Page 13

The last of everyone finally thinned, Ember floated off to scheme traps with alarming enthusiasm. Bella muttered about needing stronger tea to deal with Skonk-related nonsense, and Stella paused at the threshold just long enough to shoot me a knowing look over her shoulder.

Twobble gave Skonk one last warning glare before escorting him toward the east wing like a grumpy prison warden. Skonk waved like a pageant winner being dragged offstage.

And then, it was quiet again.

Keegan hadn’t moved from his spot by the hearth, arms crossed, leaning just slightly against the doorframe. The flicker of firelight cast golden shadows along his jaw, and the moment the others were gone, his eyes found mine and softened.

“That was… something,” I said, folding my arms, mostly to keep from fidgeting.

“I’ve seen shifter battles with less bloodthirst than that goblin scuffle,” he replied, lips twitching in amusement. “Honestly, I always thought one Twobble was enough.”

I chuckled, but my heart was doing far more dramatic things than it should have.

“I thought I was losing my marbles,” I confessed.

His smile lingered, and he didn’t move away.

In fact, he took a step closer.

The room felt warmer, and I wasn’t sure who breathed first, but my thoughts, which had been buzzing with Ward logistics and goblin hijinks, slowed to a crawl as my gaze slid to his mouth.

Just once.

Stupid traitorous thoughts.

Because all I could think about was that kiss.

The one under the tree.

The one that made me feel like the ground might give out, and I wouldn’t even care.

And stars help me, I wanted another one.

But I was also old enough, and just recently wise enough, to know that this moment wasn’t the time for tangled feelings or stolen kisses. Not when Shadowick loomed or when Gideon’s voice still haunted my dreams and Skonk had just inserted himself into our lives like a glittery curse.

And leaky dreams? I still needed to find out how Skonk intercepted my outing in Shadowick.

Still…

Keegan stepped even closer.

Close enough that I could see the stubble along his jawline and near enough that his voice dropped low, soft, teasing.

“You’re thinking about it,” he said.

My throat went dry. “Thinking about what?”

He tilted his head, just slightly, and his voice wrapped around me like the flicker of firelight.

“That kiss.”

My stomach flipped.

He smiled. “You are, aren’t you?”

I narrowed my eyes, trying to salvage a shred of dignity. “What kiss?”

Keegan’s laughter wrapped around me. “It’s been top of mind, huh?”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t need to.” His grin turned wolfish. “I can see it.”

I scoffed and turned away, pretending to fuss with the teacups that someone, probably Stella, had left in a perfectly staged arrangement on the sideboard.

“That’s a bold assumption.”

“It’s not an assumption,” he said, now so close behind me I could feel the warmth of him at my back. “It’s a memory. And one I’ve been replaying a little too often since it happened. Call it shifter instinct.”

My fingers stilled on the cup.

“And I’d kiss you again,” he added, his voice dipping low enough to send a shiver down my spine, “if I didn’t think you'd immediately follow it with a lecture about timing, responsibility, and very complicated goblin diplomacy.”

I turned then, too quickly, and found myself inches from him.

His grin widened, but his eyes, those beautiful, stormy eyes, were soft.

Steady.

I hated how much I wanted to close the space between us. How much I didn’t want to be the reasonable one right now.

Instead, I smiled up at him, holding his gaze. “You’re not wrong.”

“I usually am when it comes to you,” he said.

And that—that was unfair. My heart did a foolish little flutter, and I almost forgot every reason I had for keeping things from slipping too fast.

Almost.

But before either of us could move, before I could be brave or ridiculous or both…

A sharp knock sounded at the door.

I jumped.

Keegan sighed.

We both stared at the door for a beat.

“Let me guess,” he murmured. “Skonk again?”

“If he tied up Twobble, I swear—”

But when I opened the door, it wasn’t a goblin standing there.

It was Lady Limora.

Elegant as ever, her pale gown catching the light like spun frost, her dark hair pinned high with gemstone clasps. Her expression was unreadable, her presence like a rush of winter wind into the warm little world Keegan and I had built in the last few moments.

She didn’t wait to be invited.

She stepped inside with a grace that made me instantly feel like my boots were too scuffed and my hair too windblown.

“Headmistress,” she said with a slight nod. “We need to talk.”

Keegan stepped beside me, jaw tight again, and I didn’t miss the way Lady Limora’s eyes flicked between us.

I straightened my spine and pushed all the fluttery nonsense from my mind.

“Yes,” I said, voice steady. “I believe we do.”

And whatever came next… the moment was over.

For now.

Lady Limora swept into the room like moonlight incarnate, her silken cloak trailing behind her as though the air bent in deference to her presence. The door clicked shut behind her without a sound. I didn’t recall her touching it.

Keegan stood a little straighter, and I instinctively tucked a few rebellious strands of hair behind my ear, as if that would somehow make me less rumpled in her luminous presence.

