Page 99 of Magical Mischief

“Then if it let them in…”

“It’s possible,” she said. “That it didn’t see them as a threat.”

We turned down a hallway I hadn’t walked in weeks, maybe longer. It smelled faintly of lavender and timeworn wood. The sconces along the walls flickered as we passed, a little brighter than usual.

I caught Bella glancing at them too.

The three of us moved in a kind of rhythm—quiet, steady, alert.

The Maple Ward was healing. We’d seen it with our own eyes. But that didn’t mean everything else had suddenly righted itself. Wards don’t hum unless they’re working. And they don’tstophumming unless something else needs your attention.

We were still listening.

Still waiting.

And then it happened.

We turned a corner near an old potion storeroom, where I saw colorful bottles of liquid, dried herbs, and bright crystals. But next to it, a door stood where no door had ever been before.

Not just any door.

A tall, narrow one, the color of dried rose petals and weathered beach wood. The kind of door that looked like itbelonged to another time or maybe had been here the whole time, just unseen. The trim around it was carved with symbols I didn’t recognize, and the handle shimmered faintly, like it had been touched recently.

All three of us stopped short.

My grandma’s hand dropped to her side. Her shoulders stiffened, and I saw the flicker in her eyes. Not fear.

Shock.

Real, deep, bone-deep shock.

“I can’t believe this,” she said.

She looked at me. Then Bella. Then back to the door.

“I can’t believe this.”

That’s all she said.

But something had just changed.

I stared at the door, its edges softly glowing now, like the Academy was letting the enchantment slip enough for us to truly see it.

My grandmother hadn’t moved.

I glanced at her. “What is it? Do you know what’s behind it?”

She was still watching the wood grain, as if it might change if she blinked. Then, slowly, her mouth curved into the smallest smile I recognized. She gave it right before revealing something she'd kept close for a very long time.

“Open it,” she said, her voice light. “You’ll see.”

Something about her tone made my skin prickle. Not with fear. With something else. That just-on-the-edge feeling. Likestanding at the threshold of a room you forgot you’d locked away inside yourself.

I stepped forward. The handle felt cool under my fingers—smooth, but not unfamiliar. Like a hand you hadn’t held in years but once knew by heart.

It turned easily.

The door swung inward.