Page 5 of Magical Mayhem (Stonewick Magical Midlife Witch Academy #7)

My name lingered in my ears, tender as a lullaby yet cutting as a blade.

Every part of me urged retreat and go back to the mule, the students, to Nova’s steady strength, and Ardetia’s quiet calm.

I suddenly wanted back to the warmth, to tea and laughter, to the kind of magic that soothed instead of unsettled.

But I stayed. I couldn’t walk away. Not yet.

I was too nosy and apparently hadn’t learned my lesson yet, so I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders, and whispered, “Alright then. Show me.”

Mushrooms littered the ground in bright crimson patches, some speckled with white, others rimmed in silver like tiny lanterns. I tried to step carefully into the spongy ground, but their numbers multiplied the deeper I went, and soon I was tripping over clusters that seemed to spring up beneath me.

“Oof!”

I went down quickly as my knee hit the moss, but it didn’t hurt at all.

I brushed my hand over the nearest mushroom, its cap slick and strangely warm, as if it were alive.

“Lovely,” I muttered. “Saved by fungus.”

The joke fell flat in the stillness. Not even a cricket answered me.

Pushing to my feet, I continued, brushing ferns aside, ducking beneath twisting vines. Every detail shimmered with a strange intensity.

It could be considered cozy if it weren’t for the lurking sensation that the tiny creatures and vivid foliage were watching me.

I told myself it was only the season. Summer had pressed its colors into everything, bold and unapologetic.

The Wilds turned into a chorus louder than spring’s crickets.

Flowers climbed high, curling up tree bark and intertwining themselves into braids of vivid green and brilliant colors.

The air purred with unseen magic, heavy and sweet, clinging warm against my skin.

But my heart thudded too hard.

Because what if I wasn’t meant to follow? What if the voice was a trick?

What if I were searching for something I should never find?

I pushed through a patch of brambles, their thorns curiously soft, almost velvety against my fingers, and stumbled into another clearing.

The moss here was brighter, a vivid lime that almost glowed like goblin gold, spreading like a rug beneath my feet. Red mushrooms rimmed the edges, forming an uneven circle.

A fairy ring, my mind whispered. A door. A warning.

I stepped carefully around it, refusing to test which.

Maeve.

I spun as my heart stopped.

But again, there was no one.

Only the hush, the gleam of mushrooms, and the weight of unseen eyes greeted me.

“Stop it,” I whispered to myself, pressing my hands to my cheeks. “You’re imagining it. The forest is playing tricks. That’s all.”

I moved again through the trees, and each step became an argument with myself.

Branches clawed gently at my hair, tangling strands, as though urging me to turn back. A vine coiled around my wrist again, cooler this time, reluctant to let go. I shook free as my breath caught.

The hush deepened until it roared in my ears, and without warning, the trees opened.

I stumbled into a clearing I knew too well.

The cemetery.

My breath stilled as I took it in.

The headstones were pale in the afternoon sunlight, some leaning, some straight, their inscriptions half-swallowed by time. A low wall of moss-covered stone edged the place, crumbling in spots where roots had pried the rocks apart.

Flowers, both wild and planted, crowded between the graves, with roses, lilies, and now, newly risen in clusters, more of those red mushrooms.

I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering despite the warmth of summer.

The cemetery sat just behind the Academy’s lands, shielded by the Wilds.

The events of the Moonbeam flooded through me, and as I looked at the tombstones, I saw former teachers, guardians, and students whose lives had twined with the Academy until the end.

Now, standing alone, the place felt different. Less peaceful, more… expectant.

My heart hammered in my chest as I stepped closer to the first row of stones. Sunlight slid across the names carved there, names I didn’t recognize, though I knew they belonged to someone’s story, someone’s magic, someone’s life that had been given to Stonewick.

The tug in my chest drew me deeper still, moving between graves, pulling me toward the far edge of the cemetery where the Wilds pressed close again.

I paused beside a stone marked only with a single rune, its meaning lost to me, and tried to still my racing thoughts.

“Why here?” I whispered. “Why now?”

The silence answered like a held breath, heavy and waiting.

And then…

Maeve.

The voice again.

Closer.

My knees weakened, and I gripped the top of the stone, the cold seeping into my palms. My heart stopped, then thundered so hard it ached.

It was his voice.

But whose?

Gideon’s low murmur?

Keegan’s rough warmth?

Malore’s growl edged with command?

I couldn’t tell. The single word carried pieces of them all, threaded through the syllables like smoke.

Tears stung my eyes. I blinked hard, refusing to let them fall.

