Page 8

And no one, not even time, could take that away.

The moment stretched, hanging on the edge of curiosity.

Keegan, Stella, and Ember stepped from behind me as we moved into the banquet room.

Then came the smiles.

A few women cheered. One whistled.

“Is that the one you have a crush on?” Lady Limora mouthed to me, glancing at Keegan, except there was nothing quiet about it. We all heard it.

I flushed to my ears, and Keegan chuckled beside me under his breath. The sound was deep and delicious.

“I don’t remember signing up to be a show pony,” he murmured.

I elbowed him lightly. “Just walk and sparkle, Keegan. Walk and sparkle.”

He laughed a full, low sound that made my stomach flutter.

Stella, ever graceful, gave a theatrical bow as we entered. Ember nodded politely, eyes flicking over the tables with a watchfulness that never quite left her.

I took a deep breath and stepped forward to the center of the room. Nova, Ardetia, and Bella were already there, lounging like the competent magical professionals they were as each one raised a brow in unison.

“I have an announcement,” I said, louder now, and the murmur of the room stilled again.

“All of you,” I looked out over the crowd of mostly women filled with witches and vamps, shifters and mages, ordinary and extraordinary alike, “answered the Academy’s call. You walked through these doors believing there was still magic left in you to discover, or reclaim. You were right.”

A ripple of quiet pride rolled through the room. Heads nodded. Shoulders lifted. I felt it too.

“But,” I continued, pacing slowly around the center, “you’re not doing this alone. Magic was never meant to be taught from a tower. It lives in kitchens, in woods, in the cracks between this world and the next. And so do our teachers.”

I gestured toward the first table. “Some of you already know Nova.”

Nova gave a small, ironic bow.

“She’s our specialist in magical divination. She will teach you in the ways of the Augur. She excels at getting you out of a mess you probably shouldn’t have gotten into in the first place.”

A few women laughed knowingly.

“To her left is Ardetia, our fae instructor and keeper of complicated wisdom, riddles, and looking deeply unimpressed with everyone. But most importantly, she’ll help you excel at druidic magic for those so inclined, and she knows a lot about root craft for those who just need a little help obtaining a green thumb. ”

Ardetia didn’t smile, but the edges of her lips twitched, which was the fae version of throwing a confetti parade.

“Bella,” I continued, nodding toward the fox-shifter who was now balancing a teacup on the tip of her finger, “handles practical magic, movement-based casting, and the occasional crisis of confidence based on mischievous intent. If you need to figure out how to get away with something, she’s your gal. ”

“I’m also teaching how not to hex yourself mid-complaint,” Bella called.

“Vital skill,” I agreed, to a room full of laughter.

“And now,” I turned back toward my newest additions, heart fluttering, “some of you have just met them, but they’ve been part of my story for longer than any of you know.”

I gestured toward Stella, who gave a warm wave and a crooked grin. “She’ll be running hearth magic, brewing arts, emotional spellwork, and all things delicious. She may also encourage you to discuss your feelings over tea. I like to think of her as our kitchen witch with fangs.”

“And biscuits,” Stella added. “Feelings go down better with biscuits.”

Chuckles floated through the room.

“Ember,” I said next, “specializes in warding, tracking, shadow-walking, and evasion. If you don’t see her around much, that just means she’s doing her job.”

Ember nodded once. A few of the more magically alert students flinched, as if realizing they hadn’t noticed her enter the room until I’d said her name.

“And then there’s…” I hesitated, eyes landing on Keegan.

He hadn’t moved from the edge of the hall, watching everything, eyes flicking between the women and the windows and back to me again.

“This is Keegan,” I said, and even just saying his name sent something steady through me. “He’s teaching—well, we’re still naming it. But it’ll be about grounding. About resisting what pulls at you. About staying whole when you don’t feel like you are.”

I glanced around the room at the women sitting at the tables. So many of them had come here broken, weary, unsure.

They looked at him the way I had once looked at the Academy, half in awe, half in fear, and completely unwilling to admit how much they needed what stood in front of them.

“And last but not least,” I said, “we have Frank.”

There was a pause.

Frank, sprawled next to a bowl of custard, looked up, blinked, and gave a single, declarative snort.

“That,” I said, smiling, “is our empathy coach. And your emotional support professor. You’ll see him waddling around. Feel free to give him belly rubs and ear scratches, and he will make you feel centered no matter what you face.”

The room burst into warm, genuine laughter. One of the gnomes raised her cider cup in salute. My dad, entirely unbothered, began chewing on a pastry.

“And this,” I added, sweeping my hand around the glowing, flickering hall, “is only the beginning.”

I looked out at the faces staring back at me, some weary, some alight with hope, and some still skeptical.

But all here.

This wasn’t even the whole of it.

Not even close.

There were more students on the way. I could feel them like echoes just beyond the Wards and like ripples in the water before a frog appears. And with them would come more teachers. More stories. More challenges.

But tonight?

Tonight was full.

Tonight was family.

And I couldn’t wait to see what came next.

Which reminded me that I had somewhere to be.