Page 50

We were half a block from Nova’s shop when Celeste turned to me and asked the one question I’d spent most of this trip dancing around.

“Do you believe in magic?” she asked.

I stopped walking.

The air around us kept moving, birds fluttering between awnings, the rustle of leaves in the tall sycamore by the post office, the distant clink of knitting needles from Luna’s outdoor display, but I felt frozen in place.

My daughter had asked it with no drama, no teasing, no sly grin.

Just those four simple words, as if they were as casual as asking about the weather.

My mouth went dry. My first instinct was to deflect, make a joke, change the subject with a perfectly placed mom-comment about schoolwork or boyfriends or how no one ever calls their mothers enough anymore.

But I didn’t.

Because something about her face, those familiar eyes shaped by years of observing more than she let on, told me this wasn’t a test. It wasn’t bait.

She truly wanted to know.

And just like that, my thoughts went back to my dad.

My beautiful, patient father with weathered hands and eyes that held all the stars.

He used to tell me stories at bedtime, not fairytales, but real stories, ancient ones, handed down like family heirlooms. He never said magic is real or you are magical , not outright. He never had to.

Because when I asked him the very same question once, with all the blunt curiosity of a little girl trying to understand her strange dreams and the way the world tilted sometimes when she was nearby, he smiled softly and said, “I believe that we all have the power to be the magic.”

And so I turned to my daughter now, heart pounding in my chest, and gave her the only truth I could.

“I believe that we all have the power to be the magic.”

Celeste blinked, then smiled. It wasn’t a huge smile, just a soft one that curved at the edges like something inside her had settled into place. She hummed a little, barely a note, like music she didn’t even realize she was making, and nodded as we started walking again.

“I love that answer,” she said, voice dreamy.

I felt the knot in my chest loosen just a little.

Maybe she didn’t know. Perhaps she did. Or maybe some part of her had always known but hadn’t found the right shape for the knowing.

Still, she hadn’t asked for proof or explanations.

Not yet. She just wanted to hear that I believed in something beautiful.

We strolled in silence for a bit, letting our feet fall into rhythm on the old cobblestone sidewalk. It was mid-morning, and the shadows were soft, stretching long across the path from the iron lampposts and flower boxes.

Celeste tucked her hands into her pockets and looked up at the sky, then over at me.

“I can’t believe I leave tomorrow,” she said.

Neither could I.

“Me either,” I replied, trying to keep my voice even.

“I’m going with Darren’s family to their lake cabin,” she said. “You know, the one up in that tiny mountain town? I think it’s mostly board games, hammocks, and cold cereal for dinner. But his mom keeps saying it’ll be wholesome .”

I smiled. “Sounds kind of nice.”

“I’m looking forward to the quiet,” she admitted. “But also... not.”

I tilted my head. “Why not?”

She took a breath, looking out toward the hill that led to the old town overlook. “Because this place... I don’t know. It feels like I just got here and like I’ve been here forever. That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense,” I said quietly.

Celeste turned her gaze on me. And for the briefest moment, I saw something flicker across her expression—recognition, maybe. Or understanding. But she didn’t press. Didn’t pry.

“I’ll miss it,” she said. “And I’ll miss you.”

The ache behind my ribs returned. “I’ll miss you more than you know.”

She reached over and linked her arm through mine, her head resting briefly against my shoulder as we walked.

“You’re different here,” she said after a moment.

“Different how?”

“Calmer. Stronger, maybe?” She laughed a little. “Kind of like one of those book characters who had no idea they were royalty until they found their real castle.”

“Are you calling me a fantasy trope?”

She shrugged, grinning. “Only if the crown fits.”

We laughed together, and I let the sound carry through me, holding onto it like something I could bottle up for later.

Because no matter how much I wanted to keep her here, safe and folded into the quiet rhythms of Stonewick, I knew that wasn’t fair. Celeste had her own life, her own road to walk. I couldn’t, shouldn’t, wrap her in magic she hadn’t asked for.

Still, I couldn’t stop the fear that buzzed underneath everything. Now that the dragons were stirring. Now that the shadows were shifting. Now that the veil between what was known and what was hidden thinned more with each passing day.

She left tomorrow.

And I needed to make sure that when she did, the world would still be safe for her.

