Page 19

Morning sunlight poured through the tall windows of my office, catching in the flecks of mica embedded in the stone walls. The air smelled faintly of spring and rose tea, thanks to the fact that Nova had left a steaming mug by my desk earlier.

The scent calmed me as I leaned back in the worn leather chair, an old thing Twobble had proudly declared Hedge witchy when he rearranged the furniture last week.

I glanced around the office now and tried not to laugh out loud.

The walls were newly bedecked with crookedly hung portraits of frogs in monocles, a crystal chandelier that twinkled too aggressively every time someone walked by, and a rug shaped like a book, complete with actual pages that flipped open if stepped on in just the right spot.

It gave me insight to what Twobble’s abode must look like.

I looked down at the lines of students on the paper. Trying to figure out how to balance classes, teachers, and students was overwhelming if I thought too hard about it, so I tried not to.

We had more students than we’d ever dreamed of when the Academy first reopened.

Some were local, some from distant corners of the country, drawn to Stonewick by whisper, by intuition, by the Academy’s slow pull.

I scanned the latest numbers. Our incoming class was double what we’d expected for the next session.

And the staff?

I chewed my lip, scratching a note beside the list of instructors. We were spread too thin already. Ardetia was taking on double shifts. Bella was juggling fox patrols and defensive magic. Nova, brilliant and mysterious as she was, couldn’t run on burnt sage and tarot alone.

We needed help.

Just as I was circling the words possible recruitment, a commotion rose outside.

The window beside me was cracked open to let in the morning air. The scent was fresh with lilac and damp moss, and through it came the unmistakable sounds of Twobble squawking in confusion, Skonk muttering indignantly, and a whole lot of unfamiliar voices rising in a chorus of chatter.

I stood, pushing back the chair, and stepped to the window.

And blinked.

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 just appeared !”

Skonk waved his spoon like a wand. “Not appeared, 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.

“I mentioned it 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 for our generation.

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?”

Twobble considered. “What was I saying? I don’t remember a word of it.”

I turned back to the group. “Let’s get you settled. Then we’ll talk about classes and what you’d be willing to teach. If you truly want to stay…”

A chorus of voices answered before I could finish.

“We do.”

“We’ve been waiting for this.”

“It’s about time.”

Skonk gave me a wink and a small salute with the wooden spoon, and while there was a part of me that wanted to know why he was carrying a utensil around, there was a bigger part who knew better than to ask.

But, somehow, everything was exactly as it should be.

The Moonbeam was drawing closer.

And the Academy, our strange, beautiful, stubborn Academy, was feeling the need to grow.

The heavy oak doors of the Academy creaked open, welcoming the group of midlife witches with a low groan and a shimmer of ambient magic that rippled like a sigh of recognition through the entry hall.

Some of the women paused just inside, their eyes wide with awe as they took in the soaring ceilings, the carved stone, and the flickering sconces that lit themselves with a glimmer of awareness.

“Smells like rosewood and mystery,” one of them murmured, hand resting reverently on the banister.

They were home.

I’d barely taken two steps in behind them when a familiar blur of velvet and sarcasm swept in from the left hallway.

Stella.

She was resplendent as ever in deep plum robes, scarlet lipstick, and perfectly smudged eyeliner, a teacup levitating behind her.

“Good heavens, is it a holiday?” she asked, stopping mid-stride and surveying the new arrivals with delight. “Because if so, I’m about to cry, and I don’t do that unless someone dies or my favorite tea gets discontinued.”

“They’re here to help,” I said, smiling as Stella’s eyes sparkled. “Teachers. Or potential teachers. Word got out.”

Stella placed a dramatic hand to her chest.

“New blood?” She paused, then gave a sly grin. “Sorry. Vampire joke.”

The group chuckled, already charmed.

“I could kiss you for this,” she continued, sweeping over to shake hands and kiss cheeks like the social butterfly she was born to be.

“I’ve been running three classes and a dream tea interpretation workshop, and my bones are two hundred plus years old, and I’m tired.

Nova's been rationing her tarot readings, and Bella accidentally turned someone into a geranium this morning because she was so sleep-deprived.”

“She changed them back, right?” I asked, alarmed.

“Mostly,” Stella said. “But they do prefer sunny windows now.”

The women laughed, visibly relaxing into her presence. Stella had that effect, equal parts elegance and dry absurdity.

Twobble, never far from a grand entrance, trotted in from behind, wearing his best vest. He beamed at the new arrivals after finishing off his lemon scone.

“I volunteer to give the tour,” he said, puffing out his chest. “No one knows the secret halls like I do. Plus, I can do this…”

He spun in a tiny circle and tossed a pebble into the air, where it sparked briefly before vanishing.

There was an awkward pause.

“That’s… impressive?” one of the witches offered kindly.

“I’ve got more,” Twobble said, undeterred.

“Excuse me,” came Skonk’s familiar drawl from behind the staircase column. He stepped out holding a clipboard that looked suspiciously stolen. “I was under the impression I would be giving the tour, since I know how to speak at length without boring everyone.”

“You say that like it’s a gift,” Twobble muttered.

Skonk pushed a pair of overly large spectacles up his nose. “I happen to have a flair for theatrical narration. And I’ve only been hexed twice during public presentations, which is better than average for goblin standards.”

“I’m the official Academy guide,” Twobble insisted, crossing his arms and looking to me for backup.

“He’s not,” Skonk told the group in a stage whisper. “He just appointed himself that after the incident with the buttered stairwell.”

“There was no buttered stairwell.” Twobble groaned.

I stepped between them before this turned into a pebble duel.

“Twobble is our resident guide,” I said gently, patting his shoulder. “And as you’re only here temporarily,” I turned to Skonk with a polite, if firm smile, “we’ll let our permanent goblin handle the tour.”

Skonk placed a hand on his chest. “Wounded. Truly. But fine. I’ll go rearrange the scrying mirrors instead.”

He pivoted with a flair that only a dramatic goblin could pull off and stalked down the corridor, muttering about being underappreciated.

One of the witches, a tall woman with silver-streaked curls and mischievous eyes, leaned toward me with a grin. “He’s kind of cute, though. For a goblin.”

Twobble choked on his own breath. “ What? ”

The group broke into giggles. Twobble flushed such a vivid green I wondered if he was going to sprout moss.

“I mean,” she continued, shrugging, “I’ve always had a soft spot for the theatrical ones.”

Twobble shook his head like he was trying to reset his entire worldview. “We are doomed. ”

“Only if you don’t hurry up with that tour,” I teased.

He huffed, then turned to the women. “Right! If you’ll follow me, we’ll start with the courtyard, move on to the Maple Ward, and then, if you’re very well-behaved, I’ll let you in on the best hallway for echo testing spells.

And yes,” he said, glancing back at the flirtatious witch, “it does include a gravity-defying staircase.”

She winked.

Stella looped an arm through mine as the group trailed after Twobble.

“This,” she said softly, watching the corridor fill with chatter and light, “feels like the beginning of something big.”

“It does,” I whispered.

For once, I wasn’t thinking about curses or shadows or what the Moonbeam would ask of me. I was watching a dream bloom through the stone walls of a place that had waited far too long for its second chance.

The halls of Stonewick were alive.