Page 33

The golden shimmer of the path still pulsed faintly behind me as I stepped back through the Academy’s garden doors. The warmth of the hallways welcomed me, with faint lavender oil drifting from the sconces and book sprites rustling softly above the chandeliers. But my thoughts were far from calm.

The conversation with Stella played over and over in my head like a looped melody, too ancient to understand but too familiar to ignore.

A calling path.

I didn’t like that it had a name.

Yet I liked that I hadn’t accidentally created it.

But I liked even less that I suspected it was addressed to me.

I made my way through the corridor in front of me, past the map room that had just revealed itself, and the hall of mirrors, then up the narrow stone staircase toward the quiet and less traveled wing, where my grandmother liked to settle in during the day to stay out of the students’ way.

She was exactly where I expected her to be, seated in the sunroom alcove with a steaming cup of vanilla-rose tea. Her robes were wrapped snugly around her like a coiled cloud. The fire crackled gently beside her. She didn’t look up when I entered. She never had to.

“I was wondering how long it would take you,” she said.

I hesitated in the doorway. “To come see you?”

“To ask about the path.”

I exhaled and walked in, sinking into the worn chair across from her. “So, you know.”

“The Academy whispered it to me this morning.” She took a sip of tea. “It hums when something changes, and I recognized what the something was.”

I leaned forward, rubbing my hands together absently. “I was told it’s not dangerous. At least, not immediately. Stella thinks it’s a calling path.”

My grandma set her teacup down slowly, her eyes not on me but somewhere far behind me, as if she were looking through time.

“She’s right.”

“You’ve seen one?”

“I’ve walked beside one,” she said. “Once. I didn’t go through it. But I watched someone who did.”

Her expression changed, then softened at the edges. Sadness flickered behind her eyes, but no sign of regret.

“Who?” I asked.

“My sister,” she said. “Miora.”

Shock rattled through me. Great Aunt Miora, back at the cottage, who floated between rooms, walls, and memories, had walked this path?

“Tell me what it looks like,” Grandma Elira said softly.

“Golden. Misty. Alive. It wasn’t there yesterday.”

Her eyes sparkled, though there was a heaviness beneath them. “And it’s humming to you.”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I haven’t gone through. Not yet. But it’s… watching.”

She nodded slowly and exhaled, her breath clouding faintly in the window light. “You’ve found a path.”

“Stella called it a calling path.”

“She’s right.”

“What happened with Miora?”

Her gaze drifted to the window. “Years ago, it shimmered silver and violet, stretched through the trees like a ribbon spun from starlight. It sank into the fields near the cottage.”

“But you didn’t go through it?”

“No,” she said, then smiled softly. “It was meant for Miora.”

“That path called to her the same way this one calls to you. She didn’t ignore it. She walked it. And when she came back, she was changed.”

I sat back, letting the name settle over me. Miora, my cottage companion and distant relative. The caretaker of the place that had held me when everything else fell apart. Quiet, wry, always moving like she was half in one world and half in another.

Of course, it had called to her.

“She never told me,” I said.

“She wouldn’t,” my grandma said. “Not unless she thought you were ready. Miora carries things close, but not because she’s secretive, but because she respects the magic. And the weight of what it gives.” My grandma sighed. “More importantly, what it can take away.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. “She always seemed like she knew things she wasn’t saying.”

“She does,” Grandma Elira said with a chuckle. “But only because she’s lived through what she doesn’t wish on anyone else.”

My throat tightened.

“What did it change in her?” I asked. “What did the path take?”

“She came back with more clarity. But less certainty.”

“That sounds contradictory.”

“It’s not,” she said gently. “The path showed her what was true. But not how to live with it. Sometimes, they show what has been or what’s ahead.”

I stared into the flickering hearth beside us, the amber light painting shadows across the floor. “And now one is calling to me.”

“It would not have appeared unless something in you reached out first.”

“That’s not comforting.” And then I remembered. “The shimmering inside the Academy.”

“It’s not meant to be,” she said. “Calling paths don’t come for the curious. They come for the becoming.”

The words landed hard in my chest.

The becoming.

I thought of my old life and the fragments of it still tucked into texts from Skye and voicemails from Celeste. The life I’d built was with magic, danger, and wonder. The circle bending, the dragons hiding, and the shadows watching were all part of my new existence.

“I wanted to bring Celeste here,” I said. “But I can’t. I know I can’t.”

My grandma gave a soft sigh. “It’s the right choice.”

“I wanted so badly to share this with her. With Skye. But I would never forgive myself if it hurt them.”

“That’s because you’re learning what we all do, eventually,” Elira said, her voice full of something tender and aching. “That love and protection are sometimes the same thing. And sometimes they’re not.”

I swallowed hard. “And if I go through this path?”

“You won’t come back empty-handed.”

“Will I come back at all?”

“You will,” she said firmly. “Because the magic here is still building around you. The Academy hasn’t finished choosing you. And neither has Stonewick.”

Her words sent a chill down my spine, but it wasn’t fear.

It was truth.

She reached forward and took my hand. Her touch was soft and warm despite the wisdom behind it.

“When you go,” she said, “go with your eyes open. Let it show you what it must. Don’t fight it. But don’t give more than you’re willing to leave behind.”

I nodded slowly as the weight of it all settled in my chest like a stone I’d been carrying for longer than I wanted.

“Did Miora regret it?” I asked.

“No,” she said softly. “But I think part of her still walks that path now and then through dreams, in silence, in the way she pours tea or chooses her words.”

