Page 21

I woke to the sound of birds singing and the faint aroma of vanilla drifting under my door. The kitchen sprites were at it again, and spring truly was close to gracing us with its presence.

Which, frankly, felt suspicious. Midwest winters usually liked to taunt and tease innocent bystanders, magical and non-magical alike.

I sat up slowly, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and blinked toward the windows before opening one.

Morning light poured through the windows, and outside, I could hear the faint chatter of students already enjoying the sunshine in the courtyard. Someone laughed. A spell fizzled, and then someone else cursed in a very creative way involving goblin elbows and spoiled cheese.

Welcome to another day at the Academy.

I stretched, rolled my ankles, and let out a contented sigh. The air in my room was warm as the fire still gently crackled in the hearth.

My dad snored from his usual spot at the foot of my bed, with his jowls puffing with each breath like a little bellows.

For once, nothing ached. Maybe I was beating this perimenopause thing.

But more importantly, no dreams chased me. No shadows lingered in the back of my mind.

At least not yet.

I showered quickly and pulled on a long wool tunic and wrapped a scarf around my shoulders before stepping out into the hall. The Academy walls hummed quietly, alive and pleased as magic ran like warm water through the stones.

The Academy wanted to be awake.

Students filled the corridors, most of them already in the midst of classroom chaos.

Robes half-tied, hair enchanted into spirals, and one poor soul trailing a fluttering set of flashcards that kept whispering incorrect definitions at her.

I offered a few smiles and well-placed nudges as I passed, gently unbewitching a cup that tried to bite its owner.

In the main hall, a breakfast spread had been laid out by the kitchen sprites, with braided breads with honey glaze, pumpkin scones, spiced root jam, and an entire tower of eggs that jiggled when you poked them.

I grabbed a mug of tea and settled by the windows, watching as Ardetia led a cluster of students toward the greenhouses with a fox tail peeking from under her cloak.

Peaceful.

That word again.

But peace, in a place like this, rarely lasted long.

“Maeve!”

Twobble appeared at my elbow, arms full of papers and what looked suspiciously like a half-eaten tart.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You’re not here to tell me everything’s going beautifully and the books have decided to alphabetize themselves.”

“Not even close,” he huffed, setting the stack on the table. “Someone enchanted all the library ladders to play keep-away, and the elderly witches are getting pretty...pissed.”

“So, business as usual.” I smiled, wondering if it was one of the ladies from the vampire squad.

Twobble grinned and puffed his cheeks.

“Also, Nandu insists her cauldron is cursed because it keeps whispering, ‘Y ou again?’ , every time she approaches, and it refuses to let her add anything to it.”

I nearly spat out my tea. “Have someone check the emotional resonance of her wand.”

“I did. It’s sarcastic.” He rolled his eyes.

I laughed and patted his arm. “You’re doing wonderfully.”

He preened. “I know.”

“Now go sort the ladders and let’s hope that’s it for the morning shenanigans.”

He scampered off like a caffeinated squirrel.

I was halfway through my scone when I felt it— that shift .

The one I’d learned not to ignore where magic tightened in the walls, and the air changed.

And then Keegan stepped into the hall.

He was out of breath, cheeks flushed from the cold, coat dusted with frost. His hazel eyes scanned until they landed on me, and when they did, he crossed the room in long, determined strides.

“Morning,” I said, standing.

“We have a situation.”

“I thought we might.” I shook my head. “Things were too calm.”

He handed me a folded piece of paper. The parchment was heavy, with uneven edges. My fingers prickled as soon as I touched it.

“Where did this come from?” I asked.

“Stella found it on her doorstep this morning. No one saw who left it. The Wards didn’t even ripple.”

I opened it.

One line. Written in old, spidery ink that shimmered silver in the light.

The circle was never broken. Only bent.

My skin went cold.

There was no name. No seal. No symbol.

Keegan leaned in. “Does it mean what I think it means?”

I nodded slowly. “Someone thinks whatever or whoever cursed this place the first time isn’t finished. Just hidden. Bent… waiting.”

“Which is kind of what we know. The Academy opened before we even thought she was ready.”

I nodded. “True. I think we all assumed the curse would be broken before she opened the doors to new students.”

“Yet, here we are, and now we’re getting vague notes and threats left on doorsteps.”

I squeezed my shoulders together sarcastically. “Exciting.”

“You’re sounding like Twobble.”

I chuckled as I thought about this note. We’d barely begun this adventure. And something was already warning us that the past hadn’t finished speaking.

