Page 40 of Magical Mayhem (Stonewick Magical Midlife Witch Academy #7)

The tear in the air widened with a sound like ripping canvas. Light bled out of it in jagged flashes, too bright and too dark all at once, and the shadows came crawling through.

They weren’t shapeless anymore. They were limbs and claws and snarling maws made of smoke, their eyes lit with the same fog-light as the skies above Stonewick.

The first scream pierced the banquet hall.

“Hold!” I shouted, though my own voice shook.

Nova’s staff lifted in an arc of green fire, slamming into the floor. Her group of students followed her lead, raising wands and charms, their spellwork sparking a dome of light that pressed against the shadow-things. They hissed, recoiling, only to surge again.

Ardetia’s vines whipped forward like living whips, snaring two of the creatures and snapping them into curls of smoke. Her students hurled herb bundles at the ground, and bursts of rosemary and sage filled the air, stinging the shadows back.

Bella’s laughter rang sharp as she shifted midleap, her fox form darting low between the beasts. She struck with claws tipped in fox-fire, darting in and out as her cluster of students copied her feints, illusions flashing to confuse their enemies.

Ember hovered higher, her glow brightening until the hall glowed like dawn. She raised her translucent hands, and her students poured their memories into her circle, sharing names, faces, and love, and together they forged a shield of light so fierce that half the shadows flinched from it.

Stella shouted louder than all of them, brandishing a teapot like a weapon.

“Breathe in this spell, you brutes!” she barked, hurling sachets of rosemary and salt across the floor. Her students followed her with ladles and spoons enchanted to burn, of all things, and when they swung them, the shadows actually recoiled, shrieking.

Lemonia’s runes flared from the floor, sharp lines blazing as her group poured their magic into the symbols. Each sigil pulsed, then fired in sequence, bolts of light spearing into the advancing wave.

The entire hall blazed with a patchwork of defenses. Spells arced like comets, herbs burned, charms hissed, fox-fire darted, and the shadows writhed.

Pride swelled in me so fiercely I thought it might lift me off my feet. This was what the Academy had been waiting for.

Why its doors had opened again.

The students weren’t just learning; they were fighting. They were defending Stonewick.

But pride was fragile, brittle under the hammering weight of what pressed against us.

For every shadow they repelled, three more pushed through. The tear in the air widened, spitting lightning that cracked against the Wards, and they shuddered like cloth pulled too tight.

I ran forward, throwing my palms wide. Fire leapt from my fingertips, Hedge and flame magic sparking together into a line of burning vines that lashed across the nearest wave of shadows. The beasts shrieked, dissolving under the strike, but the ground smoked where they’d touched.

“Maeve!” Keegan’s voice roared above the ruckus.

I spun to see him, standing near Ardetia, his hazel eyes alight. He had no weapon but himself, his wolf crouched in every tense line of his body. The curse tugged at him; I could feel it, but still he stood, bellowing orders to the students around him. “Push harder! You’re stronger than shadows!”

He threw a punch, and I swear the air itself cracked under his fist, sending a shadow sprawling into smoke.

His wolf might weaken him, but the mage in him might save him.

A group of students shrieked as another shadow slithered under their defenses, its claw sweeping toward them.

My heart lurched. I ran, slamming my palms to the floor. Vines erupted, twisting up to form a wall, and the shadow’s claw struck harmlessly against them.

“Stay in formation!” I cried. “Trust your instructors. Trust each other!”

The hall rattled as another lightning strike slammed the runes, and a crack splintered across the ceiling. Dust rained down, mixing with smoke and sage.

Everywhere I looked, students were bracing, holding, trembling, but not breaking. Their wands glowed, their charms hissed, their runes flared. Some faltered, but others stepped in, shouldering the gap. They were fighting together.

And yet…

Worry overtook my pride.

This was only the beginning.

The shadows weren’t fighting to win tonight. They were testing, pushing, weakening us piece by piece. Malore was laughing somewhere beyond the tear; I knew it in my bones. Laughing and waiting for the moment we thought we’d won, so he could strike the final blow.

Another beast lunged. I spun fire through my palms, striking it down, the heat searing sweat across my brow. My arms shook, my magic humming too loud in my veins.

I risked one glance toward the students nearest me. A woman with silver streaks in her hair held her wand high, her eyes wild but resolute. A shifter at her side bared his teeth, claws sparking with fox-fire. A fae witch traced runes with trembling fingers, her lips moving in prayer.

They weren’t warriors. They were mothers, fathers, teachers, shopkeepers. People who’d come here for second chances.

And now they stood at the gates of war.

“Maeve!” Nova’s voice cut through, sharp as glass.

I turned. She was at the window again, her staff raised. Her green eyes blazed as she called out, “The tear widens. We must hold until dawn!”

Hold until dawn.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. That was hours away.

Could we hold that long?

Another wave crashed against us. I raised my hands, ready to burn until I had nothing left.

Because this was it.

The battle had begun.

And Stonewick was on the line.

The clash of spell against shadow still rang in my ears when I felt the tide shift.

For a moment, just a moment, the students prevailed.

The runes glowed brighter where Nova’s circle pressed them with focus.

Ardetia’s vines had thickened into walls of thorn that snapped at anything daring to creep through.

