Page 10 of Magical Mirage (Stonewick Magical Midlife Witch Academy #6)

Keegan drifted off so quietly, I barely noticed the moment his breath softened.

One minute, he was whispering about leaving in the morning, the next, his head had settled back against the cushion, mouth slightly open, brow finally unknotted from pain.

I brushed my fingers along his jaw and stood carefully.

The cottage was quiet now. Miora’s runes glowed faintly from each corner, gentle pulses that reassured me the Stone Ward still held. The storm had passed. The fight was over.

At least, for tonight.

I slipped outside, barefoot and still wearing the tattered remains of the clothes I’d fought in. My own wound had already covered itself.

The ground was damp beneath my feet, the garden wrecked but fragrant with crushed mint, flattened rosemary, and a few brave sage leaves still fluttering despite the chaos. It was definitely time for another enchantment, but not tonight.

The roofline creaked above me.

I tilted my head, spotting movement.

All four gargoyles were perched and scattered across the highest edge of the roof like grumpy sentinels at the end of a very long shift.

They were darker than usual, their stone bodies streaked with soot and battle grime.

Karvey sat dead center, his wings furled but twitching like a muscle still remembering pain.

Flanky, ever the slouch, was slumped on one side, his tail hanging awkwardly over the gutter.

Horny looked… well, missing part of his namesake horn, but still managed to wear an expression of deeply unimpressed dignity.

I stepped to the edge of the garden path, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Is this the part where I say thank you, or would that insult your grumbling?”

Flanky snorted. “You’re welcome.”

Karvey unfolded his wings just slightly and dropped to the lower roof, claws digging into the cedar with a sound that would haunt my dreams.

He hopped once, yes, hopped, and landed with a solid thud a few feet from me on the ground.

His expression was unreadable. Gargoyle faces weren’t made for subtlety. They were all ridges and sneers and eyebrows carved to eternally judge.

But I liked Karvey even when he looked like he wanted to scold the moon itself.

“You held your ground,” he said simply.

“So did you.”

He didn’t reply. Just gave me a look that said, don’t deflect.

I glanced up at the others. “Flanky’s got a tilt. Is he okay?”

“It’ll shake out in a few nights,” Flanky croaked from above. “My insides are on the outside, but they’re rearranging.”

“Charming,” I muttered.

“Efficient,” Karvey corrected.

“And Horny?”

“Still only missing the tip,” Horny said, lifting his chin proudly. “Battle scars are fashionable.”

Karvey grumbled under his breath. “You’re going to make that a whole story, aren’t you?”

“Already did,” Horny replied. “By morning, it’ll involve three shadow beasts, a thunder spirit, and an enchanted rake.”

I smiled despite myself.

The humor helped. They always knew when to deploy it, like old soldiers who’d fought in too many wars and understood laughter was sometimes the only thing that softened the cracks.

“Malore’s not dead,” I said quietly.

Karvey’s eyes met mine, sharp and knowing.

“No,” he said. “But you didn’t just fight him. You claimed something.”

My brow furrowed. “Did I claim the cottage?”

“The Ward. The place. The ground beneath it. That book you read? It’s right, Maeve. The Hedge and the flame now answer to someone. And it isn’t him. That worries him. Heck, that worries Gideon.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m not ready for what that means.”

Karvey stepped closer, his stone frame groaning slightly with age and impact. “No one ever is.”

I thought about the book again, with the list of names, the branch that splintered off for me alone. The line that pulsed in gold. When wolf devours wolf, the Hedge will choose a hand to mend the wound or burn the root.

Malore had tried to devour everything. But the Hedge had chosen me.

And I had no idea what to do with that.

“I don’t want to be a symbol,” I whispered.

Karvey snorted. “Symbols are useless. You’re not a symbol. You’re a fulcrum.”

“I’ll just pretend I know what that means.”

His expression didn’t change, but his presence grew still. He reached out a claw and tapped two fingers against my chest.

“You think this all started with the Academy reopening, or Keegan arriving, or some curse stretching its claws,” he said. “But it started the moment the land stirred when you came home. The Wards, the creatures, the Hedge…they woke up because you did.”

“I didn’t know I was asleep.”

“You were surviving. There’s a difference.” His smirk settled.

I let the silence soak in and let the weight of his words press down until it felt less like pressure and more like truth.

“You think I can fix this?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Just tilted his massive head to the side like he was weighing every answer I could possibly want against the one I needed.

Then he said, “The question isn’t if you can . It’s if you’re willing to keep going even when you don’t think you can.”

The words dropped like a weight.

Karvey wasn’t one for empty comfort.

He was telling me to choose again. To keep choosing. Even when it hurt. Especially then.

Behind us, Keegan stirred inside. I heard the creak of the sofa frame and the soft scrape of a mug being set down.

Karvey stepped back toward the shadows of the roof.

“You have until dawn,” he said over his shoulder.

“For what?”

