Page 21

For once, I slept.

Not the shallow kind of sleep I’d grown used to since arriving in Stonewick. This wasn’t the sort of rest woven with half dreams and twitchy magic, or the ones where Gideon’s shadow pressed behind my eyes.

No. This was true rest that was deep, dark, and quiet.

And when I woke, I couldn’t remember a single detail of it.

Not an image, not a sound.

It was unnerving in the best possible way.

The fire in my room had died down to glowing coals, and my dad lifted his head from his warm patch by the hearth just enough to give a sleepy grumble. I rubbed his ears, then reached down to scratch under his chin where his brindled fur was softest.

“You were snoring like a bear again,” I murmured.

He gave a half-hearted bark, clearly unbothered.

I made my tea slowly, steeping it with fresh ginger and orange peel, and wrapped both hands around the cup as I wandered the corridor.

The Academy was already stirring, faintly alive in the way it always was just after dawn. Light filtered through stained glass in gentle streaks. A sprite zipped past me overhead, carrying a basket of scrolls.

I turned the corner and paused.

Voices.

Two of them.

Skonk and Twobble.

Not arguing. Not shouting. Not throwing enchanted pebbles or accusing one another of treachery or questionable hygiene.

Laughing.

I leaned just close enough to hear.

“—and then she turned him into a duck. A duck!” Skonk wheezed.

“I still say he deserved it,” Twobble replied. “You can’t just walk into a summoning circle with muddy boots and expect mercy.”

They cackled.

I blinked.

Was the world ending?

I chose not to interrupt, mostly because I feared jinxing whatever strange truce had formed. Besides, I had somewhere to be.

Outside, the morning was crisp with the first flush of spring blushing at the edges of the garden beds.

The air still held a whisper of frost in the shadows, but sunlight pushed through, warm and promising.

Spring in Wisconsin always felt like the blink of an eye before summer arrived.

Dew clung to every petal in the Butterfly Ward, making the blooms shimmer like spun glass.

Ardetia stood near the eastern fountain, arms folded, her hair braided with golden thread that caught the light when she moved. Nova stood beside her, her dark cloak rustling as a breeze stirred the vines climbing the stone wall.

They both turned as I approached.

“You’re early,” Nova said with a small smile, though her eyes were already scanning me for signs of unrest.

“Only because I slept like a rock,” I admitted, sipping my tea. “Which I’m sure means something. I just don’t know what.”

“Better than not sleeping at all,” Ardetia murmured.

I glanced at her. “Still think this is a good idea?”

“I think,” she said, “we rarely get the luxury of certainty. But we can choose a direction. And right now, this feels like the right one.”

I sighed and looked out across the garden.

“The last time I went anywhere near the memory forge, I got the feeling the sprites there could just snatch your thoughts if they drifted too far from where they were supposed to be.”

Nova didn’t flinch. “They can.”

My mouth went dry.

“They don’t mean harm,” she added. “But their job is to protect the forge. Memory isn’t just recollection. It’s energy. And energy, left unchecked, can unravel everything around it.”

“That’s comforting,” I muttered.

Still, I followed them.

We made our way through the winding path that cut through the Butterfly Ward, down the alley, and past the bakery where the scent of cardamom and jam clung to the air, past the apothecary with its crooked windowpanes and shelves lined with lavender bunches and blue vials that caught the light like jewels.

The townspeople were just waking, and the tourists were lazily drinking their morning brews with catchy names like Starlight cappuccino and Mystic Divine latte.

The road bent, rising slightly, and then I saw it.

The building.

It stood like it always had in its tall, rectangular form, carved from dark stone streaked with veins of something darker still. Its windows were too few and oddly placed, centered high up on the walls, as if they had never been meant for looking through.

The gate loomed ahead, wrought iron twisted with runes that pulsed faintly in the morning light. I slowed as we reached it.

I remembered the first time I saw this place.

It had been late, the moon high. I hadn’t known where I was going, just that I’d been pulled out of my hotel room. That feeling of something ancient watching me from within those walls had stayed with me, nestled under my ribs like a secret.

And now, I was walking straight toward it.

