Page 47 of Magical Mirage (Stonewick Magical Midlife Witch Academy #6)

The bell above Stella’s tea shop chimed as I stepped inside.

The warm fragrance of sweet herbs and honeyed steam wrapped around me like a shawl.

For a moment, the weight on my shoulders lightened.

The shelves glowed with glass jars of loose-leaf teas and dried blossoms, little handwritten labels curling at their edges.

Midnight Rose , Dreamweaver’s Brew , Chamomile for the Truly Doomed. They made me smile. “New blends for the tourists?”

“Gets ’em every time.” She grinned, stationed behind the counter.

“Maeve Bellemore,” she said, her voice like velvet. “What brings you away from the Academy on a pleasant afternoon like today?”

I chuckled. “You mean with the cloudy skies and a moody wolf waiting back at the Academy for me?

I faltered in the doorway, then forced a smile.

“Mm.” She began pulling jars from the shelves, her long fingers deft. “Seems we’ll need something stronger than roast chicken and potatoes. At least he humored me while I was there. We’ll need the stronger brews. None of this delicate lavender nonsense. Something that bites back.”

I crossed the shop slowly, trailing my hand over the worn wood of a display table. The jars there glittered faintly, as though the herbs inside had absorbed more than sunshine. I was certain they’d drunk in spells, too.

“Stronger brews sound right.”

She set a jar down with a decisive clink.

“For his strength,” she said, more statement than explanation. Then another jar. “For clarity.”

I hesitated. “Clarity?”

Her eyes fell on me, sharp but not unkind. “He’ll need it. Whatever shadows are threading him, they’ll cloud his mind before they cloud his body.”

The breath hitched in my chest. I tried to disguise it by brushing a stray curl behind my ear. “That obvious, huh?”

“Darling,” she said, tone gentle but steady, “everyone can see it.”

I gripped the edge of the counter, staring down at the rows of herbs. “I thought I was hiding it.”

“You weren’t.” She slipped another jar into the growing cluster. “It isn’t a thing one hides. Shadows cling. They change the way a man stands, the way he looks at the world. The way he looks at you.”

I swallowed hard. “He’s still himself.”

“For now,” she said softly.

I flinched, not at her words, but at how much truth they carried.

She didn’t press further. Instead, she began measuring leaves into little cloth sachets, her movements steady, graceful. I could feel her questions in the silence, unspoken but present.

“He’s fighting it,” I said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “Every hour. Every breath. But I don’t know if it’s enough.”

Stella tied off one sachet with a neat knot. “And you’ll fight it for him.”

“Yes.” The word was immediate. Fierce. “No matter what it takes.”

Her eyes lifted to mine. For once, there was no teasing glint, no dramatic arch of brow. Only something steady. Almost tender. “I know.”

My throat tightened, so I turned away, drifting toward the window.

Outside, Stonewick village bustled as though the world wasn’t cracking at its seams. Tourists strolled the cobblestone streets, their hands twined, laughter spilling between them. Children darted toward the sweets shop, pulling parents along by their wrists.

Overhead, the sky hung heavy with gray, but the tourists didn’t see it for what it was. To them, it was nothing but the threat of rain. They didn’t know the shadows were pressing closer, curling through the clouds like whisps of smoke.

I pressed my hand against the glass, my reflection faint over the village scene.

Nostalgia ached through me, sudden and sharp.

I remembered the first days I’d arrived in Stonewick, only a few months ago, when the world was simple.

Well, as simple as magic and tea and gossip in Stella’s shop could be.

When all I wanted was a cup of comfort and a sliver of belonging as I started the next chapter in my life.

Now every choice felt like life or death. Every breath carried the weight of an entire town.

Tears pricked at my eyes, and I blinked them back, shaking my head.

Behind me, I heard Stella move. The soft whisper of her skirt, the faint click of her heels against the floorboards.

She came to stand at my side, looking out at the village with me. For a long moment, we said nothing, just watched the people outside so blissfully unaware.

“It will come back,” she said at last, her voice low but certain.

I turned my head, startled. “What will?”

Her gaze stayed on the window, her reflection pale and ageless beside mine.

“The simpler days. The cups of tea. The laughter. The moments when the biggest worry is whether the blueberry scones have sold out.” She glanced at me then, eyes dark and steady.

