Page 28

The sun had dipped just below the treetops by the time we made it to the edge of the Academy’s grounds toward town. Fireflies blinked lazily above the hedgerows, as if even they were content to stroll instead of dart.

Stella looped her shawl around her shoulders, the violet fringe catching the wind as she walked with the elegance of a woman who had seen centuries of style trends and dismissed them all. Keegan walked beside me, his gait loose and easy, and the quiet closeness between us hummed like an unseen tie.

Stonewick looked lovelier than ever, and I wasn’t sure if it was the season, the company, or maybe the sheer, aching awareness that this might be the last calm night before everything changed.

Spring had fallen across the village like a spell.

Pale blossoms dangled from silver-limbed trees along the main lane.

Lavender spilled in thick cushions from window boxes, and vines crowned the signs above storefronts with tiny, star-shaped blooms. Even the moss along the cobblestones looked deliberate, as though nature itself had a sense of design here.

We passed the bakery first, the scent of fresh bread curling through the air like a love letter.

As we reached Luna’s yarn shop, I slowed, tugging gently on Stella’s arm.

“I’ll catch up,” I said. “There’s someone I want to invite.”

Keegan tilted his head. “Luna?”

I nodded. “She’s been running evening classes for the midlife students. She says it’s only yarn, but I think she’s helping them remember what joy looks like. I still haven’t quite persuaded her to come inside the Academy.”

He gave me a soft smile and gestured for Stella to keep going. “We’ll grab a table.”

The bell above Luna’s door gave a soft chime as I pushed inside. The scent of lavender, wool, and something faintly like cinnamon met me instantly.

The shop glowed with a gentle light, its lamps tucked into shelves, warm globes hanging low on twisted cords, and candles nestled in teacups scattered along the walls.

Yarn spilled from baskets in cascading rainbows, and a group of midlife students were gathered around the big central table, laughing softly as they worked on a project involving tiny knit gnomes and magical thread that shimmered with faint runes.

Luna looked up from a skein she was winding, her hair pinned up with a pair of copper needles that matched the lace she always wore around her sleeves.

“Maeve,” she said, her face blooming with surprise. “Do you ever take a rest?”

“I could say the same for you,” I teased, eyeing the pile of mystical stitches.

She smiled. “Old habits die soft.”

I stepped farther in and leaned on the edge of the table. “We’re headed to the café. Stella, Keegan, Twobble, even Skonk, unfortunately, and I wanted to see if you’d join us. Consider it a thank-you for keeping the magic alive after hours.”

The room fell quiet. One of the students, a woman with peach-colored hair and ivy tattoos on her forearms, whispered, “Skonk’s coming?” with a grin.

Luna’s eyes twinkled, but her voice was touched with sincerity. “You didn’t have to ask, but thank you for doing it. I’d love to come.”

“Wonderful, and for the record, we’d love to have you any time, any place. You say the word, and we’ll have a spot for you at the Academy.”

“I’d probably tie myself up in a ball of yarn.”

I chuckled. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone did that there.”

She wrapped up her yarn in a flash and called to her students to lock up once they were done. I held the door for her, and we stepped back out into the warm spring evening.

The café sat at the corner of town, spilling music and light into the streets like it couldn’t help itself.

The open-air tables were crowded with locals, students, and a few visitors who were trying to figure out how they'd wandered into such a place.

Vines curled around the wooden beams, woven with glimmering strands that looked like firefly trails and foxglove blossoms.

Twobble and Skonk were already seated, engaged in an argument.

“You can’t just serve wine in a goblet shaped like a frog!” Twobble was saying, arms waving. “It’s undignified.”

Skonk slouched with smug satisfaction. “It’s festive.”

“It's appalling.”

“I’m appallingly festive,” Skonk countered.

“Goblins aren’t supposed to be festive!”

“You’re just jealous no one’s ever asked you to host a dinner party.”

