Page 182 of Magical Mission

Stella caught my eye across the garden and waved wildly, a bundle of chamomile in one hand and a knowing grin on her face.

Even in the thick of everything, shadows, warnings, the path ahead, there was stillthis.

Joy.

Magic.

Community.

And a garden that bloomed year-round in Wisconsin.

It wouldn’t last unless we protected it.

But this, this was why I would walk into Shadowick.

And why I would come back.

Stella looked like a vampire of the earth and steeped things, as she crouched near the patch of lemon verbena, snipping stems and humming softly under her breath. Her cheeks were flushed with sun and laughter, her apron dusted with dried sage and a mysterious sprinkling of what looked like cookie crumbs. The vampires hovered nearby, all elegance and amused expressions, carrying baskets as if they’d been born to gather herbs in the morning light, even though they were covered and draped in everything to keep them hidden.

I walked toward her, and even before she looked up, I saw it—howrightshe looked here. Among her plants, among women who shared her depth, her age, her delight in flavor and magic that wasn’t sharp butsoothing.

She’d never say it aloud, but I could tell. Stella had missed this kind of companionship. Not just magical.Kindred.

When she finally glanced up, the smile she gave me warmed more than the sun.

“Maeve,” she said, standing and brushing off her hands. “You’re looking less like you’ve been rolled in hedge thorns and existential dread. Progress?”

I smiled faintly, but it didn’t quite reach.

Her eyes sharpened.

“Ah,” she said. “So it’s true.”

I tilted my head. “What’s true?”

Stella wiped her palms on her apron, walked a few paces toward me, and lowered her voice just enough that the nearby vampires politely pretended not to be listening. “You’re going.”

“Going?”

“To Shadowick.”

I didn’t flinch.

I didn’t have to.

“Yes,” I said. “Eventually. Not until I’m ready. Not until the Academy can stand a little more solidly on its own.”

Stella’s brow furrowed, and she studied me like she was trying to taste the truth behind the words. “You say that,” she murmured, “but I see it in your eyes. That storm’s already rising.”

I didn’t deny it.

But I added softly, “Even storms wait for the right conditions.”

Stella didn’t look convinced.

And I didn’t blame her.

Chapter Forty-Two