Page 25 of Magical Mirage (Stonewick Magical Midlife Witch Academy #6)

The tunnel widened so suddenly it felt like the hill itself expanded. The air smelled of hot bread and something sweet I couldn’t place. I stepped out onto a carved ledge and forgot, for a heartbeat, how to breathe.

Below us stretched a tiny village stitched into the bones of the earth. I could never have imagined something like this existing under Stonewick.

I looked behind me to see a wall of dirt as if no opening had squeezed us here.

A market to my right unfurled across the cavern floor beneath colorful quilts and lively banners strung like festival bunting. Someone laughed and someone else scolded as a goblin child tore past with a paper crown, chased by another carrying a loaf of flatbread as big as his head.

Round doors painted in vibrant colors, shopfronts tucked into grottoes, and little iron bridges arching over thin rivers painted a scene that my mind couldn’t fathom.

Beside me, Keegan stopped so fast my shoulder bumped his arm.

“How did we not know this existed?” I muttered.

Twobble didn’t miss a beat. “You think we tell humans all our secrets?”

Keegan’s mouth twitched. “Fair point.”

“Goblin secrets are like truffles,” Twobble added, chin high with pride. “Valuable, dirt-adjacent, and found only if we feel like you deserve them.”

“Why are you letting us in here?” I asked because wonder lived right next to worry inside me now.

Twobble’s ears tipped back.

“Letting? No, no— escorting .” Then, lower, only for me: “If we’re going to find Skonk, we have to start at the beginning and work outward.”

“The beginning?” I asked.

“His cottage, his home, his…” Movement on the stone sidewalk caught Twobble’s gaze.

Three goblins had noticed us: a flour-dusted baker, a wiry fellow with a ledger tucked under his arm, and a woman in a scarf patterned with sunflowers. All three jumped back like we’d arrived with a marching band.

“Twobble!” the baker squeaked, brandishing a rolling pin like a hammer. “You brought topsiders?”

“They’re with me,” Twobble said breezily. “This is Maeve. That’s Keegan. They don’t bite.”

The ledger goblin squinted at Keegan’s jaw. “That one might.”

“Only when provoked,” Keegan said mildly, which didn’t help.

A fourth goblin popped out of a door scalloped in blue, spectacles magnifying his eyes to saucers. “Twobble! There are ordinances about bringing hazards down market lanes!”

Twobble waved a dismissive hand. “Hi, Fipple. Put it on my tab.”

“You don’t have a tab,” Fipple shouted after us as Twobble led us down a set of stone steps. “You have a ledger of sins!”

“Same thing,” Twobble called back.

Keegan’s fingers brushed mine. His breath was even and his posture easy, but I felt the hush in his body. He was keeping up, but his body was keeping count.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“Underloam. Mind your pockets and your compliments,” Twobble said with the air of a tour guide who’d been waiting his whole life for this. “Both tend to get stolen.”

A vendor pressed a thimble of soup into my hand with the solemnity of a priest. It tasted smoky and bright, like fire and lemon.

“And whatever you do, don’t eat or drink the samples.” He glanced over his shoulder as I spat out the remaining liquid.

A seamster sewed a vest from fabric that shimmered like dragon wings. Three musicians whistled a tune on wooden pipes while their feet tapped time against the stone. Laundry flapped between alleys with socks the size of my palm, mismatched and cheerful.

“It’s a hidden city,” Keegan murmured, wonder softening his voice.

“Parish,” Twobble corrected. “Cities get noticed. We prefer thriving invisibly.”

We crossed a narrow iron bridge arched over a swift rill. Walnut-sized purple ladybugs trundled along a rail beside the water, pulling teacup carts stacked with parcels.

A noticeboard clung to the bridge post, plastered with various handbills.

I stopped to read the largest one,

WANTED: BUTTONS WITH CHARACTER. BORING BUTTONS REFUSED.

A handful of goblins tracked us openly now.

A child peered from behind a barrel and then yelped when Keegan smiled.

An older goblin shook his head with theatrical doom and muttered, “Well, that’s it, then, we’ve let the tall ones in,” and shuffled off, clearly excited to be the first to spread the news.

