Page 31

I woke with a twitch in my fingers and the distinct feeling that today was already rolling downhill at a pace I wasn’t prepared for. My phone, tucked between a stack of spell notes and the cardigan I’d peeled off sometime after midnight, buzzed before I could reach for it.

Celeste.

I scrambled upright, heart lifting at the sight of her name.

Before I could even say Good morning , a stream of images came through.

They were blurry at first, but then one was a painfully crisp close-up of Alex’s very blotchy, very red skin.

His chest looked like it had wrestled a beehive and lost. A second photo zoomed in on his neck, which had what I could only describe as ‘welty’ polka-dots, if there was such a phrase, which there wasn’t.

“WHAT. HAPPENED,” Celeste texted in all caps.

I pressed a hand over my mouth to smother the laughter bubbling up, but it burst out anyway. A snort, followed by a hiccupped wheeze, and then a full-blown laugh that cracked through the quiet of my room like magic itself.

Keegan.

He had actually done it. The bed bug spell. I thought he was joking. I hoped he was joking. Okay, no…That wasn’t true.

On some creepy level, I had hoped that Keegan would do it anyway. Because I was not always the better person. I told myself I was, but deep down, I just wasn’t .

Again, I was still trying to work on rising above it all when it came to Alex, but I was a work in progress.

I took a few steadying breaths to stop from laughing and finally called Celeste.

“Mom,” Celeste said the moment she picked up. “Dad looks like he lost a wrestling match with poison ivy and a swarm of ants.”

“Oh no,” I said, managing to sound just distressed enough. “You know how sensitive his skin is.”

“He’s never looked like that .”

I coughed to hide the laugh. “Maybe he used the hotel’s soap. You know how finicky he can be.”

Celeste groaned. “He’s swearing it was the bedding. I told him he was just being dramatic again.”

“Likely,” I said with a smile. “He’s prone to flare-ups. Remember the cheese incident?”

She snorted. “Don’t remind me.”

There was a pause, just long enough to shift the air between us, and I seized it.

“Celeste,” I said gently. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Hmm?”

“How’s everything going with… your boyfriend?” My voice sounded casual. Almost.

“Mom,” she drawled in that suspicious way children do when they sense incoming parental worry. “He’s great. Like, really great.”

I let her talk, her words coming quickly and bubbly.

She told me how they studied together, how he made her laugh when she was stressed, how his family had this dreamy lake house they visited in the summers.

How his mom drove in every other Sunday to cook dinner for them and whoever else from the dorm could come.

That part caught me.

It was like a knife dressed as a compliment.

“Oh,” I said, trying not to let it show. “That sounds… lovely.”

“It is.” Her voice softened. “They’re really close. And his mom’s amazing. She reminds me a little of you, actually.”

That nearly broke me.

I blinked quickly and stared out the window at the soft spring clouds blooming across the sky like cotton.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” I said, and meant it, even as something inside my chest quietly buckled.

“I am. College has been… good for me.”

“I wanted it to be,” I said quietly. “I wanted you to have space. To grow. And I thought if I stepped back a little, you’d… find your footing.”

“I did,” she said. “But you could’ve called more.”

Ouch.

I closed my eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly. “I know things have been hard for you. With everything.”

They had. Divorce. Magic. The reawakening of a cursed town.

“I just…” My throat closed for a second, but I pushed through. “I wanted to give you what I never had. The chance to become yourself without me hovering. But maybe I hovered too far away.”

“Maybe,” she said, but her voice was gentle. “But I still love you more than anyone. Even if you don’t cook like my boyfriend’s mom.”

I laughed. “Rude.”

“It’s true,” she teased. “You burned frozen waffles.”

“That was one time!”

“Twice.” She laughed. “A month.”

We laughed, and the tension slipped out of me like a spell finally released.

“I’ll call more,” I promised. “And maybe… when your semester ends, you could come stay here for the summer.”

There was a pause.

“Okay. I’d like that, and maybe he can come too?”

Ah, yes, he , the boyfriend.

“Of course.” I cleared my throat. “But, Celeste, promise me if there is ever anything that seems off, you’ll tell me.”

“Always, Mom. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

We stayed on the phone for a while longer, talking about nothing and everything. But when we finally hung up, I stayed seated on the edge of my bed, the smile fading slowly as silence returned.

I thought of Alex, covered in bites, probably cursing the mattress and threatening to sue the linens. I thought of Keegan, who, despite everything, had done it for me.

And I thought of Celeste, my daughter, my heart, who was growing up without seeing the world I had finally stepped into.

But maybe, just maybe, that could change.

