Page 103 of Magical Mischief

My heart thudded in my chest, heavy and slow.

I stepped forward as the path curved gently between two large flowering hedges. If I followed it, I’d be right where the figure stood or had stood.

Another step.

A butterfly landed on my shoulder, its wings pulsing in slow rhythm. I didn’t brush it away, and it didn’t seem alarmed.

And then the figure vanished.

Not suddenly. Just gradually. Like a breath being exhaled until there was nothing left.

I reached the spot where they’d been, and found… nothing.

Just the scent of unseasonal lilies, the bubbling of the fountain nearby, and the gentle bob of flowers’ blooms too large for the stems in this magical refuge.

I knelt and touched the path.

Still warm.

Still real.

But no sign of anyone.

I sat back on my heels and stared at the space in front of me.

Whoever, or whatever, that was, it hadn’t felt hostile.

Not exactly. But it hadn’t felt safe, either. More like sorrow wrapped in shadows.

I stood, brushed off my coat, and looked at the lanterns.

They were dimmer now. Or maybe that was just me, blinking too fast.

Either way, I couldn’t stay. Not yet. Not now.

Stonewick waited.

And so did my mom.

I was sure she’d have something to say about my absence.

As I walked down the alley away from the Butterfly Ward, Stonewick looked the same, but quieter.

The evening air had that soft bite to it, the kind that hinted winter was still arguing with itself. My boots made faint taps as I followed the narrow road past the bakery, the power of the ovens already pushing a buttery sweetness into the air.

I passed closed shutters, a few hanging signs swaying gently in the breeze, and finally saw it. The faint, rose-gold glow of Nova’s crystal shop, tucked along the buildings with its purple door.

The light in her window spilled out onto the street like an invitation, warm and just a little bit odd, which was exactly how Nova liked things. I almost knocked, but something caught my eye before I could.

Across the lane, Stella’s tea shop looked lively as ever. Through the window, I saw her, stirring a pot with one hand and wagging the other at someone just out of view. Her earrings jingled when she turned her head.

I might’ve kept walking, just waved and come back later, but then I saw who was sitting at the front table, wrapped in a floral shirt, and a mug cradled between both hands.

My mother.

She laughed at something Stella said, her shoulders relaxed, cheeks flushed from tea or conversation, maybe both. And suddenly I wasn’t moving anymore. Just… standing on the cobblestones like someone had pressed pause.

She looked happy.