Twobble aimed for a stall stacked with tins and sachets. The keeper wore an apron and a stern expression that melted the moment she recognized him. “Twobble.”

“Vleppa,” he said warmly. “You’re looking… authoritative.”

“It’s the apron,” she said, then eyed me and Keegan. “Are we entertaining guests?”

“They’re dignitaries,” Twobble said without blinking.

Keegan coughed. I tried not to smile. Vleppa saw both and grinned anyway.

“We’re looking for Skonk,” Twobble said, tone tightening. “Have you seen him?”

Vleppa winced. “In my nightmares, often. In real life, one night ago. Bought spider vinegar. Asked if it dissolves Ward chalk.”

“One night,” I repeated, the timeline clicking into place with an unpleasant jolt.

Vleppa noticed the shift in the air and softened.

“He was in a hurry. Looked over his shoulder a lot. Paid with a button that had stories attached to it. He muttered something about going to his home.”

“His cottage,” Twobble muttered.

Vleppa reached into a drawer and handed Twobble something. “This should help.”

“Thank you.” Twobble flicked his chin and examined the button.

“And Twobble,” she added as we turned, “mind the red mushrooms. They’ve turned to gossiping recently. A lot’s changed since you’ve been gone so much.”

“We’re not on speaking terms anyway,” Twobble said loftily, and hustled us along.

We passed a metalsmith whose forge burned cold indigo instead of orange. The smith hammered in rhythm with a song that seemed to rise from the anvil itself.

A library kiosk rested under a sign that read BOOKS ON LEASHES. BORROW WITH CARE.

“That’s a bit different than book sprites, isn’t it?” I glanced at Keegan as the books tugged gently at their chains like well-trained dogs. At a corner shrine, someone had stacked polished stones around a small idol shaped like an ear; a plaque read, MAY THE STONE HEAR WHAT WE CANNOT SPEAK.

“Twobble, I hate to ask, but where are you taking us?” I looked around the tiny parish, not completely understanding what I should be seeing.

Keegan and I shared a glance as Twobble’s lids blinked open, eyes wide. “If he fell for a mirage, he was promised something irresistible, and it spoke to his soul.”

“So, his house is close?” I asked.

“Not exactly. Once the mirage manifests, it brings with it great power. It bends the truth while magnetizing desire. On some level, he might have known whatever it was might be too good to be true, but whatever was pulling him to it created a...” He paused.

“A what?” Keegan prompted.

“A tether.”

I cocked my head slightly. “How do you know that, Twobble?”

His cheeks turned multiple shades of purple and red. “Because it also happened to me.”

My pulse spiked. “Twobble, are you serious?”

“I wouldn’t lie about something like that. I mean, there are moments when the truth twists a bit in the goblin world, but not over a missing twin.” His narrow shoulders fell. “The mirage tried to lead me down here. I could feel it. Just so happens my twin cousin fell for it.”

“But you knew better?” Keegan glanced at Twobble.

“I didn’t know better.” He sighed. “I was just too lazy. I snuck into the kitchen and ate all the berry pies the kitchen sprites prepared for the freezer.”

A giggle nipped at my lips as I realized you could take the goblin out of the parish, but you couldn’t take the parish out of the goblin.

“It’s not something I’m proud of. In hindsight, I’d rather it have been me to fall for the trap, but that’s not what happened.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” I said softly, touching his bony shoulders. “We’ll get him back.”

“And I’ll never let him live it down.” Twobble nodded.

“Well, that was a flip of the script.” I laughed as Keegan smiled and glanced around the parish.

“Business first.” Twobble huffed. “My cousin should not have fallen for a mirage. That’s human play.”

“So, what was it that the mirage tried to lure you with?”

“Fish pie,” he said simply. “It just wouldn’t have gone well with thirty-six berry pies.”

“No. I suppose it wouldn’t.” I studied Twobble, who looked like he was half embarrassed and half regretful. “But why down here?”

“The mirage tried to get me to come down here to my place. I’m assuming the same happened to Skonk, except toward his cottage. Candlebert said as much, remember?”