“To decide whether to ask the next question. Or just keep surviving.”

With that, he climbed the roof again, wings folding as he rejoined his friends in their eternal scowl.

And I stood alone in the garden, wondering how a stone creature with cracked wings and no heart could somehow see mine so clearly.

It was strange how often I found myself thinking about that day…

the day I filed for divorce. There’d been no confetti, no triumphant music swelling in the background, no cinematic flash of freedom.

The only things that met me were the fluorescent lights in the courthouse hallway and the stale taste of too-sweet coffee as I signed my name, my hands trembling.

My lawyer had given me a sad little smile like he wasn’t sure if he should congratulate me or pat me on the back.

Even then, I hadn’t cried.

I’d driven home with the windows down, wind screaming louder than any thoughts I was willing to face. At the time, I thought maybe I was empty. That I’d been hollowed out by years of trying to hold a life together with duct tape and denial. I didn’t know then that I wasn’t empty.

I was clearing space.

For something more.

For this.

All of this chaos. This magic. This messy, complicated freedom.

The battle-mashed herb beds. The grumbling gargoyles. The spells that still occasionally backfired and singed my eyebrows. The laughter from Stella over tea. Twobble and Skonk bickering over muffins. Nova’s riddles. Bella’s unsolicited advice wrapped in mischief.

And Keegan.

Oh, Keegan.

If someone had told me, back when I was trying to remember how to breathe in that courthouse hallway, that one day I’d be standing beside a wolf-shifter whose soul was half-stitched to a curse, that I’d fight beside gargoyles and bind monsters with roots pulled from the floor, I might have laughed.

Or maybe I’d have cried then.

Not in grief.

In relief.

Because even through the darkness, even knowing how close I’d come to breaking completely… I would choose this every single time.

The person I was before hadn’t been weak. She was brave in her own quiet way, trying to make a life work that no longer fit. But the person I was now, mud-streaked, magic-laced, damaged and blooming, she had something else.

She had freedom .

And I loved her for it.

I turned from the edge of the garden and padded back into the cottage.

The Ward pulsed faintly under my soles, alive but settled.

Miora sat cross-legged in the far corner, laying down runes along the inner frame of the broken window.

She was humming softly, something old and lilting that made the air thrum gently around her.

The song wrapped around the cottage like a quilt, stitching comfort into every crooked wall.

I passed her quietly. She didn’t look up, but her hum changed, softening, almost like she was smiling without needing to move her mouth.

Keegan hadn’t stirred much since I left. He lay on his side now, half-buried under one of the thicker wool blankets Miora had summoned, chest rising slow and steady. One arm was draped across the space where I’d sat earlier.

Without thinking, I slipped beneath the blanket, easing into the space beside him.

His arm shifted automatically, curling around my waist like his body recognized mine before his mind could. His hand found my hip, fingers warm and familiar.

I exhaled, not even realizing how tight my chest had been.

Here, in the quiet, in the soft, flickering candlelight, the ache in my bones melted. The adrenaline that had been keeping me upright dissolved.

Keegan’s breath stirred the hair at my temple.

And I let go.

My eyes closed.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, I dreamed something sweet.

No war. No curses. No wolves snarling in the dark.

Just… magic.

Silly, soft, ridiculous magic.

I dreamed the herb garden had come alive, not in the terrifying, animated-plant-trying-to-eat-your-cat kind of way, but in the whimsical, completely nonsensical kind.

Lavender bushes that danced in place, their stems twirling like elegant ballerinas.

Rosemary that rapped poetry with dramatic flair.

Sage who’d decided it was a gossip columnist and told every passing bee about my deepest secrets.

The mint leaves organized a jazz band. They were, inexplicably, excellent.

And at the center of it all, I was seated on a mushroom-shaped chair, sipping honey-sweetened tea from a cup that refilled every time I giggled.

Keegan was there too, fully healed, not a single scar in sight, and arguing with a dandelion who’d accused him of brooding too much and not watering his inner garden. He looked completely bewildered but willing to take constructive criticism from a flower. Especially if it meant he got more tea.

Even in the dream, I knew it was absurd.

But I didn’t care.

Because in that moment, absurdity felt like grace.

And when the dream shifted, when the candlelight outside my lids flickered and the scent of mint teased me back to waking, I carried that laughter with me.

My eyes blinked open to find Keegan already watching me.

“Did you know,” I said, voice hoarse from sleep, “that the mint in our garden is starting a jazz trio?”

He raised one brow. “Did they invite the thyme?”

“No, but the rosemary opened for them with a poem.”

Keegan grinned, slow and sleepy. “You are magic.”

“No,” I murmured, nestling against his chest. “I’m just finally resting.”

Outside, the breeze stopped.

And inside, Miora’s song curled around us like a lullaby sewn straight into the walls.

I closed my eyes again, and for just a little while longer, I let myself believe we were safe.

Because maybe for tonight, we truly were.