“Stop playing with me,” I whispered hoarsely into the hush.

The shadows deepened between the trees at the edge of the cemetery. My skin prickled, and my magic surged again, warning, bristling, begging me to leave.

But my feet rooted to the moss, caught between fear and yearning, between the desperate hope that the voice belonged to the man I loved and the cold terror that it belonged to the ones I feared most.

Maeve.

Softer this time.

Closer.

I clutched the stone harder, heart slamming, breath shallow, and still no figure stepped from the trees.

Only the silence. Only the voice. Only the Wilds that watched me tremble in its grip.

The cemetery stretched wider than I remembered, as though the Wilds had stretched it with the season.

I moved carefully, afraid my footsteps might disturb more than just earth. My skirts whispered against the grass. My heart whispered against my ribs.

What am I doing here?

The sensible part of me screamed to turn back, to return to the safety of students and tea and Stella’s scolding. But the voice, that terrible, irresistible voice, had tethered me here.

Maeve.

The syllable rippled through the hush like a pebble across still water.

I spun again, certain this time I would find someone leaning against a stone, waiting for me.

But there was nothing.

My throat tightened. “Am I losing my mind?”

The stones did not answer, but the silence felt… indulgent. As though the forest was allowing me to ask questions it already knew the answers to.

I pressed a hand to my birthmark, hot against my skin, and whispered, “I don’t want this.”

But the pull would not release me.

I hurried forward, roaming between markers, nearly tripping over vines that coiled low across the ground. My breath came faster, my pulse rising until I could hear it in my ears. Every name on every stone blurred, none offering recognition, none grounding me.

When I reached the far edge of the cemetery, I stopped abruptly.

The Wilds pressed close again, trees thick and dark, their branches locking together overhead like an arched doorway. The red mushrooms glowed brighter here, forming a line like a path leading back into the woods.

I swallowed as cold sweat beaded at the back of my neck.

“This is madness,” I whispered. “Absolute madness.”

But I stepped into the trees anyway.

The hush deepened, pressing against my ears until even my own breath sounded foreign. The moss was brighter, so vividly green it seemed almost painted. Wildflowers leaned toward me as I passed, petals trembling.

I forced my mind to stay steady, to remember the cozy song of the Academy, the way the tea shop smelled of lavender and lemon, the way Keegan’s laugh warmed me even when shadows darkened his eyes. Anything but the chill crawling along my spine now.

Then it happened.

My foot struck something soft but firm, and I pitched forward with a startled cry. I landed hard on my hands and knees, moss cushioning the blow but mushrooms popping under my palms.

Groaning, I pushed myself up and looked back.

A mushroom the size of a pillow lay where I’d tripped. Its cap glowed scarlet, rich and vivid, with silvery veins webbing across its surface. Spores puffed into the air like smoke, shimmering faintly as they drifted upward.

My stomach turned.

“What are you?” I whispered, brushing dirt from my skirts.

The mushroom pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, before settling again.

I scrambled to my feet, dusting off my hands, my heart thundering. “Nope. Not staying to find out.”

But before I could take another step, the voice came again.

Maeve.

Closer this time.

Right behind me.

I whipped around, breath sharp, but again…no one.

The forest swayed, trees bending as though exhaling a secret, and the spores from the mushroom caught the air, glowing brighter.

This time, I didn’t hesitate. I followed.

Branches whipped against my arms as I pushed forward, deeper into the trees. My sandals slipped over moss with twigs crunching beneath me. The pull in my chest grew sharper and urgent, dragging me faster to nowhere.

I barely noticed the way the woods changed around me. Mushrooms lined my path in larger clusters, their glow brightening the deeper I went, lighting the way like lanterns. The vines braided themselves into arches overhead, framing my every step.

Maeve.

The voice floated through the hush, closer, softer, tender, and terrifying all at once.

My breath caught, my throat dry.

“I hear you,” I whispered hoarsely. “But who are you?”

I stumbled over another mushroom cluster, caught myself on a tree trunk, and kept moving, breath ragged.

The trees parted suddenly, opening into a clearing I’d never seen before. The mushrooms here glowed so brightly they painted the air crimson, their caps huge, some as wide as dinner tables. Moss carpeted the ground in thick, luminous green, soft as velvet.

And there, at the far edge of the clearing, half-hidden in shadow…

I froze.

My breath locked in my lungs.

Because what I saw stole every word from my tongue, every thought from my mind.

The voice came again, right from that shadowed shape, curling into me with unbearable familiarity.

Maeve.