Page 158 of Magical Mischief

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Stella replied, unbothered. “But still. If you’re a hedge witch, you were born that way. You didn’t need the name to do the thing. You’ve been doing it your whole life, Maeve.”

“True,” I said, smiling at her. “But it’s still… something. To be seen that clearly. Even by the Academy.”

“I get that,” she said. “I do.”

Keegan leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What are you going to do next?”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, “you’re the Headmistress. The rooms are open. Nova’s in. The first student could show up tomorrow. What’s your move?”

I stared at him. “I hadn’t gotten that far.”

He grinned. “Good. That’s what friends are for.”

Stella raised her cup. “To making it up as we go.”

I lifted mine in return. “To finally beginning.”

The fire crackled beside us. Outside the window, the clouds had started to break, shafts of pale winter light slicing down onto the village green.

For the first time in longer than I could remember, it felt like the waiting was over.

It was time to begin again.

Chapter Forty-One

It started with a twinge.

Not pain, exactly. Just a pulling sensation low on my side, right along the curve of my hip, where the birthmark had always lived—soft-edged, the shape of a leaf if you squinted. I'd had it since birth, barely noticed it most days. But it flared as I stepped out of the hotel’s main lobby. It wasn’t sharp, but insistent. Like a string being tugged from the other end.

I stopped walking.

The air smelled like frost and wood smoke. A few villagers milled about the green, bundled in scarves, buying bread and tea. Normal. Peaceful. But my skin was tight with warning. Something was wrong.

“Maeve?”

Keegan’s voice came from behind me, and I turned just as he came down the steps, pulling on his gloves.

“You okay?” he asked, eyeing me.

“My birthmark’s aching,” I said before I could talk myself out of it. “It’s never done that before. Not like this.”

He frowned, stepping closer. “Do you think—?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But it’s pulling. Like it wants me to follow.”

He didn’t hesitate. “Then we follow.”

We silently crossed the village street, and I felt the tug in my hip with every step, and it grew stronger as we passed the bakery and looked at the narrow alley that had just parted for us. We walked along the cobblestones to the Butterfly Ward’s entrance, but my steps slowed.

Keegan fell in beside me, his expression darkening as the shimmer before us faded.

“I don’t see it,” he said quietly.

I didn’t either.

The glow—always faint but steady—was gone. The air felt heavier here. Not cold, not exactly, but weighted.