Page 62 of Magical Moonbeam

Down in the courtyard stood a sizable group of women, at least a dozen, clustered around a flustered Twobble and a very animated Skonk who appeared to be stuffing belongings into a tapestry bag while gesturing wildly with a wooden spoon.

The women weren’t students. That much was clear. They held themselves with the kind of quiet confidence born from years of experience. Laughter lined their faces, and most of them wore cloaks over travel-worn clothes and boots that had clearly seen more than their share of magical mischief.

They were older. Midlife.

No, older than midlife, and unmistakably magical.

I yanked the window open further and leaned out. “Twobble? What’s going on down there?”

Twobble glanced up, his expression a mix of frazzled and betrayed. “You tell me! They justappeared!”

Skonk waved his spoon like a wand. “Notappeared,arrived. They arrived with purpose and possibly muffins.”

A tall woman at the front of the group looked up, her silver-streaked braid catching the light. “Are you the Headmistress?”

“I am,” I called down cautiously. “Maeve Bellemore. And you are…?”

She smiled, and it was like the first rays of sun after a long storm. “Hopefuls.”

Twobble muttered, “That sounds ominous.”

The woman raised a brow. “We heard what you’re building here. What you’re fighting for. We’re not too old to help.” She touched her temple with her index finger. “And we have lots to share.”

I blinked, then leaned further out. “You’re… witches?”

“We’re everything,” another woman called. “Witches, healers, charm-binders, elemental readers. Some of us taught in secret for years.”

“And Skonk invited them,” Twobble added in disbelief.

“Imentionedit in a super-secret message board for disillusioned magical educators,” Skonk said proudly. “Apparently, it was quite popular.”

I pressed a hand to my forehead and laughed. “Disillusioned?”

Of course, he had.

One of the women stepped forward, her cloak lined with wildflowers that looked freshly conjured, her gaze steady beneath a crown of gently graying curls.

“We’ve been waiting quietly for this place to reopen,” she said, voice firm but thick with feeling. “Most of us grew up watching Stonewick sit shuttered, listening to our parents and grandparents speak of what it once was and what it meant. We nearly gave up hope that we’d ever see its doors open forourgeneration. But then the rumors started… whispers that the Wards were humming again, that someone had answered the call. We have skills. We have heart. And the pull was too strong to ignore. So we came.”

I didn’t need to think hard to know we needed them.

“I’ll be down in a moment,” I said, already turning from the window.

By the time I reached the courtyard, my dad had joined the scene, weaving between the newcomers like a proud little general. Several of the women were already bending to scratch his ears and murmur charms of greeting.

“Sorry for the chaotic welcome,” I said as I approached, extending a hand toward the woman with the braid.

She clasped it with both of her hands. “We didn’t come for pomp. We came for purpose.”

I met her eyes, and the strange, sudden burn of emotion flared in my chest.

“You found the right place,” I said softly.

Behind me, Twobble made a disgruntled noise. “I still say a warning would’ve been polite. A lot of mouths to feed, linens to change…”

Skonk elbowed his cousin. “You’re just jealous I thought about it.”

The woman grinned. “I brought lemon scones. Will that help?”