Page 44

The second I heard Celeste’s delighted, “This couch is so weirdly bouncy! ” from the living room, I made a beeline for the kitchen, grabbed the hem of my sweater, and muttered, “Oh no, no, no.”

The kitchen looked mostly how I left it, blessedly dusty in some corners, herbs a little too dry on the hooks, and not a single crumb or sign of life in the pantry.

Which would’ve been fine if I’d been living here, but seeing as I’d been at the Academy for weeks, and the cottage was supposed to be my charming, off-the-grid sanctuary, I needed to whip up snacks.

Fast. Normal ones. Nothing glowing, bubbling, or talking.

“Please let this book be kind,” I whispered, dragging the spellbook off the shelf and flipping through it with the panic of someone skimming for the fire extinguisher section in a cookbook.

Something simple. Something convincing. Something snacky.

Little Smokie Sausages, Mirthful Variant .

That sounded close enough to human food .

I rolled up my sleeves, muttered the invocation, and began gathering ingredients. The book called for standard spices like garlic, sage, a pinch of optimism, that part I skipped, and a sausage charm I hadn’t used in a while.

I waved the wand with more flair than precision, whispering the activation word.

The pan shuddered.

Promising.

A gentle sizzle rose from the iron skillet. My shoulders relaxed just slightly.

And then the book’s corner turned on its own, as if nudged by a mischievous breeze, revealing the fine print I hadn’t seen before:

Warning: Results may vary in kitchens without regular magical alignment. Sausages may exhibit sentience. Use parsley sprigs for pacification.

“What?” I blinked, but it was too late.

The sausages hissed, jumped, and one launched itself straight into the air with a loud pop , ricocheting off the ceiling and smacking into the spice shelf with a splatter of mustardy magic.

A puff of black smoke billowed up, thick and theatrical.

“NOPE,” I yelped, scrambling to grab the dishrag and smother the pan. Another sausage rolled across the counter and tried to escape via the sink.

Behind me, the front door creaked.

I froze.

Then I heard the unmistakable voice of Stella, drifting cheerfully from the entryway like a warm gust of lemon tea and mischief.

“Maeve, you will not believe what Mara just found on the garden path! A perfectly smooth quartz chunk the size of a tea cake, totally humming with grounding energy. I told her if it’s humming, it’s either cursed or blessed, and you know which one’s more fun—”

I whirled around just in time to see her stride into the kitchen, arms full of herbs and cheeks flushed from excitement.

“Stella!” I hissed.

She stopped mid-step, blinked at the smoke, at me, at the sausage trying to climb out of the skillet. Then she sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose. “Are you summoning cursed breakfast meats again, and why do I smell…?”

I dropped the rag, barely keeping my voice low. “Shh—Celeste and Skye are here!”

Stella blinked. “What do you mean, here here?”

I pointed to the living room.

Her face changed in an instant, joy melting into wide-eyed alarm.

“You mean your daughter daughter? And your best friend who doesn’t know anything about this life?”

I nodded frantically.

“Does she know that’s a haunted spice rack?” she whisper-hissed.

“No!”

“And that this cottage is semi-sentient?”

“Also no!”

She put the herbs down with care. “Maeve Bellemore, you absolute loon. What in the name of herbal harmony were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t! They just showed up!” I whisper-shrieked. “Skye said Luna gave them directions— Luna! —and the Ward let them through!”

Stella whistled low. “Well, that explains the humming. That place only opens for people it wants. But we definitely need a cover story for the sausage sorcery.”

I turned back to the pan in time to see the last one give up its noble escape effort and collapse, defeated, into a puddle of enchanted sauce.

“I was just trying to make snacks,” I muttered.

Stella patted my arm. “Next time, maybe stick to crackers and cheese.”

“Too late now.”

“Should I pretend to be a neighbor who makes herbal ointments and has no magical talent whatsoever?”

I arched a brow. “Stella, you sparkle when you walk. You cannot hide your magical aura.”

She sniffed. “That’s just citrus balm.”

“It’s literally glowing.”

We both turned toward the doorway just as Celeste’s voice rang out.

“Mom? It smells like something exploded in here... is everything okay?”

I turned to Stella, wide-eyed.

Stella straightened her apron, cleared her throat, and in the calmest, most ordinary voice I’ve ever heard her use, said, “Why yes, dear! Just a little kitchen mishap. Your mom was testing a new recipe. Slight over-sizzle. Totally normal. No sentient sausage uprising at all.”

I glared at her.

She winked back.

Then, softly, she leaned in and murmured, “You’re going to have to tell them eventually, Maeve.”

I knew she was right.

But that day wasn’t today.

“Can you conjure up something snacky and normal?” I whispered to Stella as I tried not to breathe in the sausage-scented smoke still curling from the skillet. “And by normal, I mean no spellwork that giggles, glows, or bursts into interpretive dance?”

Stella gave me a side-eye as she plucked her enchanted parsley from the counter. “Please. I’m a professional.”

“Uh-huh. That’s what you said before you fed me magical tea.”

“That was one time. And it was beautiful, ” she muttered as she swept the failed sausages into a magical tea towel with a flick of her fingers. “Go. I’ll make something they won’t question.”

I didn’t wait for clarification. I needed out of the kitchen before the smell of magical meat betrayal reached the living room.

