Page 42

We didn’t walk. We ran through branches that clawed at our sleeves and mud that refused to let go of our boots.

The Moonbeam’s echo still shimmered on my skin, like my magic hadn’t quite let it go, like it was trying to remind me that it wasn’t finished yet, that tonight wasn’t over.

Ahead, the path to the Butterfly Ward pulsed with a faint glow. It was always the most beautiful of the four, overgrown in a way that whispered not neglect, but stubborn life. The vines there remembered everything.

Keegan ran at my left, every movement like a river controlled by a single force: get there. Keep her safe. Celeste kept pace with surprising ease on my right, breath hitching slightly but never once slowing. I couldn’t tell if it was her age or her fear pushing her.

“Mom,” Celeste finally said between sharp inhales, “what’s actually happening?”

I slowed just enough to glance at her. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair as wild as I felt, and a leaf was tangled near her shoulder. She looked like the child I used to chase through apple orchards and fields of clover, but her eyes were older now. So much older.

Before I could speak, Keegan cut in.

“The Wards,” he panted, “they’re weakening. All four of them are bound to the curse over Stonewick. If one collapses, the others lean harder. If two fall…” He shook his head.

I filled in the rest. “The Academy collapses. Stonewick fractures. And Shadowick… pushes through.”

Celeste's mouth parted slightly. “So, a worst-case scenario situation.”

“Only if we don’t get to the Butterfly Ward in time,” I said. “Or the others.”

She didn’t miss a beat. “And let me guess, this Ward is guarded by enchanted vines, ancient light magic, and possibly a moth the size of a small SUV?”

Keegan snorted. “You’re not entirely wrong.”

“Great,” Celeste muttered. “You know, all this would be easier if my mom knew how to fly.”

That made me laugh.

Loud. Sharp. Startling.

A real laugh that tasted like cold air and absurdity and something strangely comforting.

“Good point,” I wheezed. “Next time I reincarnate, I’ll pick wings over sarcasm.”

“Never too late to learn,” Keegan teased.

“Seriously?”

Celeste grinned. “Wings and sarcasm. Best combo.”

Keegan glanced sideways at me, a crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t give her ideas.”

I nudged him with my shoulder, just enough to make him stumble slightly. He recovered, but his expression changed, just for a moment. He was reading the air again. Every shift in the trees. Every twitch of scent. His shifter instincts were impossible to hide.

“What is it?” I asked quietly.

“We’re being followed.”

I didn’t ask who.

There was only ever one answer now: Gideon. Or something he sent.

We moved faster.

The familiar curve of the path gave way to the first hint of the Butterfly Ward, trailing ivy with blue-tipped leaves and glimmers of light that darted between the branches like fireflies made of memory. The closer we got, the harder it was to breathe.

Not because of the air, but because the Ward was hurting .

“She looks ill,” I said.

“Can we fertilize?” Celeste asked, not understanding.

“It’s not that simple,” Keegan murmured. “Magic this old never forgets pain. It just… folds it into itself.”

I reached out and touched a vine.

It recoiled.

Not in fear, but in warning.

“Celeste, stay behind me,” I said, bracing my hand over the small pulse of warmth in my chest. My magic stirred like a sleepy animal, unsure if it was needed or if it was too late.

“I’m not—” Celeste eyed me.

“Behind me,” I said again, gently but firmly. “You saw what happened last time. I won’t risk you being pulled in again.”

Celeste fell back a step, but not before brushing her fingers against my wrist. “Then be careful, okay?”

I nodded.

The vines creaked as we stepped forward. They parted for me, barely, like the Ward still recognized me but was saving its strength for the unknown.

Keegan placed a hand on my back, grounding me. “The light’s wrong.”

“I know.” I could feel it in my bones. The light was fractured. It wasn’t illuminating anymore. It was reflecting, as if it didn’t know what was real.

We crossed the outer threshold of the Ward, and the air shimmered gold.

That should have been comforting.

It wasn’t.

The vines above curled like question marks, and the tiny butterfly lights hovered midair, frozen.

“No flutter,” I whispered. “No movement.”

“That’s not a good sign, right?” Celeste asked.

“No,” Keegan and I said in unison.

A soft sound carried on the wind, then, barely audible, like wings but broken ones.

We pressed deeper, winding along the spiral path that led to the Ward’s heart. I’d been here before when Elira had spoken through the vines. When the Academy whispered truths I wasn’t ready to hear.

But now it was silent.

And silence in a magical place was never quiet. It was screaming in a voice you couldn’t hear until it was too late.

“Look,” Celeste said suddenly, pointing to the center.

At first, I didn’t see it.

Then the light shifted, and I realized what had changed.

The mirror tree.

It was cracked.

Hairline fractures snaked along the reflective surface of its bark, each one shimmering with moonlight and threat. The tree that once showed futures, memories, and truths now reflected only a single thing.

Shadow.

It wasn’t an object.

It wasn’t a figure.

It was present .

Keegan inhaled sharply. “He’s been here.”

I nodded.

Celeste stepped closer. “Is this how he got in?”

“I believe so,” I said, voice trembling.

We’d strengthened the Butterfly Ward once already, and I wasn’t going to allow this man to weaken the beauty that kept the Academy alive.

We stood at the edge of something ancient and terrible, and for the first time tonight, I wasn’t sure if we were strong enough.

But Keegan took my hand.

Celeste gripped my other.

And together, we stepped toward the wounded tree.

If the Butterfly Ward was going to fall, we were going to hold the line ourselves because sometimes, that’s how you saved a world you loved.