I folded the note and tucked it inside my pocket as I thought about the handwriting. It seemed familiar.

“We won’t let the curse take control again,” I said.

“We may not have a choice,” Keegan replied. “But we do get to fight smarter this time.”

I smiled faintly. “Well. That’s a start.”

Outside, the bell chimed for the second class of the day.

Students bustled through the halls again, arms full of books, laughter echoing down the stone corridors. They were already finding a rhythm and already claiming this place as their own.

And someone didn’t like that.

But I wouldn’t let the shadow of an old threat silence this day.

Not today.

“Come on,” I said to Keegan. “Let’s follow the circle’s edge and see where it bends.”

Keegan tucked his hands in the pockets of his coat, the note long gone to be studied later, and gave me one of those looks—half serious, half amused.

“I’ve got class to teach in ten minutes,” he said. “So, we'd better find it quick.”

I blinked at him. “You?”

He arched a brow. “Me.”

I couldn’t help it and laughed. “Whose bright idea was it to make you a teacher? Tell me that.”

His mouth curved into a crooked smile. “Good question. I think it might’ve been yours.”

“Lies.”

“Feels right though,” he confessed.

I shook my head, still grinning. “What are you teaching today? Ten ways to growl at students until they respect you?”

“First of all, the growl is reserved for those close to me.”

A flutter from nowhere shivered through me because, truth be told, I loved nothing more than hearing it.

“I’ll have to remember that.”

We stood there for a beat longer, with that easy, warm space between us.

But something shifted.

Not around us.

In me.

It started in my shoulder, then crept like a chill across my collarbone. The coolness settled in the soft curve right over the butterfly birthmark etched faintly into my hip.

I pressed my hand to the quiet throb, as if it had been tapped from the inside.

It didn’t feel like a warning, just a summons.

Keegan noticed. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly, though I wasn’t sure what I meant by it. “Just… pulled.”

His eyes flicked to my hand, then to my face.

“The Butterfly Ward?”

I nodded. “I think it’s trying to tell me something.”

“You want company?”

I hesitated.

Then shook my head. “No. I think this one’s just for me.”

He didn’t argue, which somehow made me like him more.

“All right,” he said. “I’ll go terrify my students.”

“Send them my condolences.”

“And if you get pulled into another dimension or start glowing, let someone know?”

I chuckled. “I’ll try to remember that.”

He grinned, then leaned in just slightly, enough that I could smell the cool spice and feel the warmth of him. “Be careful, Maeve.”

I nodded, and then he was gone, boots echoing down the stone hall, one hand already tugging something from his coat pocket like he was going to teach from memory and charm alone.

I turned toward the doors and went through, as the cold air outside enveloped me.

The sky had that washed-out blue that comes between seasons, where it was too pale for winter, too raw for spring. Somewhere in the liminal space between.

The stone steps leading out into the courtyard were still damp from morning dew. The garden walls glistened with droplets, and the vines that draped the outer edge of the Butterfly Ward shivered in a breeze that carried both chill and the faintest breath of something green.

I wrapped my cloak tighter around me and stepped forward.

The Butterfly Ward had always felt different. Not just because it marked the softest border of the Academy’s grounds, but because it welcomed. It invited. It breathed.

It didn’t defend like the others.

It received.

The closer I walked, the more the air changed. The scent of loam and stone gave way to something lighter and sweeter like honeysuckle, maybe. Or magical memory.

As I moved nearer, the ache in my birthmark deepened. It wasn’t painful, but insistent.

It was as if it was calling something forward in me or reminding me of something I’d forgotten.

I moved past the outer row of shrubs, through the arbor wrapped in sleeping vines, and into the quiet center of the Ward.

Everything stilled.

The wind quieted. The branches above didn’t creak. Even the birds seemed to pause.

It was early, yet the signs of the seasonal shift were already here, even in this place that never seemed to acknowledge winter.

I walked to the small stone bench near the heart of the Ward and sat down, pressing my hand over the birthmark again.

The ache had faded now.

Replaced with… something else.

An awareness.

There was magic here. Not just in the ground, or the trees, or the wards. But in the waiting. In the between.

This was the kind of place where secrets liked to bloom. Where the past and future sometimes met in the shape of a butterfly’s wing, soft and unnoticed until it moved.

I tilted my face to the sky and let the breeze kiss my cheeks. Let myself breathe.

And then I whispered aloud, because sometimes the best magic needed voice.

“All right,” I said. “I’m listening.”