Vampires did that to a person.

She turned to me with eyes the color of snow-dusted quartz. “We’ve determined when Moonbeam’s Eve will fall.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a declaration.

Keegan and I exchanged a glance.

I blinked. “You… what?”

“Nova mentioned narrowing it down,” she continued, already gliding across the room with the grace of someone who had long ago stopped bothering to pretend she wasn’t extraordinary. “So I consulted with my sisters.”

“Your… sisters?” I echoed, dazed.

“Mara. Vivienne. Opal,” she said, almost fondly. “They’re like blood. Anyway, we spoke with the moon.”

I’d always known there was a strong kinship, and they always looked to have a twinkle in their eyes, dressed impeccably, and always sipped from delicately veiled tumblers in the garden or standing in shadowed alcoves discussing candlelit theory, but I’d never imagined them… moon-speaking.

But they did hang out in the garden at night a lot.

Limora turned toward the hearth, her gaze fixed on the dancing flames. “We called to the moon last night as we used to do, long ago. She answered.”

I blinked again. “You spoke to the moon?”

“She’s very accommodating,” Lady Limora said lightly. “If you’re polite. And we bring decent wine for us, not her.”

Keegan let out a soft, barely-contained sound that might’ve been a laugh or a prayer for patience.

“You spoke to the moon, ” I repeated, still trying to find the proper shelf in my brain to put that on.

“She prefers being asked questions rather than commanded,” Limora said. “It’s why most witches receive fog instead of answers. But Nova was correct. The pattern shifts slightly each generation, a celestial tremble. My sisters and I accounted for the drift and recited the silver psalm.”

“The what now?” I asked.

“Later,” she said. “For now, what matters is this. Moonbeam’s Eve falls in three nights. ”

Everything inside me went still.

“Three,” I repeated. “Not six?”

She turned, fully facing me now, as though ready to steady me should I sway.

“Yes. Three nights from now. When the second bell strikes. That is when the Veil thins to its most vulnerable. Shadowick will tremble, and that is our time to walk in unnoticed. It’s a much better option than inviting him into your mind or walking through their gates. ”

I sat down. Or maybe fell into a chair. My knees had given up deciding.

Three nights.

I’d depended on at least six. I’d felt it, stretching out, distant on the horizon like a shoreline I could still walk to slowly.

Now it was crashing toward us like a storm tide.

Keegan stepped behind me, a steady hand resting lightly on my shoulder. His touch grounded me and kept me from flying apart.

“But we’ve only just started preparing,” I said. “The replica of Shadowick hasn’t even been started, let alone glamoured. We haven’t run through anything. We don’t even know what’s waiting on the other side.”

“Which is precisely why time is what it is,” Lady Limora said gently. “Magic responds to movement, not hesitation. The more you lean in, the faster it sprints.”

“That’s incredibly inconvenient,” I muttered.

“Most magic is,” she agreed.

A shiver ran through me, and I heard the scuffle of feet outside the doors.

“We need everyone focused,” I said. “Nova, Ember, Bella, Twobble. Even Skonk.”

“I already sent for them,” Limora said, as if she could read my thoughts. “They’ll meet us at dusk in the green chapel by the cemetery. Just beyond the Wilds.”

I exhaled. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”

Her expression softened. “You think the moon only whispers to us? She’s been speaking to you, too, Maeve. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

I looked up at her, startled.

“The aching birthmark,” she added. “The instinct to prepare. The clarity when you touch the Wards. You’re aligned with her now. That’s not a coincidence.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say a word.

She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a narrow silver scroll case, etched with runes I didn’t recognize. She set it gently on the table between us.

“This contains the binding spell you’ll need to keep the portal open once it begins. It’s old magic. You’ll need a thread from each Ward, one anchor object from Stonewick, and someone from your bloodline.”

Bloodline? That left my mom or dad. I wouldn’t pull Celeste into it, and my grandma and aunt couldn’t leave the confines of their sanctuaries.

I swallowed. “What happens if we can’t keep it open?”

“Then only the strongest of you might make it through. The others will be lost in the in-between.”

Keegan’s hand tightened slightly on my shoulder.

“Good,” I said quietly. “No pressure at all.”

Limora smiled faintly. “Pressure forges things, Maeve. Diamond. Bone. Leadership.”

Keegan cleared his throat. “What happens after Moonbeam’s Eve?”

Limora’s smile faded. “That depends entirely on what you do during it.”

A silence settled between us. Not heavy. Not cold. But filled with all the things we still didn’t know.

After a moment, she turned toward the door.

“I’ll leave you to breathe,” she said. “You’ll need it.”

She stepped out with the same grace with which she arrived, her silver cloak flicking once before vanishing around the corner.

The door clicked shut.

The room was quiet again.

And in three nights, everything would change.