Even if it meant confronting everything I’d been trying to delay.

The late afternoon light poured down the cobbled streets of Stonewick, turning everything soft around the edges.

Celeste’s arm was looped through mine again as we strolled back toward Nova’s shop to pick up Skye.

She’d been humming ever since our walk began, her joy floating around her like the scent of springtime jasmine.

I clung to the quiet comfort of it, the normalcy, the illusion of a new normal being born between us.

Nova’s shop stood cozy and glowing beneath the hanging lanterns as the sun dipped lower. Inside, Skye was right where we left her, laughing over a deck of tarot cards, clearly having coaxed Nova into reading her birth path, baby destiny, or both.

“Oh no,” I muttered as I opened the door. “How many new theories do you have now?”

“Three,” Skye said cheerfully, rising from her seat with a hand pressed to her lower back. “One of them involves the baby being born under a sacred star and having mystical hair.”

Nova didn’t deny it.

Celeste was already giggling, tugging her coat tighter as she gave Skye a sideways hug. “You ready for dinner?”

“You have no idea,” Skye said. “If I don’t eat in the next ten minutes, your mystical star child may revolt.”

We headed back out into the golden streets, laughter trailing behind us.

Stonewick’s evening glow had a kind of magic that asked nothing and offered everything—warm window lights, hand-painted signs swinging gently in the breeze, and the low hum of students and locals gathering to eat and unwind.

It felt like home. Like what home could be when all the pieces finally clicked into place.

We reached the little restaurant at the corner of Rosewalk and Birch, tucked between an antique shop and a bookbindery.

Inside, it was dim and glowing, the kind of place that served meals with handwritten menus and knew everyone’s preferred tea.

We slipped into a window table in the far corner, a perfect perch for watching the world go by.

The waitress had barely dropped off the water glasses when Celeste gasped.

Her breath caught sharp, not in fear, but bright surprise.

“Oh my god, ” she whispered, her eyes glued to the street outside.

Skye and I instinctively followed her gaze.

And there he was.

Darren.

Celeste’s boyfriend. Tall, sweet-faced, with that faint skater-boy nonchalance that somehow managed to survive into adulthood. I’d only met him once, briefly, at the train station. I remembered liking him. He’d seemed… normal.

“Mom,” Celeste said, practically vibrating, “he came here. He said he couldn’t join the trip, but he came here. ”

I blinked, still processing.

“Young love.” I smiled.

Darren looked up and spotted her through the window. His face lit up, and he gave a huge, boyish grin that made Celeste squeak. He jogged to the restaurant entrance, pushed through the door, and was at our table before any of us could stand.

“I told you I had to work this weekend,” he said, beaming. “Total lie.”

Celeste jumped up and hugged him so tightly that he squeaked.

“That’s a terrible lie, and I love it,” she said.

They kissed, quick and sweet, and I watched my daughter’s entire expression glow. She looked lighter, younger. She looked like someone in love for the first time in her life and not trying to hide it.

Darren turned to me. “Hi, Ms. Bellemore. Thank you for… letting me crash the trip.”

I gave him a polite nod, heart still sorting itself out. “Well, you certainly surprised her.”

“I’d like to steal her for a bit, if that’s okay.”

Celeste turned to me, her expression both hopeful and a little sheepish.

“Go,” I said softly. “Just be back before the stars come out.”

Celeste grinned and kissed my cheek. “You’re the best.”

Skye gave me a look as Celeste and Darren slipped through the door, laughing and talking fast. I saw him reach for her hand as they stepped back onto the sidewalk, already turning down Birch Street.

And then he glanced over his shoulder.

Right at me.

His grin held, perfectly charming, effortlessly warm.

But something in it cracked the light.

There was a flicker behind his eyes. A glint that didn’t belong. It wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t cruelty.

It was recognition.

My blood chilled.

Not because he looked familiar.

Because the look he gave me did.

A look I’d seen before.

A look I’d feared before.

And in that quiet second, one heartbeat long, I realized something in me had awakened. The dragon vow pulsed in my chest. The butterfly mark burned faintly beneath my collar.

He wasn’t just a boy surprising his girlfriend.

He was something else.

And I had just let my daughter walk away beside him.