“Mom?” Celeste’s voice came through the mist, just outside the Veil of thorns that began to curl between us. “You okay?”

“I just need a minute,” I said, already slipping through the edges of the Ward, where the roots tangled deep and the Veil of magic grew wild and old. “Stay there.”

Keegan said nothing, but I could feel his concern in the space he didn’t fill. He was keeping Celeste steady and keeping me tethered as I walked into the Hedge.

It folded around me.

It was dark. But not frightening.

No, this place had never meant me harm.

It simply didn’t let me lie.

The vines curled like fingers, not gripping but guiding. They whispered in old tongues I didn’t know but felt in my bones.

Magic lived here, and it gave me strength, replenishing my cells like a good night’s sleep.

It wasn’t the polished kind of energy in neat spellbooks, but raw magic that was feral and wild, like me.

And I finally recognized that about myself.

I crouched near the mirror tree’s roots, where the cracks bled thin strands of starlight. I pressed my hands into the cold earth, let the Hedge creep into my skin, my blood, my breath.

“Please,” I whispered. “Help me help them.”

A pulse shivered through me. It wasn’t pain or power.

I didn’t call it. It just… arrived.

The Hedge was generous with those who asked without pride.

So I stood, gathered the shimmer rising from my fingertips, like mist and firefly light, and cupped it in my hands. It flickered gold, then green, then something in between.

I pushed it gently toward the roots of the mirror tree.

It floated down like dandelion fluff, resting on the bark’s cracked sheen.

At first, nothing.

Then Celeste’s voice broke through.

“Mom,” she said. “ I-I think it helped.”

I blinked and stepped back into the Ward proper. Celeste was crouched near the tree, her hand just inches from one of the deeper cracks. Keegan stood beside her, eyes on me like he was trying to memorize every inch.

“There,” she said, pointing. “This line… it’s faded a little.”

I exhaled, shaky but steady.

“Then let’s try again.”

I turned back toward the Hedge’s edge, let it brush my skin again, and focused deeper.

This time, I reached with everything inside me, every laugh Twobble gave me when I didn’t think I could smile again, every time Nova had pulled me out of a spiral with a reading of hope, every ache of missing my dad, and every breath I took beside Keegan when the world felt like it might end.

I poured that into the Hedge.

Then I gathered it again. Smaller this time. Tighter.

A glimmer of magic, raw and unfinished, spread around me, and I sprinkled it like sugar across the broken roots.

And again… a shift.

The crack was sealed by another inch. I could hear their hollers of joy.

Celeste let out a breathless laugh. “You’re doing it. It’s working.”

Not enough.

But something.

I sagged to my knees, my hands braced in the soil. The Hedge whispered, Rest. Come again when you’re stronger.

But there wasn’t time.

A sound cracked the silence with familiar voices breaking through the Ward’s outer perimeter.

Nova was first through the mist, her cloak trailing silver sparks in the air. Her eyes found me instantly as I stepped out of the Hedge.

“What happened?” she demanded, scanning the mirror tree with a hard stare.

“The other Wards?” I asked instead, heart tight.

“Unbreached,” Nova said. “Stone, Flame, and Maple held. Some thinning, some tremors, but no entry points. Nothing from him.”

My chest caved slightly with relief, and I stood, brushing off dirt and fear, and pointed to the crack glinting along the tree’s bark.

“He didn’t need the others,” I said softly. “He got in through the Butterfly Ward.”

Silence dropped over them like a shroud.

Bella and Ardetia stepped forward, their eyes narrowed as they surveyed the roots. “He left something behind.”

Keegan growled low in his throat. “Or someone.”

“No signs of tethering magic,” Bella murmured. “At least not fresh. But this tree… it’s not whole.”

Stella crossed her arms. “He used the Ward’s beauty. Its gentleness. The way it opens for those with purpose.”

I nodded. “He twisted it.”

Nova stepped beside me, silent for a long beat. Then, with a voice so calm it scared me more than any storm, she said, “I’ll stay. I’ll attempt to heal her.”

I turned sharply. “What?”

“I’ll stay with the Ward,” she repeated, eyes never leaving the mirror tree. “He slipped through here once. He might try again. In the meantime, I’ll do my best by her.”

“But the Academy—”

“Has you.” Her gaze finally flicked to mine. “And they have Twobble. And Skonk. And Stella. And your daughter. And Keegan. Not to mention Vivenne, Opal…”

“I get it…” I didn’t want to let her go. Not like this. Not after everything we’d survived together because there was some sort of finality in things tonight, and it worried me.

But then Celeste stepped forward and placed her hand in mine. “Mom… she’s right. We’ll be okay.”

And just like that, I wasn’t the only one who had grown.

Nova placed a palm against the base of the tree, and the vines curled gently toward her.

“I’ll talk to it,” she said, almost to herself. “Tell it stories. Remind it who it was before the shadows.”

My heart ached, but I nodded.

“All right,” I said. “But you shout if anything changes. We’ll come running.”

She gave me a small smile. “I’ll be the loudest tree whisperer this Ward has ever known.”

The others began drifting toward the Academy in the distance, where gold light now flickered in welcome.

I hesitated and turned back one last time.

“Nova?”

She didn’t look up. “Go, Maeve. They need you.”

I looked at the line of students waiting near the Academy’s windows.

And she was right.

It wasn’t just about sealing Wards and chasing shadows anymore.

It was about building a future those students believed in, and I turned toward them.

Toward the place where it all began.

Toward the place where we’d make our stand.