Page 82 of Magical Mischief

We didn’t embrace right away.

We just looked at each other, and everything I’d been holding since I saw him again rose in my throat in that quiet space between us.

I blinked fast to avoid having tears slip down my cheeks, and then I hugged her.

Properly. Tightly. The way a granddaughter hugs someone she thought might never get to hear the truth she’d carried for too long.

“He’s home,” I said into her shoulder.

She froze, just for a second.

Then she pulled back, blinking at me. “What?”

“Dad. I got him back. We set a trap for Gideon, and he fell for it. There was one little mishap, but I turned that around today.”

Her brows furrowed. “Mishap?”

“I turned Dad into a towering bulldog, but I didn’t think about how I’d turn him back.”

She chuckled and gripped my chin. “Ah, those pesky little details.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Great witches never let those things stop them. You knew what you had to do, and you did it.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Maeve…” Her eyes stayed on mine.

“Anyway, he’s safe. He’s back in the cottage. Resting, mostly. Still recovering, but he’s with us now.”

Her mouth opened, then closed again. She sat hard on the nearest bench like her knees had just given out.

For a long time, she didn’t speak. Her eyes were glassy with disbelief.

“I had my doubts.” She shook her head. “I was worried when you left, it might be…”

I shook my head. “You can’t get rid of me that fast. I just got here. I still need the doors to open. We need students. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I—I was too afraid to check the mirrors or the pedestal. I wasn’t sure I’d ever see him again or you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I held onto the hope, but…”

“He wants you to know how much he loves and misses you. How you’ve never been out of his heart.”

“Oh, he told you that, did he?” My grandma chuckled.

“In not so many words.”

A quiet laugh escaped her, thick with emotion. “Your father was always too good at carrying things alone. I feared that might be what broke him in the end.”

“It didn’t.” I shook my head. “It won’t.”

Elira nodded once, sharply, as if trying to ground herself with the motion. Then her gaze flicked up toward the far hallway—the one that led to the sealed rooms, the locked doors.

The classrooms.

“When the Academy reopens,” I said, sitting beside her, “will people be able to come and go freely? Could Dad visit?”

“That’s not up to me,” she murmured.