Page 14

The woods behind the Academy were quiet in a way that made the world feel held, like even the birds had agreed to give the moment space. I’d never wandered through the Wilds before on the back of the property. I’d never had a reason to, and quite frankly, things had been busy since I arrived.

Keegan walked beside me. With an unhurried pace, we followed the narrow path that curved through pine and birch.

The trees whispered above us in voices only the wind could understand. Every few steps, lanterns floated just above the mossy ground, and small, glowing orbs that pulsed with a silvery-blue light led us forward like will-o’-the-wisps with good intentions.

If we weren’t about to dip our toes into a world filled with danger, it might almost be considered romantic.

“They’re from Ardetia,” Keegan murmured beside me. “Fae magic. Gentle guiding spells.”

“I figured,” I whispered back. “It’s lovely.”

The deeper we went, the thicker the feeling became—not heavy, but present. Like we were being watched, yes… but also welcomed. I could feel it brushing against my magic, ancient and kind. The way a long-forgotten book might feel when you open it and find a flower pressed between its pages.

“I can’t believe I didn’t know this was here,” I said softly.

Keegan gave a small nod. “That’s kind of the point. The cemetery wants to be quiet. Not mournful, just… sacred.”

The trees parted like curtain folds. The cemetery opened before us, ringed by low stones sunk in moss. There were no grand crypts, no iron gates.

There were merely rows of aged markers, carved with names and symbols so worn that even magic would have to guess at their meanings.

At the far end of the clearing, a wide weeping willow draped its boughs low, its leaves shimmering faintly with what looked like starlight.

They were all already gathered near the green chapel.

Clusters of candles floated midair in a soft spiral above the center plot. Lady Limora stood near the tree, regal in her midnight-blue gown, dark hair catching the candlelight like a crown.

Maya, Opal, and Vivienne were with her, wearing matching cloaks embroidered with constellations. Stella was perched elegantly on a wide stone bench, legs crossed, tea in hand, chatting animatedly with them as though they were all out for a picnic instead of gathered in a graveyard.

Nova stood off to one side, barefoot, the toes of her boots tucked neatly beside her.

She held a deck of cards to her chest like a prayer.

Bella was walking the perimeter, touching the old boundary stones as she whispered something to the earth.

Ember sat cross-legged on the grass, sketching a series of sigils into the dirt with a stick while Ardetia placed dried flowers along the corners of the clearing.

Twobble was talking to a small group of sprites, gesturing animatedly as he recounted something, probably Skonk-related, given the number of eye rolls, and Skonk himself was nowhere to be seen, which felt oddly suspicious.

As we stepped into the clearing, a hush fell. It wasn’t ominous, but reverent as if the ground knew someone new had entered.

Lady Limora turned toward me. “Maeve. Keegan. Welcome.”

“We didn’t mean to be late,” I said softly.

“You’re right on time,” she replied.

Stella gave a wave with her teacup. “We’ve been catching up on vampire fashion through the centuries. I must say, the 1700s were not your best, Opal. I’m glad I didn’t have to deal with that nonsense.”

“I was hibernating,” Opal said dryly.

“That explains the questionable waistcoats.”

Despite myself, I smiled.

Lady Limora gestured toward the center circle.

“We thought this would be the best place to begin. Here, among the ones who came before.”

“Their magic lingers,” Nova added, her voice soft and clear. “Not in a haunting way. In a… protective way. It wants to help.”

I looked around at the others. Their expressions were solemn but hopeful. These were my people now. This strange, magical, messy group of midlife witches, creatures, guardians, and goblins. They had followed me this far, or I had followed them. Either way, they felt like home.

“We’ve never done anything like this,” I said. “This kind of preparation. This kind of magic. This kind of… faith. ”

“And yet here we are,” Lady Limora said, stepping beside me. “This place shows the cost of magic done poorly. It also remembers what it means to fight for something worth saving.”

I felt Keegan’s presence behind me—quiet, grounding. I didn’t need to look to know his gaze was fixed on me.

“Tonight, we walk the boundaries,” I said aloud. “We let Shadowick settle into our bones. We learn the names of the streets we’ll shape tomorrow. We hold onto the light while we step toward the dark.”

Twobble stood on a mossy stone and shouted, “And I vote Skonk gets stationed at the least important crossroad!”

“We’ll rotate him,” Bella said dryly.

“Can we put a glamoured bucket on his head?” Ember asked, barely hiding her grin.

“I’m standing right here, ” came Skonk’s voice from behind a gravestone.

I turned toward the group, trying not to chuckle. “Let’s begin.”

Lady Limora raised a hand, and the candles rose higher into the air. The weeping willow’s branches swayed, though there was no wind.

“We each walk a path,” she said. “Let it settle in you. Let it show you what you need to see.”

One by one, they began to move. Nova stepped barefoot down the eastern line of stones.

Ardetia vanished between the trees, following a path only the fae could see.

Bella and Ember moved together, mapping intersections and alley points from memory and imagination.

