Page 26

The halls of the Academy were unusually quiet, and for once, I didn’t mind.

My shoes echoed softly against the polished stone as I made my way toward Nova’s classroom, passing an enchanted painting that nodded as I walked by.

The hush felt less like silence and more like a held breath of anticipation.

As if the building itself knew something was about to happen.

When I reached her door, it was cracked open just enough to see candlelight flickering, with no students or murmured lessons inside.

There was just Nova, sitting at her low table near the window, a fan of tarot cards spread across the deep plum velvet.

She didn’t look up when I stepped inside.

Her long fingers hovered above a card, with eyes narrowed in focus.

Sage burned faintly on a dish beside her, the smoke curling in slow, thoughtful spirals.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose braid that trailed over one shoulder, and the edges of her sleeves were dark with ash. She’d clearly been at this a while.

“Am I late to the reading?” I asked, voice soft so as not to startle her.

Her lips twitched. “You’re exactly on time. Sit.”

I slipped onto the cushion across from her, the candlelight casting soft shadows along the edge of the table. My fingers itched to reach for the cards, but I knew better than to touch anything before she gave me the go-ahead.

Nova finally met my gaze, and I knew before she said a word that this wasn’t going to be a casual chat.

“You’ve been feeling it,” she said.

I nodded. “Since the dream. Since I stepped into Shadowick again. Since… everything.”

“I laid these an hour ago,” she murmured, tapping the center card. “They haven’t changed.”

I leaned forward.

The cards were arranged in a star pattern, with five points. The card at the very top shimmered faintly—the Moon. Reversed.

“Uncertainty,” Nova said. “Illusion. Dreams. A truth that hides behind what you think you see.”

I swallowed. That already felt too on the nose at the moment.

She pointed to the card on the left. The Tower. Reversed.

“I pulled this once before, for you,” she said. “Do you remember?”

I nodded. “You said it could mean rebuilding.”

She gave a slight nod of approval. “And it still does. But paired with the Moon, it suggests something else this time. There’s a structure in your life, an idea, a belief, a person, that’s about to be shaken and not broken. But shifted. And how you respond to it will determine what remains.”

I tried to breathe slowly and attempted not to think about Gideon. Or Keegan. Or my father who is still locked inside a spell of fur and silence.

“What else?”

She tapped the card to the right of the Moon, which was the High Priestess.

“You’re stepping deeper into knowing,” she said. “Not learning. Knowing. There’s a difference.”

I furrowed my brow. “That sounds nice in theory, but I still can’t cast a food spell without nearly burning the pan.”

Nova’s smile was quick. “Magic isn’t always flashy, Maeve. You’re tuning in to the kind that’s built into the bones. It’s the breath and the intuition that doesn’t ask permission. That’s what you’ll need.”

“And the cards think I’m ready?”

She tilted her head. “I think they believe you will be. The moment you stop trying to do it like anyone else would.”

That one landed hard. I looked down at my hands. They still bore the faint ink stains from the practice Ward, and a soft smear of ash from the forges, even though I’d washed several times.

The bottom card, the foundation, caught my attention. The Lovers. Upright.

I arched a brow and wondered why my love life was suddenly on display and a public topic.

Nova chuckled. “Not always about romance.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“It’s about choice,” she said, tapping the card. “Commitment. Alignment. You’ll have to choose where your heart lands. And when you do… the rest will follow.”

“And if I choose wrong?”

She looked at me for a long beat. “Then the Academy will help you choose again.”

The simplicity of that made my throat tighten. I looked up, caught in the truth of it. This place, Stonewick, the Academy, all of it, wasn’t just a backdrop to this story. It was part of the magic. And it was rooting for me and all of us.

Nova leaned back slightly and pulled the final card from the point of the star, the outcome.

She flipped it slowly.

Death.

I didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

Nova studied it. “Transformation. Something will end. Something always does. But you already knew that.”

“I think I did.”

She reached for the sage and waved the smoke gently across the spread, clearing the air.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do,” she said. “But I’ll tell you this. Every part of you that still thinks you can walk away from this? Let it go. You’re already in it. And you’re stronger than you were yesterday.”

I sat there for a long time, watching the way the smoke curled above the table and disappeared into nothing.

“Do you ever pull for yourself?” I asked finally.

Nova’s expression softened. “Not often. The cards get sassy.”

I smiled despite myself, then rose slowly to my feet. “Thanks. For the reading. And for… everything.”

“You’ll know what to do when the time comes,” she said.

“Nova?” I asked, turning back to face her fully. “Besides my wild, possibly delusional hope that Gideon might suddenly find a conscience… are there spells I should be learning? Anything that could break the curse?”

Nova’s hands stilled. The last card she held paused mid-shuffle.

The quiet that followed wasn’t her usual measured silence.

It was heavy and deliberate.

Finally, she looked up. “There are spells,” she said. “But not the kind you’ll find in any book.”

I stepped back into the room. “That’s vague. Even for you.”

She smiled faintly. “That’s because the truth is vague, Maeve.

Gideon’s curse is old. Older than we thought.

I’ve been researching every angle through the archives, through the memory forge, even asking a few contacts outside Stonewick.

But nothing I’ve found is clean. His spellwork was layered, built not just from magic, but intent. Shadow-fed. Soul-bound.”

I sank into the cushion again, this time slower, the weight of her words pushing down on me. “So you’re saying it can’t be broken.”

“I’m saying it won’t break easily. But nothing is impossible. Moonbeam will give us a chance. Maybe only one. If we prepare the right way…”

I swallowed. “What kind of magic are we talking about? Blood magic? Soul binding?”