Stella was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. Keegan had his arms crossed and was watching the argument as if it were a play.

When they saw me approaching with Luna in tow, a cheer went up from a few of the students sitting nearby. I gave them a mock bow, cheeks flushing, but it felt good.

I took the seat Keegan pulled out for me and settled beside him, Luna taking the spot on my other side.

Plates appeared before I could even ask, with soft rolls glazed with honey, roasted root vegetables spiced with rosemary, and hard cider that sparkled faintly with a memory charm meant to remind you of your favorite season.

Stella raised a glass.

“To tomorrow’s madness,” she said. “But tonight, may we be foolish and full.”

“To full,” Twobble said, already chewing.

“To foolish!” Skonk added.

And I… I just smiled because this chaos, comfort, and joy tangled with magic and the scent of spring was what I was fighting for.

Stonewick, in all its whimsical, imperfect, stubborn light.

Tomorrow might belong to curses, Veils, and shadows, but tonight? Tonight was ours.

The clatter of laughter and silverware filled the night, buoyed by the café’s enchanted music. The sound was something soft and string-plucked, like memory wrapped in a melody. Fireflies tangled overhead like stray glittering notes, and vines above the eaves whispered in the breeze.

I didn’t have long to enjoy the moment before a fresh swirl of magic tingled across the cobblestones. I glanced toward the lane and saw them arriving like a breeze at my back.

Bella first, in her fox-light stride, her coppery auburn braid tossed over one shoulder and her coat fluttering behind her as if it had a will of its own.

Ardetia was beside her, ever fae, wearing a gown that looked stitched from moon threads and dusk. Her feet didn’t quite touch the ground, though she’d never admit it.

It was no wonder that my daughter thought everyone participated in cosplay around town.

Ember, always one step behind but twice as bold, waved like we were all her favorite part of the day.

Then came Lady Limora with her friends—Vivienne, with her sharp grin and a wreath of nightshade pinned in her hair; Opal, elegant as ever, carrying a leather-bound book of something she was absolutely not supposed to be reading at dinner; and Mara, humming quietly to herself, pale curls tied back with a crimson ribbon.

Stella lit up. “Oh good, the coven’s complete. I was just starting to feel outnumbered by the goblin contingent.”

Twobble looked up from his plate of what might’ve been sugared beets and huffed. “We’re not a contingent, we’re a diplomatic pairing.”

Skonk gestured to the empty plate in front of him. “Diplomatic pairing who’s been robbed of a second helping, I might add. Where is the rest of the food?”

“Could you pretend to be dignified ! ” Twobble snapped.

“Appetizer pacing is an illusion,” Skonk replied solemnly.

“Boys,” Bella said, sliding gracefully into a chair, “if you’re going to bicker, at least do it over dessert.”

And then the table stretched, literally.

The café enchanted itself often, and tonight was no exception.

With a soft groan of wood and shimmer of candlelight, the table expanded like dough under warm hands.

More chairs appeared. So did a second row of lanterns strung overhead and a table runner made of wildflowers that changed color when you blinked.

Thankfully, none of the tourists seemed to notice, but they rarely did. They were too often staring at their cellphones and pretending they enjoyed one another’s company.

Ardetia sat beside Opal and poured herself a glass of sparkling nettle wine. Limora ordered a round of pressed elderflower sodas and wild plum cordials for her group, and within moments, the second wave of food appeared like a miracle on ceramic plates.

Golden mushroom pastries. Buttered carrots dusted with roasted thyme. Hearthbread with wild garlic butter. There were baskets of nut-stuffed rolls and chilled cucumber salad flecked with mint and vinegar.

“This,” Mara said, spooning something with basil cream onto her plate, “is the opposite of what we ate when I was turned.”

Vivienne leaned in. “I still say we storm the kitchens and keep the mortals on their toes.”

Stella took a bite of something flaky and made a sound like she was falling in love. “If I’m going to storm anything, it’s going to be with a fork.”