So much had happened since that night.

I’d found the Academy alive again. I’d met friends I hadn’t known I needed. I’d kissed a wolf shifter I’d had a crush on. I’d remembered who I was.

But I was still learning what that meant.

Ardetia laid a hand on the gate. It sighed open with a groan of old hinges and whispered enchantments.

We stepped inside.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t have to.

Whatever was waiting for me behind those doors was ancient.

And it was listening.

“Remember, we always want to walk quickly through the main floor.” Nova turned to me.

I nodded. “I remember last time I was here, you hurried me out of there.”

“Yes. For good reason. It’s a prime place to snatch thoughts and memories because there are no buffers. It’s just a bare room that awaits the echo of thought to amplify and capture. There’s nothing here to absorb your thoughts like in the real world.”

“Got it.”

Ardetia glanced at me and then at Nova. “Ready?”

“That’s a tricky question, but I suppose the answer is yes.” I grinned as Nova opened the door to the main floor.

Just like that night, the darkness was layered into an empty room. I followed them up the steps to the second floor, where the warmth immediately heated to an almost uncomfortable state.

I wiped the back of my hand across my brow, breathing slowly and steadily now. I hadn’t realized how tightly I’d been holding everything inside, not just the fear or the hope, but the secrets. The truths too dangerous to speak aloud.

That’s when it clicked.

This wasn’t just about shielding. This was a training ground. The fire sprites weren’t here to expose me. They were here to challenge me. To ask me, Do you know your own mind well enough to guard it?

I turned toward the nearest cauldron, its molten surface calm now, flickering with the faintest reflections of thoughts unspoken.

“This is a test,” I said aloud, almost to myself.

Nova didn’t answer.

But Ardetia did.

“It’s more than a test. It’s practice.” She stepped to the side, where the floor dipped slightly near a smaller cauldron, its flame lower but more volatile.

“The forge is not just a place to witness the past. It’s a tool to strengthen your hold on the present.

Hedge witches, especially those newly awakened, often struggle to distinguish between what must be spoken, what must be hidden, and what must be released entirely. ”

I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling the echo of the silver thread I’d seen in the flames.

The unmentionable.

Their secret still pressed like a sacred note between my ribs.

If the forge couldn’t rip it from me, maybe neither could Gideon.

“Think of something that no one knows,” Nova said softly. “And keep it tight.”

The cauldrons activated around me as the sprites hurried their bodies through the air, and I clung to my secret. They zipped around like dragonflies bouncing off the burning liquid while keeping their flight path.

And then, the liquid calmed, and the sprites hovered.

“I kept it,” I breathed. “That memory. The one thing I couldn’t let them have.”

Ardetia’s golden gaze softened. “Good. You’ll need to do that again. And again. Until you can hold it like breath as naturally, effortlessly, and untouchably as possible.”

Nova moved closer, brushing her fingers over the iron railing. “The strength of a Hedge witch lies not only in what she reveals, but in what she chooses not to reveal. And in this world, with the Veil thinning, and with Gideon watching, your mind will become both a weapon and sanctuary.”

A chill skittered along my arms despite the heat.

“You really have to work on your delivery,” I teased. “Because that is not selling it.”

Ardetia chuckled while a smile touched Nova’s normally solemn expression.

I looked back at the flame, at the flickering memories that had already tried to slip free.

The fire wasn’t just showing me what I feared. They were looking for the weak spots. Testing how tightly I held the walls of my mind.

“I need more of this,” I said.

Nova nodded. “You’ll have it.”

Ardetia folded her arms, her voice steady as stone. “Control comes in layers. With each forge visit, you will learn not only to hold your thoughts but to sort them. Some you keep. Some you lock. Some you let go.”

“And the ones I want to forget?”

Nova’s expression turned pensive. “Even those must be acknowledged before they’re released. Forgetting isn’t hiding. It’s surrender. And surrender should always be your choice.”

I took a long breath.

I was starting to understand.

If I could master this place, I might be able to master my mind and finally stand in front of Gideon without fear that he’d steal something precious from me.

For I was their keeper, and I would not let anyone steal them from me.