Perhaps, I could still be the kind of mother who fought for magic and remembered to call on Sundays.

Even if I still couldn't cook waffles.

The kitchen at the Academy buzzed with the usual clatter of spoons and low chatter, the scent of cinnamon scones and brewed tea curling into the air like a warm welcome.

Someone had spelled the butter to keep spinning in place on a tray, and the toast floated by in a lazy spiral, waiting for hands to pluck it mid-flight.

I leaned against the doorway for a moment, just breathing it in.

These were the good parts. The pieces I didn’t take for granted anymore.

My dad curled beneath the table with his paws twitching slightly in a dream.

I poured a cup of tea and sat down beside Ember, who was outlining a lesson on protective layering spells to a sleepy Opal. Laughter erupted near the hearth from Skonk and Mara. He’d spelled her to sing silly ditties in a three-part harmony. She didn’t seem to mind.

Then the door creaked open.

Keegan strolled in, casual as anything, sleeves rolled to the elbows, hair a little damp from the morning mist, and looking for all the world like someone who hadn’t hexed a bed the night before.

I swatted his arm lightly as he walked by.

He grinned. “What was that for?”

“You know what it was for,” I said, barely restraining my smile. “Thank you.”

His expression turned mock-innocent, brows raised in theatrical offense. “Thank you? I don’t even know what I’m being accused of.”

“Uh-huh,” I murmured, sipping my tea. “Alex would beg to differ. Well, if he could stop scratching long enough to form a coherent sentence.”

Keegan’s smile only widened. “He has red bumps?”

I nodded, laughing. “Celeste sent me a photo this morning. They’re everywhere. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from cackling.”

He chuckled, the kind that made my stomach flip if I wasn’t careful. “You know, I was joking about the bed bug spell. Mostly.”

I leaned in a little, dropping my voice. “Aren’t you worried you’ll get a bad review?”

“For you?” He looked at me then, really looked. “Worth it. You always deserved better.”

I stared at him for a beat longer than I meant to. His voice had softened on those last words, like they carried more weight than just a casual compliment.

And there it was again, that pull. That terrifying, beautiful pull toward something more. Something warm and steady and honest.

And still, I tucked it away because…why now? Why, when I had so much in front of me and a world to save, did my heart want to have something it shouldn’t? Not now.

“Too much riding on Moonbeam,” I said quietly.

Keegan didn’t argue.

He just nodded once, as if he already knew where my thoughts were going. “Did you talk to Celeste?”

“I did.” I stirred my tea slowly. “She’s happy. Really happy. Told me all about this lake house his family has. The mom drives to campus every other Sunday to cook dinner for them.”

Keegan gave a low whistle. “Doesn’t sound too nefarious.”

“No,” I admitted, smiling faintly. “It sounds… nice.”

“And?”

“And I hate that it made me feel like I’ve been so far from her life. Like I blinked and she grew up.”

“You gave her space to grow,” he said gently. “There’s a difference.”

I nodded, but the ache lingered anyway. That ache of not being the one she turned to for comfort or Sunday dinners.

And then, because, of course, he had impeccable timing, Twobble came crashing next to me like a storm of limbs and announcements.

Twobble skidded next to me so fast he nearly knocked the honey off the counter. His sparse, green hair stood on end, his eyes wide and a shade brighter than usual, not with mischief this time, but something closer to alarm.

I set down my mug immediately.

Keegan stood straighter.

“Twobble?” I asked.

He didn’t answer right away. He glanced around the room, taking in the laughter, the clatter of cutlery, and the carefree feel of the kitchen. His expression twisted. Unease didn’t suit him. It made him look older, somehow.

“We need to talk. Now.”

“Talk?” I echoed, my gut tightening. “What is it?”

He didn’t fumble or joke, didn’t throw a pebble or quote a riddled spell from an obscure grimoire like he usually did when nervous. He simply looked me in the eye.

“It’s Nova. And Lady Limora. They found something. You need to come. Right now.”

Keegan’s eyes flicked to mine. “Do you want me to come too?”

I hesitated for half a second, but the look in Twobble’s eyes, whatever he’d learned, it wasn’t something casual. It wasn’t gossip.

“Yeah,” I said, pushing my chair back. “Let’s go.”

Twobble spun on his heel and strode out of the kitchen, the hem of his vest flapping behind him. I threw a quick glance toward the others. Ember’s brow lifted, Opal paused mid-sip of tea, but I didn’t stop to explain.

Whatever this was, I could feel the tension rising like a thread being pulled too tight. I just hoped it wasn’t about the curse. Or the dragons. Or Gideon.

But with my luck, it was probably all three.