Laughter swept the table again, and I leaned back slightly, watching them all. These women. These magic-wielders, rebels, teachers, and oddballs. My people.

But even with the food and firelight, I could feel it coming.

The shift.

The laughter began to soften. The silverware slowed. Ember, who had been halfway through recounting how she’d accidentally turned the hotel’s laundry into a cloud burst last week, fell quiet as her eyes met Lady Limora’s.

And then Bella cleared her throat.

“I heard,” she said, her voice gentle but no longer light, “that the illusion was visited again last night.”

My hand froze over my glass.

So it had made the rounds.

Keegan’s brow twitched beside me, but he didn’t look at me. Instead, he reached for a slice of pie and said, “Not my story to tell.”

All eyes turned to me.

I placed my fork down slowly. “It was me.”

The honesty dropped like a coin in still water. The ripple it caused was subtle but deep.

Ardetia tilted her head slightly. “And how did it feel?”

“Wrong,” I said. “And too right.”

She nodded once, as if she understood perfectly.

Lady Limora leaned forward. “Maeve, we all want to know. What are you really planning to do once you step into the real Shadowick?”

My mouth felt dry. Even the taste of basil and butter seemed far away now.

“I thought… maybe I could reach him,” I admitted. “That I could find out why. That there might still be something inside him to turn.”

Skonk groaned dramatically and dropped his forehead to the table. “Why is everyone so obsessed with redemption arcs?”

Twobble elbowed him. “Shut it. Let her speak.”

Limora watched me, the lines around her mouth softer than I’d seen before. “And if you can’t reach him?”

I didn’t have an answer.

“I have spells prepared,” Nova said, her voice drifting from the far end of the table. “We’ve all been working with Maeve. Preparing her defenses. Her mind. Her memory.”

“But what about her heart?” Vivienne asked, not unkindly.

Stella finally broke the tension. “It’s large, messy, full of sass, and unfortunately, very much involved.”

I let out a breath.

“It’s true,” I said. “My heart is tangled up in all of this. And I don’t know if that’s a strength or a mistake.”

Keegan turned toward me at last, voice low. “I think that’s exactly why it has to be you.”

Silence followed. Not empty, but full. Like everyone at the table, they had taken a piece of that truth and were holding it in their hands.

“We feast tonight,” Lady Limora said softly. “Because we don’t know what waits one night from now. But whatever it is, we face it together.”

The lanterns above us shimmered gold.

And I found, buried under the nerves and doubts and fear… a strange and startling thing.

Hope.

Laughter still lingered at the edges of my mind like soft music, the kind that stayed with you long after the notes faded. The night had shimmered with warmth, with friendship and wine and the steady hum of magic that reminded me why I was still fighting.

But underneath it all, the shadow pulsed.

One night. That was all the time I had. The Veil was already thinning from Moonbeam’s approach, the Wards humming stronger than ever, but the question loomed like storm light behind my ribs. What would I have to give up to break the curse? What would be asked of me? What would be left?

I curled my hands around the cup of my cider, grounding myself. For a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine this was all there was. No curses. No Shadowick. Just friends and food and the faint flutter of fireflies.

And then my gaze lifted toward the street.

He stood just beyond the edge of the café’s patio, lit only by the spill of golden light from the hanging lanterns. Same tailored coat. Same watchful expression. A little more grey at his temples, maybe, but it was him.

Alex.

My breath caught.

Not a ghost. Not a memory. My ex-husband was here, in Stonewick.

A place he hated.

The village he always forbade us from visiting.

His gaze swept the scene, and then, slowly, settled on me.

For a long, aching second, I didn’t move. The voices around me faded. I was no longer the headmistress of a reawakened Academy or a woman preparing to face shadow and spell.

I was just Maeve. The woman who’d once tried to make sense of a marriage that cracked around the edges long before either of us admitted it.

And now, he was here. And my world, already teetering, tilted just a little more.