“This isn’t forever, Maeve. Darkness never is. ”

My throat burned, but I nodded. “You sound so sure.”

“I am,” she said. “Because I’ve seen centuries.

Empires rise and fall. Wars begin and end.

Love lost, love found. Shadows build, but they always evaporate.

And when they do…” She gestured toward the village, toward the couples and children and tourists.

“Life goes on. Sweet and ordinary. You’ll have it again. I promise.”

A tear escaped before I could stop it, sliding hot down my cheek. I let out a shaky laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Not easy.” Her hand, cool but steady, came to rest on my arm. “But possible. And sometimes, possible is enough.”

I closed my eyes, letting her words settle inside me, like the warmth of tea seeping into my bones.

When I opened them again, the gray overhead still lingered, heavy and menacing. But for a moment, it didn’t crush me. For a moment, I believed her.

And maybe that was enough.

“Thank you, Stella.” I squeezed her as she handed me a bag of tea.

Before stepping outside, I glanced over my shoulder and smiled. “We’ll win.”

“We always do.” She grinned, and the twinkle of fangs shone through.

As I stepped outside, I pretended the worry didn’t bother me and wandered with the bag of Stella’s specialty brews tucked under my arm like treasure. It was the weekend, which meant the town had a liveliness even locals couldn’t suppress.

For a long moment, I let myself drift with the current. My sandals tapped a steady rhythm on the cobblestones as I passed the candy shop, the window fogged from sugar-laden steam. I could almost pretend things were normal.

Almost.

But then I’d glance up and saw the sky threaded through with something darker, something that moved like it was alive. And in that moment, any pretending I’d managed fell away.

I stopped at Luna’s window because I always did. The display today was full of summer colors with purple skeins stacked like grapes and yellow as bright as a cut pineapple.

A half-finished scarf draped carelessly but perfectly over a wooden armchair called to me. Summer had barely started, and I already yearned for fall.

The sight tugged at me. Luna had taught me how to knit in those first fragile weeks after my divorce. I had been raw, brittle, and she had pressed a pair of needles into my hands with no more preamble than, “Count to four, or it will all go sideways.”

Count to four. That had been the rhythm of those days: four stitches, four breaths, four cups of tea to get through a morning.

And it had worked. It had pulled me through.

Nostalgia swelled, bittersweet. Stonewick had once been a place of healing, of small comforts. And I wanted desperately for it to be that again.

If only I could find the beginning of the thread.

The seed.

Gideon’s wound.

The boy I had glimpsed once in vision, standing small and hollow-eyed at the edge of this very town. That was where it had started. Not with Malore’s whispers, for that had come later.

No, the idea for Gideon to place a curse on Stonewick had been planted long before. If I could uncover that first hurt, I could heal it. Heal him. And if he could stand beside us, my dad, Keegan, and me, then maybe, just maybe, the circle would hold and the curse would finally shatter.

I adjusted my grip on the bag of tea and turned down a quieter street, away from the chatter of tourists. The buildings thinned here, giving way to hedgerows and old stone walls laced with ivy. My sandals scuffed softly on the uneven cobbles. The air grew cooler, heavier with the scent of moss.

The hush was almost cozy, but there under it was another note.

Tension?

I slowed.

The street opened toward the edge of town, where the cobbles gave way to dirt paths and the hedges grew wilder. My pulse quickened, though I didn’t know why. Nothing moved. Nothing stirred. And yet…

There.

At first, it was nothing more than a shape caught at the corner of my vision.

A darker smear against the shadows. My heart thudded, once, hard.

I froze, clutching the tea bag tighter.

The silhouette lingered.

Tall. Broad. Unmoving.

My breath came shallow, misting the air.

“Keegan?” I whispered, though I knew it wasn’t him.

The shape shifted, stepping forward. The sunlight caught it just enough to carve edges into something impossibly solid.

The shadows started to peel away, reluctantly.

My stomach dropped, and my fingers tingled.

The figure stepped fully out of the dark.

Silver fur caught the faintest glint of moonlight breaking through the clouded sky. Eyes like molten metal locked with mine, unwavering.

Yet, familiar.

Muscles rippled beneath the coat as it stood in front of me

It was immense, proud, and a creature carved from myth and nightmare both.

The silver wolf.

Standing strong, no longer hidden.

And it was looking directly at me.