Twobble bounded off with a map of Shadowick in one hand and a charmed quill in the other, grumbling instructions to the sprites who fluttered after him.

I stayed for a moment longer beneath the tree with Keegan beside me.

The night was cool and clear, and spring was fully embracing us. The cemetery shimmered in soft silver and gold. It didn’t feel like a place of death.

It felt like a place of beginnings.

Keegan reached for my hand, and I let him take it.

Three nights.

Three nights until the Moonbeam.

But tonight?

Tonight, we walked with the ones who had walked before us. And maybe we were on the right path.

Skonk barked orders like a miniature general with delusions of grandeur.

“No, no, no! Your other left, Twiblet! The alley bends here, not there! You’ve just put a cursed toffee cart where the Ministry of Shadowed Plumbing should be!”

“Be nice,” I warned.

Twobble groaned from his floating perch, looking dangerously close to tipping off the levitation disc Ember had conjured for him. “Skonk, if I fall, I’m cursing your hat to smell like troll sweat for the next decade.”

“My hat,” Skonk said, flicking his embroidered vest with an air of dramatic flair, “is a cultural artifact and will not be slandered by your mediocrity.”

I stood at the crest of the hill, arms crossed, trying not to smile. They were ridiculous. They were chaotic.

But they were getting it right.

Around us, the glimmering facsimile of Shadowick was taking shape, eerily close to my own memories.

Illusions twisted into crooked streets and leaning buildings, conjured alleys stretched into mist and candlelight, and spell-bound lamps flickered in ghostly harmony with the light of the Wards.

It wasn’t just visual. It felt like the Hedge, the strange, between-world sensation I’d wandered into during dreams and waking slips of magic alike.

“It’s matching,” I murmured to myself.

Keegan stood beside me, arms loose at his sides, but alert as always. “It’s real enough to fool someone who’s been there.”

I turned to him. “I never described it to them, but it matches what I’ve experienced with way more detail.”

My eyes drifted back to the field. I could see the crooked turret from my dreams, tilted, like it leaned just to listen better. A narrow alley I’d wandered once in a Hedge-walk had just appeared to my left, with a single flickering sign above a shop door I swore I’d passed before.

It was breathtaking and unsettling all at once.

“You’re welcome,” Skonk said, appearing suddenly at my elbow like a goblin-shaped shadow. “This level of architectural genius does not happen without years of goblin reconnaissance and a little artistic flair.”

Before I could respond, Twobble muttered from above, “I swear on all that is mossy, I will charm your vest to unravel one thread at a time.”

“Please.”

Before it could escalate into another full-scale goblin duel, Nova glided into the space between them, her calm presence like a wave of warm air across a frozen lake.

“Gentlemen,” she said, placing one hand lightly on each of their shoulders. “Let’s remember that perimeter alignment requires focused intention. Not feisty banter and magical threats.”

Skonk gave a theatrical sigh. “Intention is so drab without flair.”

Nova offered a tight smile. “So is spell collapse.”

That shut them both up.

She released her touch and let a soft green pulse of energy settle into the earth. The wards shimmered visibly in response, calming under her guidance like a child soothed from a tantrum.

A blur of russet darted past the far edge of the cemetery, and I turned just in time to catch a glimpse of Bella in her fox form, sleek, glowing faintly under the moonlight as she loped through the misty edge of the conjured Shadowick.

Her presence was fluid, quiet, and watchful.

She was checking the edges, ensuring nothing slipped in or out that wasn’t invited.

“She volunteered,” Nova said, joining me again. “Said it was time she let instinct lead.”

I smiled faintly. “It suits her.”

We stood side by side for a moment, watching the village build itself. Not brick by brick, but memory by memory.

“This isn’t just an illusion,” I whispered. “It’s… remembering.”

Nova didn’t reply right away, just raised her hand and passed it through a lantern suspended mid-air. It flickered with a twist of gold and shadow.

“Magic doesn’t always need instruction,” she said. “Sometimes it just needs permission.”

A lump caught in my throat. I wasn’t sure if it was awe, dread, or both.

The conjured village was a mirror, and the longer I looked, the more certain I became. It wasn’t guessing. It knew .

I saw a shadowed well appear at the far end of a crooked square. I’d dreamed of it. Walked by it once in a Hedge-vision. The stones had spoken in those dreams, whispered in half languages. Now it was here.

“It shouldn’t be this real,” I murmured.

“Then it’s more than illusion,” Keegan said, his voice behind me calm but edged with something deeper. “It’s echo.”

Ember dashed by in a blur, chased by three laughing sprites and a trail of swirling sigils she’d accidentally set off. Skonk cursed as one of them flew into his ear, and Twobble nearly fell from his perch from laughing.

Chaos buzzed on the edges of awe, and yet, in the heart of it all, I felt something take root.

Fear, yes.

But also purpose.

This was no longer a rehearsal.

It was memory woven into spellwork. It was magic listening to the quiet places of my mind and shaping them into stone and shadow of Skonk’s experience.

And that meant when we stepped through the Veil… we might actually stand a chance.