I smiled. “That sounds exactly like her.”

“She’ll be waiting when you’re ready. I suspect she’s known this day was coming.”

I let that thought warm me for a moment longer.

Then I rose, pressing a kiss to Elira’s cheek.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Anytime, my darling girl.”

As I stepped back into the hallway, the walls seemed to hum, quiet and steady, like a heartbeat.

The path was still waiting.

But I was almost ready to meet it.

I walked out the door, with Twobble behind, but the path to the cottage felt different now.

Not in the way magic often shifts when you're away for too long. No, this felt deeper. It felt as if the earth had missed me and the roots had remembered me.

The new leaves glittered faintly under a spray of sunlight, catching the last glimmers of morning as we made our way down the winding trail. The birds chirped a spring melody as Twobble walked beside me now.

“All these blasted birds with opinions,” he muttered.

I laughed and shook my head. “What are you talking about? The birds are singing.”

He eyed me with disappointment. “Don’t fool yourself. They’re laughing at us. They’re judging us.”

“Twobble, they are not.”

He stopped and stared at me. “You mean to tell me that you think they’re singing?” He laughed and shook his head. “They’re gossiping about us. About everyone. It’s what they do. They fly from faction to faction, get the deets, and then drop ‘em like bombs.”

“If you say so,” I teased as we started walking again.

My cottage came into view as I soaked in the coziness.

Tucked into the dip of the land, hugged by vine-covered stone walls and fat sun-warmed windows with glass just a little too wavy to be normal.

The gargoyles sat perched proudly on the roof, which had a few new tufts of moss growth since Miora strengthened everything from the last fight.

I thought back to everything that’s happened here since I arrived in Stonewick. The way I saw Keegan shift to save me, my dad…the cottage.

Doing the one thing he despised out of…respect.

Or was it more?

As we approached the stoop, our perched sentinels took notice.

And then— Karvey.

He launched from the highest peak of the roof, wings spread wide and gleaming in the morning sun, and swooped down with a dramatic flair that would’ve made a hawk feel underdressed.

He landed just before me in a crouch, rising to his full, craggy height, wings curling behind him.

“Headmistress,” he boomed.

I grinned. “I’ve missed you, Karvey.”

“And I, you,” he said, his stone features shifting into something soft. “The roof has been quiet. The tea, undisturbed. The porch swing—neglected.”

“I know,” I said, stepping forward to touch his arm. “But I’m here now.”

He nodded solemnly, then slowly turned his gaze toward Twobble.

There was a long pause.

Twobble raised an eyebrow. “No, I missed you too, Twobble? Not even a grunt of acknowledgment?”

Karvey blinked once.

Then turned back to me. “Shall I carry your bag?”

Twobble threw his hands up. “Unbelievable. I dragged her through goblin tunnels, rescued her from Gideon’s clutches, babysat her dad, got chased by a frisky witch two days ago, and this lump of gravel won’t even nod.”

Karvey lifted his chin. “My duties are with the headmistress. Not with those who complain about horny witches.”

I laughed and shook my head. “It’s good to be home. But let’s play nice.”

Twobble stuck his tongue out at Karvey. “Told you she likes me better.”

I turned back to the door, my hand pausing just an inch from the familiar, polished brass handle shaped like a spiral vine. “Here goes.”

The door opened with a soft creak and a sigh, and it felt as if even the cottage was breathing easier to have me home.

Warmth wrapped around me the moment I stepped into the room, and I took in the place that had started this journey I was on now.

Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass window by the hearth, casting patterns of foxes and feathers on the wooden floor.

The kettle was humming from the stove even though I hadn’t lit the fire.

The mismatched chairs around the table looked as though they’d been expecting guests.

The shelves still carried the scent of cinnamon, and a faint trace of honey hung in the air like someone had just stirred a spoon through a mug of tea.

And maybe Miora had.

The cottage felt lived in, even though no one had been here.

Not anyone living, anyway.

Twobble stepped in behind me, instantly shaking moss from his boots onto the rug. “Still smells like dried herbs and emotional unraveling in here.”

I smiled. “I missed this place.”

Karvey ducked slightly at the doorway, his wings folding tight as he stepped through and positioned himself near the fireplace, standing still like a statue, only his glowing stone eyes betraying the fact that he was watching, alert.

And then—

A flicker in the corner of my vision.

Soft and shifting, like a trick of the light.

Only it wasn’t.

I turned slowly, breath catching.

She stood near the back of the room, just beyond the kitchen archway.

Miora.

Not quite solid. Not quite mist.

Her form shimmered faintly, like memory stitched to the edge of dream. Her simple dress was patterned with tiny suns and moons.

She looked… calm and was smiling as if she'd been waiting.

“Hello again,” she said, her voice quiet but firm.

Twobble jumped so hard he nearly knocked over a stool. “How do you always surprise me like that?”

“Miora.”

She tilted her head. “You have questions.”

I chuckled and shrugged. “I always do. I guess that’s what happens when magic has been hidden from a person all their life.”

“You’ll need tea first,” she said, moving toward the kitchen, though her hands never touched it. “Everything worth hearing starts with tea.”

I smiled, tears prickling my eyes.

Karvey gave a small approving grunt from the hearth before making his way to the door as the cottage hummed softly.

And in that moment, surrounded by magic, stone, ghosts, and a grumbling goblin, I knew I was exactly where I needed to be.

The Academy would be fine on its own.