Stella’s charms cracked like firecrackers, driving shadows back in sputters of smoke.

And the students… saints help me, the students held the line.

Where they faltered, another stepped in. One witch stumbled with her wand, trembling, and a fox-shifter leapt forward, illusions blooming around them both until the shadow didn’t know who to strike. A fae bent with grief straightened, drawing a rune onto the floor so bright it scorched the air.

Their midlife weariness turned into something else—into grit, into defiance, into fire.

The horde pressed harder, but the hall had become a storm of resistance.

“Together!” someone shouted, maybe Bella, maybe a student, and the cry rippled until it was a chant.

Together.

Together.

Together.

It was working. For the first time since Malore’s shadow had scarred the skies, it was working.

I felt the pull to move, to join, to burn myself out right there among them. But the battle was growing beyond the Academy. I could feel it in the stones, in the way the air surged toward the doors, pulling us outward.

The clans were gathering.

Out the window, I glimpsed them. Shifters in their midlife forms, foxes sleek, wolves bristling, owls with wings spread, pushed forward in clusters, some limping, some carrying wounds old and new to Stonewick.

Fae women in dresses still scented of gardens marched shoulder to shoulder with witches whose aprons were streaked with flour, illusion charms glowing in their hands. They were moving, all of them, toward the front grounds where the real clash was bound to spill.

And then I saw him.

My dad.

He was leading a large group of midlife witches, their wands raised, illusions sparking like fireflies around them. He barked orders in his human form, steady, unwavering, his presence alone a shield.

My heart stalled.

I thought of the dragons’ words.

Some may falter. Some may perish.

No. I couldn’t think of that. Not of him. Not of any of them.

I swallowed hard, forcing air into my lungs even as my chest screamed with the weight of it. He glanced my way, just once, and his eyes met mine. There was no fear there. Only determination.

And love.

I wanted to scream for him to stay behind. To tell him the dragons’ prophecy. To beg him not to become one of the names that would be carried in ember-fire at dawn. But I couldn’t. I didn’t have the right. He was as much a part of this fight as I was.

The air rumbled, deep and low, cutting through my thoughts. It wasn’t thunder. It wasn’t Wards.

It was the front doors of the Academy.

They shook against the frame, a sound like the growl of a beast too big to be stopped. The great wooden panels shuddered under the weight of something pounding from the other side. Dust rained from the beams above as the hinges screamed.

I darted forward before I could think, shoving past clusters of witches, fae, and shifters.

“Hold the hall!” I shouted back. “Don’t let the line break!”

The corridor funneled me toward the main entrance, the sound growing louder, closer, until every step rattled through my bones.

The doors heaved again, the runes flashing faint blue as they strained.

And for the first time, I felt it.

The weight of Malore’s will pressed directly against the Academy’s heart. Not testing. Not teasing. Pushing. Demanding entry.

I skidded to a stop at the threshold, breath sharp in my chest. The hall behind me still roared with battle cries, illusions flashing, spells sparking, and chants of 'together, together' echoing through the stone. But here at the doors, there was only silence between impacts.

I laid my palm against the wood, the runes thrumming hot under my skin.

The next strike landed.

The whole Academy shook.

And I knew we were out of time.

My hand burned against the wood, the doors trembling so violently it felt like I was holding the pulse of a dying heart. The blue glow flickered, dimmed, and for a terrifying moment, vanished altogether before sparking back to life.

Behind me, footsteps pounded. “Maeve!”

Keegan’s voice.

He half-stumbled, half-charged down the corridor, his hazel eyes fever-bright, jaw clenched as though he could stop the storm with his teeth.

Twobble and Skonk trailed after him, both panting, both looking entirely out of place in a battle corridor but still carrying themselves like they’d been summoned for this exact moment.

“Don’t touch the door!” Twobble cried. “Whatever’s on the other side doesn’t want tea and scones!”

The doors shuddered again, splinters flying from the wood. A fissure of light shot down the seam, blinding and unnatural, and the air filled with the scent of iron and rot.

“It’s him,” Keegan growled, his voice low, animal.

I swallowed hard. “Malore.”

Another strike, and the beam across the doors cracked in two. A kitchen sprite darted past us with a pan, shrieking, then vanished through the nearest wall. I couldn’t even blame them.

Keegan stepped forward, shoulders squared. “If he gets in, the students…”

“I know,” I said quickly, my pulse hammering. “We hold him here for now.”

“Not we,” Twobble said, tugging at my sleeve. “We, as in you two magic-tangled soulmates, hold him here while I make sure my skin stays firmly attached to my bones, and I get the students outside.”

Skonk elbowed him. “Speak for yourself. I’ve got standards. I’m staying.” His grin widened, devilish as ever, even with the rune light flashing across his face.

The door bucked so hard it flung us all backward a step. The glow dimmed again, this time weaker.

I raised my hands, magic gathering at my fingertips, flame and Hedge twining into ropes of light. Keegan crouched low, his body humming with the wolf’s restless power, though I could see the curse tugging at him, tempting, calling.

“Maeve.”

His voice was rough, urgent.

I met his gaze, my chest tightening.

“If he’s really out there, if this is him, don’t let me fall to it. Don’t let me become what Gideon did. Do not let Malore claim me.”