Page 10

The Academy had shifted into full morning rhythm.

The halls buzzed with the shuffle of boots and soft spell chants. Charms hummed above arched doorways.

Twobble, after dramatically announcing that he was off to face the horrors of fungal classification, had bolted toward Bella’s greenhouse with a biscuit in one hand and a quill that looked suspiciously like it was borrowed from an enchanted owl in the other.

Somewhere in the east wing, someone’s cauldron exploded with a not-so-reassuring whump, followed by the faint smell of toasted marshmallows and regret.

Stella was off as well, trailing incense and glamour as she declared she was going to teach the ladies how to faint convincingly. Ardetia had passed by in a shimmer of mint-scented wind, already halfway to her classroom before I even realized she'd nodded good morning.

And for a brief, beautiful moment, I was alone in the entry corridor, finally able to think.

Until the chime rang.

Three deep tones echoed through the halls, low and resonant, pulsing up through the flagstone floors.

The Visitor Summons.

My spine straightened.

Not many people knew how to reach the Academy’s threshold, let alone trip the summons. And it didn’t happen without purpose.

I made my way quickly to the main doors, the scent of dew and blooming Ward-flowers drifting in through the archway.

I took a breath, gripped the handle, and opened the door.

And there he was.

Standing like he owned the entire front steps, arms folded, one foot tapping against the stone, and surrounded by what could only be described as an entourage of chaos gremlins in floral cloaks.

Twobble.

Or so I thought.

Until he looked up and grinned.

“Oh, look who’s decided to grace me with her presence,” he drawled. “I was beginning to think you were afraid of handsome visitors, and I’d have to break in.”

I stared, blinking.

His sparse hair was too tidy. His vest wasn’t patched. It was embroidered. And he was holding a handful of polished pebbles, clicking them together like he had nothing better to do and was also deeply annoyed about it.

“Twobble’s in class,” I said slowly.

He gasped and clutched his chest. “You wound me, Maeve. Really. Here I come all this way, and you don’t even offer me tea?”

“Skonk, you threw stones at me.”

“Pebbles and took you long enough. I could see those wheels spinning, wondering if I were Skonk or Twobble.” The grin widened into something irritating and smug.

“What do you want?”

“Well, first of all, a proper welcome. I had to walk uphill in the sun. There were ducks. I hate ducks.”

I blinked. “What?”

He waved that away. “Never mind. They know what they did.”

I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “And the women?”

He looked over his shoulder at the gaggle of mismatched magical beings behind him. One had leaves for hair. Another was holding what looked like a sleeping squirrel in a sling. All of them stared at me like I might turn into something entertaining at any moment.

“They’re friends. Maybe fans. Maybe a coven. I don’t ask questions.”

“Skonk…”

“I heard Moonbeam preparations were happening,” he interrupted, plucking a pebble from his hand and tossing it up before catching it. “Thought I’d pop in. Offer my expertise. ”

My eyes narrowed. “What kind of expertise involves flinging pebbles at people and impersonating your cousin?”

“Oh, I impersonated him beautifully, thank you. Honestly, your garden needed rearranging anyway.”

I groaned. “What makes you think I want to invite you in when you were so rude at the cottage?”

Skonk smiled wider. “You’ve got a real ‘tense headmistress trying to hold the threads of fate together’ vibe going, by the way. Very dramatic. I approve.”

“You are not coming inside.”

He sniffed. “Fine. Be that way. But it’s very rude to reject visitors before they’ve hexed anything.”

“I’m not interested in games today, Skonk.”

He yawned, exaggeratedly. “Well, that’s disappointing. Games are my specialty. You should try one sometime. Might loosen that charmingly stiff spine of yours.”

I exhaled slowly, the burn of last night’s dream still lingering behind my eyes. The contrast between Gideon’s ice-cold menace and Skonk’s irritating chaos was almost enough to short-circuit my brain.

Skonk clicked his heels together, sending a glittery puff of something unpleasant-smelling into the air.

“Anyway, just thought I’d swing by. Scope things out.

Tell my actual cousin you should consider letting him get a new vest, by the way.

That thing’s one enchanted sneeze away from disintegrating. ”

“Skonk.”

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving.” He held up both hands. “Honestly, so touchy.”

His group began to slink after him like a collection of highly flammable parade participants.

But just before he stepped off the final stair, he turned and grinned again.

“Tell Twobble I missed him, too.”

Then he vanished with a snap of his fingers and a very rude noise.

I stood in the doorway for a long moment, letting the breeze blow the glitter away.

No darkness. No threats.

Just… Skonk.

But, he didn’t go far I spotted him toward the Butterfly Ward with his groupies.

Annoying, exhausting, unpredictable Skonk.

But still.

Something about his visit itched at me. He had timed it perfectly. Right after the Moonbeam conversation. Right after the dream.

And that grin…that flicker of too-much-knowledge in his eyes.

Maybe he wasn’t dangerous the way Gideon was, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a warning.

And I had a feeling Twobble wouldn’t be happy to hear about this unannounced family reunion.