Nova’s mouth tightened. “Worse, in some ways. It’s magic fueled by memory. Emotion. It roots itself into people and places, feeding off history until it can’t be pulled apart without unraveling everything around it.”

My breath caught. “That’s why the Academy shut down.”

She nodded. “That’s why it fractured. Why your father, why so many of us, got left behind.”

“And if I go into Shadowick… if I face Gideon…”

Nova met my eyes. “Then you need more than spells. You need anchors. You need control. And you need to understand that breaking a curse like this could cost something.”

A cold prickle ran along my arms. “Like what?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached for one final card and turned it over between us.

The Hanged Man.

Sacrifice. Surrender. A shift in perspective.

“You’re already willing to face him,” she said gently. “But you need to decide now, how far are you willing to go to set things right?”

I looked at the card.

The man hanging upside down wasn’t in pain. He wasn’t bound. He’d chosen to be there and chosen to give up something for a higher purpose.

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

And that was the truth of it. I didn’t know what I’d give, or what would be taken.

Nova placed the card in front of me like an offering.

“When the Moonbeam falls,” she said, “you’ll have your answer.”

I didn’t speak.

I couldn’t.

Somewhere deep in the belly of the Academy, the walls shifted, stone adjusting, windows settling into place. The air stirred like breath across my skin.

I picked up the card.

And something in the world tilted with me.

I sat with the Hanged Man card in my hand long after Nova had gone still.

The candlelight flickered behind me, shadows stretching across the room like they were listening.

Maybe they were. It wouldn’t surprise me anymore, not in this place.

I traced my thumb along the worn edge of the card, letting the image settle into my thoughts.

Suspension. Change. The quiet before something breaks.

“Of course it would be that one,” I muttered to myself, placing the card in my pocket.

A gentle knock sounded behind me.

I turned just as the door creaked open.

Ardetia stepped in first, her movements as quiet and seamless as always. A glimmer of silver caught the edge of her braid. Her presence always felt like dusk: elegant, elusive, and filled with things left unsaid.

Bella followed close behind, barely shifted for just a breath before her golden eyes flicked toward me in fox-form before softening into human again. She still carried the wildness with her, though, tucked into the twitch of her fingers and the tilt of her head.

“Nova sent for us,” Bella said as she moved toward the table. “She said it was time.”

Ardetia nodded once. “And that you’d need a stabilizer.”

I stood up slowly. “A what?”

“For the spell,” Ardetia said, as if this were all perfectly normal. “You’ll be working from the forge’s core flame. That means you need balance. Something grounded and steady to keep you tethered.”

Bella tapped the center of the table. “Which, according to Nova, is me.”

My brows lifted. “Because you’re steady?”

“No,” she said with a grin. “Because I’m sneaky enough to pull you out of a magical spiral before it consumes you.”

A nervous laugh escaped me. “Comforting.”

“Now, let’s walk over there before we change our minds,” Bella teased.

We quietly exited Nova’s room and made our way down the long corridors and out the main doors.

No one said a word as we marched into the Butterfly Ward and out the tiny alley tucked away from prying eyes.

It wasn’t until we reached the Flame Ward that I felt the heaviness lift slightly as Nova opened the gate.

We made our way to the building, and I opened the door.

We walked inside and up the stairs, still with no words. The heat washed over me as the fire sprites dashed from one cauldron to the other.

Ardetia stepped closer, her hands gliding in slow motion as she summoned a small, crystal orb that glowed faintly blue.

“This,” she said, “will hold what you give. The spell isn’t about speaking words. It’s about offering memory, intention, and a specific kind of release. The flame doesn’t take it unless it knows the memory was yours to give.”

“So, no hearsay.”

“Correct.”

I stared at the orb. “So I give a memory… to power the spell?”

“Yes,” Ardetia said gently. “Something strong. Something rooted in your truth.”

I swallowed.

Bella’s head turned sharply toward me, eyes narrowing with interest, but she didn’t say anything.

Smart fox.

Ardetia studied me with her ageless eyes and nodded.

The room shifted around us as the spellwork took shape. Ardetia moved like a sculptor, weaving light and breath into the orb while Bella flicked her fingers and set protective circles into place with silent magic, old and sure.

“Close your eyes,” Ardetia said softly. “We’ll walk you through the first spell. If it responds, we move forward.”

I did as she said.

The forge rose around me in my mind as the heat and the memory of that first visit, with the sprites circling high above, ran through me.

The memory I gave them wasn’t a sad one. It was a small moment. The first time my dad taught me how to skip stones. His hands over mine, his gruff bark of laughter when I missed entirely and splashed us both.

It wasn’t grand.

But it was mine.

And it was strong.

I whispered the words Ardetia gave me, with soft, strange syllables that felt like ash,salt, and sand.

The crystal pulsed.

The air thickened.

And suddenly, the flame roared to life within it, catching, bright, impossibly hot. My breath hitched. It was like something inside me was cracking open and reshaping all at once.

Bella was at my side instantly, one hand on my arm, grounding me with her warmth.

Ardetia’s voice drifted close to my ear. “You did it.”

I opened my eyes, blinking against the light.

The orb floated in the space between us, steady and bright, holding the fire of what I’d offered.

A piece of me.

And I didn’t feel broken.

I felt ready, almost.

Bella let out a slow breath. “That’s one. How many more, Ardetia?”

“Two,” the fae murmured. “The next will be harder. One for the protection of Stonewick. One for the unraveling of the curse.”

“And what was this one?” I asked.

Ardetia’s smile was faint, but sure. “This was the call.”

The room dimmed again as the orb faded into stillness.

But I knew better.

It was waiting, just like the rest of us, to see if I could keep my secrets secret.