“So, he has a place down here.” It was more of an observation than a question.

“Sort of. Not exactly here .” He didn’t elaborate, but at this point, I was just happy that he’d shared this much. It was a lot more than I thought we’d get as we blindly followed him through Stonewick and halfway through the Underloam.

“Then we follow you,” Keegan said as Twobble started walking again.

Beyond an arch, the lanes narrowed. The light shifted to a deeper amber. Workshops replaced mercantile stalls. A glassblower coaxed a vessel that sang as it cooled. The smell of mint gave way to minerals and machine.

My awareness prickled in the direction of the Flame Ward above us, like a memory moving through a body. Had the darkness we’d seen circling its boundary found a seam that led down here? The thought made my mouth dry. Was I actually reading the earth? But a thought occurred to me.

“Twobble,” I whispered, “if Gideon is mapping the Wards, he could be testing from below too.”

His ears twitched.

“I hate that you might be right.” He quickened his pace. “But, when I saw that thing at the Flame Ward, it made me wonder if it tried to hitch a ride on Skonk.”

I nodded, even though I felt uncertain.

“We need to get to the Pitch.” Twobble’s arms waved all around.

“The Pitch?” I asked.

“Shortcut,” Twobble said. “Unsafe, unofficial, possibly sentient. Often leads to trouble.”

“You need nourishment,” Vleppa’s voice said behind us.

She’d arrived without us noticing, carrying a basket of flatbreads slick with oil and herbs. She pressed one into Keegan’s hand, then one into mine, like talismans. “You look hungry. Hungry people make poor choices.”

“We’re investigating a missing goblin,” Twobble protested.

“Exactly,” Vleppa said. “Eat. If you’re headed on the Pitch, you need food.”

Keegan gave her a small nod and tore off a corner, eyes closing briefly as he chewed. The lines around his mouth eased. I did the same, and for a second my world narrowed to warmth, garlic, thyme, and the crisp edges of dough.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Bring him home,” Vleppa answered. “He still owes me jam. He pocketed some six months ago.”

“Absolutely,” Twobble said as we moved again, leaving Vleppa behind. “To the Stitchery.”

“What’s that exactly?” Keegan asked, and Twobble pointed at a small building with a wooden sign about ten feet away.

“It’s our next stop to get to the Pitch.”

We followed the little goblin over the threshold into the large room.

The Stitchery was a long space strung with clotheslines and hung with garments that shifted if you stared.

Patterns fluttered from polka dots to constellations, with hems lengthening, collars choosing a better attitude.

A tailor with pins in his lip looked up as we passed and whistled a low note.

A sleeve waved back on the goblin’s behalf.

Twobble touched two fingers to his heart in reflexive respect as we moved through the room.

The stone floor pitched at a tricky angle that made your ankles want to argue, and the ceiling dipped enough that Keegan ducked twice and swore softly under his breath the third time. We dropped three steps into a dim corridor where a bell hung from a beam.

“He was here,” Twobble breathed.

“How do you know?”

“I can smell his cologne.”

“He wears it?” I asked.

Twobble turned to look at me and shook his head. “No.”

I scowled at Twobble, and he grinned back.

Twobble bowed in front of us. “The Pitch awaits.”

He straightened and scrambled up a crate, pressed the stone with two fingers, and a tiny niche slid open.

“Twobble,” I said gently, “if we go in, will we come out the way we went in?”

Keegan glanced at me, the question in his eyes. He was tired. He was holding himself together with grit and something purely shifter-like. But he wasn’t going to say no.

“There are no guarantees in the goblin world, and where this leads, even less so.”

“We go,” I said. “But we go smart.”

“Smart is my third-best trait,” Twobble said, squaring his shoulders. “Right after snacker and charmer.”

Twobble stepped forward.

Keegan’s hand found mine, but mine was warm and shaking.

“All right,” Twobble said. “Now I’m done being charming.”

He set his palm against the stone’s faint surface and listened.

So did Keegan and I.

Somewhere ahead, the Pitch hummed, and we stepped into the throat of the stone together.