I stood there longer than I should have, the door still half open, the morning breeze curling around my ankles like a whisper.

Skonk was gone.

Or at least… out of sight.

The forest beyond the Academy shimmered in that strange in-between way it always did, half glamoured, half wild, a patchwork of the old magic that refused to follow neat borders. And somewhere in that patchwork, he’d slipped away.

“I shouldn’t,” I muttered.

My dad huffed near my feet, flopping down with the resigned air of someone who already knew I was going to do the thing I claimed I wouldn’t.

“I know,” I said, bending down to scratch behind his ears. “But the Academy didn’t throw him off the grounds. And that’s… something.”

Because that was the thing, wasn’t it?

The Academy hadn’t blasted him sky-high or locked the Wards or set the gargoyles loose in a flurry of stone and purpose on these grounds. It had let him walk right up to the front steps. He had rung the summons, and the Academy allowed it all to happen.

That meant something.

And I had a terrible habit of listening to things I shouldn’t.

I stepped outside and followed the faint glimmer of scattered leaves and glitter where he’d disappeared. The last student had already gone to class, and the only sound was the rustle of the breeze and the distant hum of the Wards.

I told myself I was being cautious and responsible, and that this wasn’t about curiosity.

Not at all.

I spotted the faintest trail of crushed moss, a smudge of boot prints, a weird little smear of jam I refused to question, and kept going.

The trees thickened quickly. Branches curled like old fingers. The path turned narrow and soft beneath my boots. I let my magic hum gently under my skin, a subtle pulse of awareness as I reached the edge of where the Academy grounds met the wildwood.

Then…

“You really are bad at pretending you’re not curious.”

I jumped.

Skonk was hanging upside down from a branch, legs hooked around it like a smug bat, swinging casually. His glittery goblin entourage was nowhere in sight.

“Do you live for the jump scare?” I snapped.

“I dabble,” he said, twisting upright in one smooth flip and landing in a crouch. “You followed me. I’m flattered.”

“I didn’t follow you. I…”

“Wanted to know what I wanted, or what I know,” he finished, standing and dusting off his embroidered vest. “You humans are all the same. Pretend you're above it. But deep down, you want the chaos just as much as the answers.”

I folded my arms. “Skonk, if this is about playing games…”

“It’s not.” His tone shifted just enough to make me pause.

My eyes narrowed on the little look-alike.

“This place,” he gestured behind me, toward the Academy, “is waking up. You think it lets just anyone on the steps?”

“You’re not just anyone.”

He grinned again. “Exactly.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be.”

We stood there in a stretch of stillness, and for a flicker of a moment, something passed over his face. It wasn’t mischief or smugness.

It was something closer to wariness.

“If you came to warn me,” I said carefully, “say it plainly.”

“Oh no. I came because I was invited. ”

I blinked. “Invited by whom? ”

He tapped his temple. “Your dream magic’s a leaky thing. Doesn’t always stay tucked in at night. And there are lots of... eager ears listening when a certain someone slithers into your sleep.”

My mouth went dry.

“You mean Gideon.”

“I mean,” he said, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve, “that some very old things are watching. And you, my dear headmistress, are blinking your pretty green eyes into a world that doesn’t play nice. ”

I bristled. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you do. And I think you still want to fix it.” He gave a mock sigh. “So noble. So tired. So ready to be disappointed.”

“I don’t need your cynicism, Skonk.”

“Of course you do,” he said brightly. “It’s seasoning.”

I exhaled through my nose, hard. “You said you had expertise.”

“I do.” He bounced slightly on his heels. “Shadowick expertise. Places that twist wrong. Roads that double back. Creatures that forget you aren’t theirs. You want to walk in on Moonbeam Eve? You’ll want someone who knows where not to step.”

“And you’re offering that?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you stop acting like you’ve already figured it all out.” He cocked his head, that annoying grin returning. “You’re brave. You’ve got that whole light-witch-defying-darkness thing going. Very inspiring. But you don’t know what you’re walking into. Not really.”

I studied him. “And you do.”

He gave a small, two-shoulder shrug. “I know more than Twobble does.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s not exactly hard. Shadowick hasn’t been inviting over the years.”

“Still counts.”

The breeze kicked up, rustling the leaves overhead. For a moment, the world held its breath.

Then I asked the question that had been slowly unraveling in the back of my mind since I opened the door:

“Why now, Skonk?”

His smile didn’t fade, but the light in his eyes changed. “Because things are about to tip, Maeve. And not everyone wants the shadows to win.”

That stopped me cold.

I didn’t trust him. Not entirely.

But I believed that.

He turned away and began walking back into the trees, waving lazily over his shoulder.

“Think about it. I’ll be around.”

And then he was gone. He vanished into the wildwood, like fog fading from glass.

I stood there for a long time.

Then I turned back toward the Academy, still uncertain and shaken.

But one new thought threaded through the noise.

What if Skonk was right?

Perhaps it wasn’t about trust.

Maybe it was about having the right kind of wild on your side.