Celeste and Skye were curled up on opposite ends of the sofa when I slipped back in, both of them now wearing fuzzy throws I didn’t remember leaving out, but the cottage had its ways.

The fire was crackling, the light through the window golden and gentle, and for a moment, it almost felt like the past hadn’t unraveled and reraveled into something strange and stitched with magic.

I sat down between them and tucked myself into Celeste’s side, letting my daughter’s head fall gently against my shoulder like she was still little and couldn’t fall asleep unless she was pressed right up against me.

“This place is something else,” she murmured. “The couch literally sighs. Like a happy sigh.”

“It does,” I said, smiling. “Only when it likes you.”

She lifted her head. “Wait, what?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, running a hand over her hair. “Ignore me.”

She gave me a suspicious look but let it go. “So, I was telling Skye about the ski trip.”

“Oh no,” I said. “That story again?”

“Absolutely that story again,” Celeste said, grinning. “She hasn’t heard the full version.”

Skye was already laughing, one hand on her stomach. “All I caught was that your dad barked at your boyfriend.”

“Oh, he didn’t just bark,” Celeste said. “He growled. Full teeth-baring, guttural, neck-scrunched-up-like-a-wolf growl. He snapped and snarled at his temp girlfriend, too. It was quite the ending to our holiday ski trip.”

Skye wheezed. “Oh my God.”

“Temp?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. That’s what I call them all. They’re here one day and gone the next. It’s like he gets them from an agency or something.”

My brow arched. “Interesting.”

“Anyway, it was incredible, ” Celeste said, collapsing back into the cushions. “I’m honestly surprised Darren didn’t slide down the mountain just to escape.”

“Did he ever recover?” I asked.

Celeste smirked. “Eventually. But he still flinches when he hears big dogs barking. We’re working through it.”

“I shouldn’t find that so funny,” I said, but I couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped.

“Oh, you totally should. It’s your dad, after all.”

If only they knew the real reason Alex got on all fours and nearly howled at the moon.

Skye groaned through her grin. “Oh, I miss this.”

I turned to her with a soft smile. “Me too.”

Skye let her head fall back against the cushion. “I am so beyond done. I love this baby. I do. But if I don’t get to lie on my stomach sometime soon, I might flip a table.”

“You always were dramatic,” I said, nudging her knee.

“This isn’t drama. This is truth. I can’t see my feet anymore. I cry when the bread goes stale. The other day I put my phone in the freezer and couldn’t find it for four hours.”

Celeste snorted. “That’s amazing. ”

“Want to trade bodies for a day?” Skye shot back. “You can deal with the swollen ankles, and I’ll go flirt with Darren.”

“No thanks,” Celeste said, pretending to shudder. “You’d terrify him.”

I tucked my feet up under me and let the conversation flow around me, warm and easy. It had been too long since the three of us had been together like this, with no distractions, no guilt-trips, no missed calls or text bubbles that faded away before being sent.

Just… us.

Safe.

Here.

The cottage crackled softly around us, the windows fogging slightly from the heat inside versus the chill of early spring beyond. I knew Stella was probably elbow-deep in conjured sourdough and enchantments that required moon salt. But in this moment, I was just Maeve.

Mom. Best friend. The one who laughed too hard at her ex barking at a terrified boy and knew exactly how much Skye had always hated not being able to plan her life to the second.

“Do you have names whittled down?” I asked gently, glancing at Skye’s belly.

She shook her head. “Not yet. We’re waiting.”

“Boy or girl preference?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, patting her stomach. “They’re already a force of nature. I can feel it. And if they don’t come out soon, I might start casting spells whether I have magic or not.”

I raised a brow. “I think I’ve rubbed off on you.”

“God help us all,” she muttered, grinning.

At that moment, a warm breeze floated in from the kitchen, carrying with it the scent of something freshly baked, slightly sweet, and, miracle of miracles, not smoking.

Skye inhaled deeply and sighed. “That better be something edible.”

“Stella’s in charge,” I said. “So yes. Probably.”

Celeste stretched out her legs and rested her head against my shoulder again. “I love it here.”

My heart clenched.

I didn’t know what the world would look like in a few days.

But I knew I’d fight like hell to keep this moment intact.

Stella swept in like a fairy godmother disguised as an herbalist. Her arms were laden with a wooden tray of golden hand pies, sliced apples drizzled in honey, and mugs that steamed with a rich, spiced tea. Somehow, she’d even found napkins embroidered with tiny vines—cottage magic, no doubt.

“Well, look at you two,” Stella said, setting the tray on the low table with a practiced flourish. “Still in one piece and radiating mischief. Good signs.”

Skye blinked, then laughed. “Wait a second—have we met?”

“You might not remember, dear,” Stella said, patting her shoulder with a fond smile.

“First time Maeve came to town, you were with her. You wandered into the tea shop looking like you’d survived a war with a toddler and a traffic jam.

I gave you a lemon balm scone and told you to drink something stronger. ”

Skye’s face lit up. “That was you! You had a whole wall of jars labeled things like Sleep Tight and Don't Hex Your Boss .”

“I stand by those blends,” Stella said primly.

“And now I work there.”

Stella winked at me. “Indeed.”

A sharp knock rattled the front door, and I jumped. The sound cut through the room like a spell breaking.

I froze, slowly turning to glance at Stella.

She’d gone still.

Her eyes met mine over the edge of the tray, and the look she gave me wasn’t fear.

It was a warning.