Page 146 of Magical Melee

For a second, it seemed like everything was under control—until the whisk shot out of my hands.

Miora soared toward the flying object and missed it, going through the wall instead.

“Uh-oh,” I said, backing up as the whisk darted dangerously close to Keegan’s head.

“Watch it!” he said, ducking just in time.

The whisk ricocheted off a cabinet and smacked into the wall, sliding into the bowl of heavy cream.

But it wasn’t done. The whisk zipped through the air, flinging dollops of cream.

Stella let out a laugh as she ducked behind the counter, and even Nova cracked a rare smile as she calmly deflected the rogue utensil with a flick of her staff.

“Got it!” Ember said, lunging forward and grabbing the whisk out of midair.

She held it triumphantly, her hair slightly spattered with filling.

“And that’s why you don’t double-time your spells without supervision.”

I chuckled. “Okay, lesson learned.”

Keegan leaned against the counter, his hazel eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’re dangerous with a whisk.”

“Only slightly,” I said, feeling a warmth spread through me that had nothing to do with the fireplace.

Stella clapped her hands as her smile widened. “Alright, back to work, everyone. We’ve got a feast to finish.”

Miora reappeared, but I felt her gaze on me as if she were studying my every move. I tried to brush off the feeling, but it was difficult. There was something about her that felt extremely familiar. Every so often, she’d float over to Frank and sit next to him.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were chatting.

The energy in the room was infectious as we returned to our tasks, each of us contributing in our own way. The spells, the laughter, and the shared effort all blended into something magical, something that felt like home.

For the first time in a long while, I almost felt truly at peace and knew who I needed to reach out to.

My mom.

I was no longer angry at her.

Confused?

Yes.

I looked around the table, which was a feast of indulgence. Every dish was carefully crafted and delicious.

The turkey, golden and crispy, sat as the centerpiece, surrounded by bowls of mashed potatoes, roasted vegetables, stuffing, and pies of every kind. The air was thick with the warmth of good food and good company, the tension of recent battles momentarily forgotten.

Stella raised her glass, her face glowing in the flickering light of the candles.

“To us,” Stella said, her voice carrying a mix of pride and resolve. “To Stonewick.”

The rest of us raised our glasses in turn.

Keegan, sitting to my left, gave a solemn nod, his eyes golden and thoughtful.

Nova, ever composed, lifted her glass with a faint smile while Ember flashed her usual mischievous grin.

“To survival,” Twobble said, raising a mug nearly as big as his head, scaring the crap out of me.