged my sleeve, his voice lower now, just for me. “We’ll hold the line. Smile big. Pour tea. Pretend we’ve got it all together. Meanwhile, we’ll be sharpening stakes and stuffing Wards with firecrackers.”

My throat tightened. “And if pretending isn’t enough?”

He looked up at me, eyes too wise for his small, mischievous face. “Then we stop pretending and start fighting. But not today. Today, we welcome them home.”

“It’s only six weeks,” I muttered.

Twobble nodded. “Precisely, and then we have a reprieve before the fall semester starts.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look around. At the eager faces. At the laughter. At the hope.

He was right.

For now, this was what mattered.

The clamor started faintly, like the distant clang of pots tumbling in a kitchen. But then came the shouting, the snapping branches, and the unmistakable goblin-sized shriek.

I froze mid-stride.

“Well,” I muttered, laughter bubbling up despite myself, “that didn’t last long.”

“Trouble?” Twobble popped up beside me.

His ears perked like a rabbit’s, and his eyes glinted with the gleeful suspicion of someone hoping to be proven right about impending chaos.

“Yes. Definitely trouble.”

He scampered after me, trying to keep up with his short legs. “Oh, goody. I was getting bored with honey biscuits.”

Behind us, the freshly arrived summer students stirred like a flock of startled birds. Their laughter and chatter had barely settled from the welcome feast, and now a ruckus promised more entertainment.

I glanced over my shoulder at the small sea of flowing skirts, enchanted sandals, and bright shawls.

“Stay back, everyone!” I called, though I might as well have told them to sprout wings. Midlife witches rarely obeyed when curiosity struck. “I need to check this out first.”

The path narrowed as we left the courtyard, trees arching overhead with leaves whispering in the wind. The scent of mint and lavender from the gardens gave way to the sharper smell of pine and wet moss. The noise ahead grew louder, with a thumping, a squealing, a distinctly magical popping sound.

Twobble darted ahead, weaving between roots. “Sounds like someone’s brewing chaos.”

We rounded a bend, and I stopped so abruptly that half the students collided into each other behind me.

Because there, smack in the middle of the path, was a… well, I wasn’t entirely sure what it was.

It looked like a donkey, if donkeys came in shades of emerald green and wore flower garlands that seemed to sprout directly from their fur.

Its hooves sparked when they hit the dirt, sending tiny bursts of light flying like fireflies.

And on its back clung a student who clearly hadn’t signed up for bareback riding.

She was laughing, shrieking, and holding on for dear life as the creature bucked and twirled.

“How do my days go like this?” I whispered.

“Fantastic!” Twobble crowed, bouncing on his toes. “We’ve got ourselves a Wilds bramble mule.”

“Bramble what?” one of the students asked, wide-eyed.

“Bramble mule,” Twobble repeated, puffing with pride at being the expert. “Half beast, half garden, all trouble, from the Wilds.”

The mule brayed, sparks scattering, and the poor student slid sideways with a yelp. Gasps rose from the crowd.

I snapped into motion, taking off my cloak.

“Hold this,” I told Twobble as I strode forward, raising my palms. “Alright, let’s all calm down, everyone.”

The midlife witch dusted off her fanny and shrugged. “It looked cute, so I tried to get on it.”

“Well, you got on it. You just didn’t stay on it,” Twobble quipped.

The mule snorted, shook its flower-draped head, and bolted straight at me.

I yelped, darting sideways as it thundered past, sparks crackling where its hooves struck. The students shrieked and scattered, skirts and hats flying in all directions. Twobble whooped with delight, chasing after the beast like it was a parade float.

“Maeve!” he called over his shoulder. “Watch what I can do.”

“Don’t touch it!” I shouted, running after him.

Never in my wildest dreams or worst nightmare had I conjured a magical mule with a vendetta.

The path widened into a clearing where the Wilds pressed close.

“I nearly had it!” Twobble cried.

“No, you nearly had a concussion,” I muttered. “Are you hurt?”

“Only my pride.” He grinned, brushing moss from his arms.

Meanwhile, the mule stood proudly in the clearing, flowers blooming fresh along its shoulders, sparks popping. It looked at me with big eyes and stomped once as if issuing a challenge.

Twobble edged closer, hands behind his back, trying to look nonthreatening. “Now, now, pretty beast. You’re giving us a bit of fun, aren’t you? Who’s a good bramble-mule?”

The creature flicked its ears, unimpressed, and promptly sneezed. A shower of dandelion seeds burst into the air, coating Twobble from head to toe.

“Ugh!” he spluttered, spitting fluff. “How rude.”

The midlife students giggled, their earlier fear melting into delight. Several whipped out notebooks, scribbling excitedly about unexpected magical fauna. Someone started sketching, and I laughed, rubbing my temples.

Of course, the first day of the summer session couldn’t simply be tea and welcome speeches. No, we had to start with a spontaneous visit to the Wilds.

“Maeve?” one of the students asked nervously. “Is this… safe?”

I glanced at the mule. It pawed the ground, but its sparks dimmed, and its garland mane seemed more playful than dangerous.

“As long as its thorns don’t come out,” Nova announced, coming forward. The crowd whispered with even more excitement.

“Safe enough, I suppose,” I said cautiously. “So long as we don’t…”

Twobble sneezed again, sending dandelion fluff swirling. The mule perked up, brayed like a trumpet, and bounded straight toward him.

“Run!” he yelped, legs pumping as fast as they could go. The mule charged after him, sparks lighting up the air like fireworks. The students roared with laughter, cheering as though this were a planned performance.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, stifling a laugh of my own.

Because for the first time all day, the shadows over Stonewick slipped from my thoughts. No Gideon, no Malore, no curse gnawing at Keegan. Just a ridiculous goblin chased by a sparkling green mule, and a crowd of midlife witches shrieking with glee.

The mule finally caught up, nuzzled Twobble hard enough to knock him flat, then pranced in a circle around him before settling down in the moss as if it had never caused a ruckus.

Twobble sat up, his sparse hair wild.

“See? I tamed it.”

“You fell over,” I corrected.

“Details,” he sniffed, brushing off his knees.

The students swarmed closer, cooing over the creature, petting its leafy garland, plucking flowers that instantly regrew. The mule accepted the attention with smug satisfaction.

One woman leaned close to me, whispering, “Do we get one of these in the dormitories?”

I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. “No. Absolutely not.”

Still, as I watched them marvel and chatter, I felt something loosen in my chest. This was what the Academy needed: laughter, wonder, a little chaos that didn’t carry malice.

For a few blessed moments, the world beyond the Wards could wait.