Page 6

The quiet of the cottage had begun to settle in all the right places. The tea had gone tepid on the windowsill, my dad snored softly near the hearth, and I’d finally managed to convince my mind to slow down, just a little, after hours of spinning through Moonbeam theory and Gideon what-ifs.

That was when I saw him.

Through the kitchen window, past the false honeysuckle and the windchimes, was Twobble. Or… at least, it looked like Twobble, but he’d mentioned that he planned on taking a nap that lasted until Moonbeam was finished.

But here he was in the garden, halfway hidden by the lavender bush, a small tool in hand as he dug with furious intent.

His patched vest flapped as he leaned down, jabbing at the dirt with something too small to be a proper tool and too pointy to be approved by anyone who cared about property lines or magical root systems.

His little mouth muttered, no, grumbled. Phrases I couldn’t quite make out floated up through the cracked window.

I raised an eyebrow when I heard the word turnip.

Twobble did odd things. That much was a given. But this had a different vibe to it. More... manic. More frantic. He rearranged the stones by the garden path with sharp movements, lining them up, then knocking them out of alignment again with a snarl of frustration.

I hesitated before pushing open the kitchen door, and the scent of chamomile and damp earth hit me in the face.

“Twobble?” I called out lightly, careful not to startle him.

He froze, completely and unnaturally so.

Then he slowly and theatrically turned and stared at me.

His face twisted into a look of pure outrage. The look wasn’t his usual playful exaggeration or goblin dramatics.

No. This was different.

Insulted.

Offended on a soul-deep level.

“How dare you,” he hissed, as if I’d just accused him of hexing puppies or misusing sacred snacks.

I blinked. “Um... what?”

He bent, snatched a handful of pebbles from the soil, and with a sound between a squeak and a war cry, chucked them at me.

“Hey!” I yelped, ducking just as one pinged off the doorframe. “What are you doing?! ”

Another pebble whizzed past my head.

“Twobble! Stop—wait!”

But he didn’t.

He advanced, slinging pebbles from a frantic slingshot of vengeance. I squealed, slammed the door, and pressed my back to it as another rock thudded against the wood.

“What in magical madness is going on…”

Before I could finish the sentence, the sky boomed .

A gust of wind swept past the cottage like a warning cry, and the ground beneath me trembled. I jumped back from the door just as the shadow of wings passed across the kitchen floor.

Then came the unmistakable sound of stone on stone.

Karvey.

And not just Karvey. The others were with him.

I rushed to the window, and Twobble was now backed against the garden fence, his form slightly hunched, eyes darting wildly as three of the gargoyles landed around him in a protective triangle.

Even though he just threw pebbles at me, I needed to get out there and save him from the cottage’s protectors.

But none of this made sense.

Karvey hovered just above, his wings outstretched and lined with flickering blue marks, his eyes glowing faintly with warning.

Twobble let out a sharp hiss and twitched , like a glitch in an illusion spell.

And for the briefest second, the form rippled.

It was still goblin-sized, still vaguely Twobble-shaped, but it wasn’t right . The eyes were too sharp, his mouth was too wide, and the shadow it cast... it didn’t match the light or the dark.

Karvey extended a clawed hand toward the creature, which seemed to pulse in place like it was deciding whether to fight or flee. It let out a guttural sound. It wasn’t a word, but something older. The words were sour and sticky with magic.

I covered my mouth with one hand, heart pounding, when I realized that I wasn’t looking at Twobble.

Then, in a blink, the creature was gone.

Not in a puff of smoke or a dramatic crack of lightning…just gone.

The gargoyles remained still for a beat, wings lifted like shields, before slowly lowering them.

Karvey turned toward the cottage. His gaze found mine through the glass, and he nodded once, sharply and reassuringly.

Whatever that was, they had handled it.

But as he launched into the air again, and the others rose behind him in perfect formation, I couldn’t pull my eyes from the churned-up garden and the abandoned pebbles lying in the dirt.

Because whatever had been in my garden hadn’t come to play.

It had come to mimic and to test , and I had called it by the wrong name.

I backed away from the door slowly, heart still racing, and glanced at my dad.

Twobble might’ve been loud, mischievous, and ridiculous, but never in all the time I’d known him had he looked at me like I was the intruder.

And now, the air in the kitchen felt colder as if something had been let in.

Or something had already been watching.

I wrapped my arms around myself and turned toward my dad again, who was sitting up now, his ears high and alert.

He didn’t bark.

He just stared out the window.

The garden was still, too still, and the only thing louder than the silence was the rush of my thoughts.

That hadn’t been Twobble.

The creature in the garden had worn his face, his vest, and his attitude. Well, a version of it, but it wasn’t him. It had looked at me with eyes I didn’t know, had thrown pebbles with a kind of venom even dramatic Twobble never possessed. And the way it vanished… like reality had blinked.

My hands wrapped around my mug, and I stared at the back door as if it might open itself and offer answers.

Then something darted past the window.

I jumped, heart leaping into my throat.

A blur—short, fast, and familiar—zipped from one tree to the next, weaving through the garden like a little whirlwind. The windchimes clattered in its wake, and my dad gave a disgruntled snort from his corner.

I edged closer and narrowed my eyes.

Another flash, but this time it was from behind the hydrangeas. And then…

Bang. Bang. Bang .

“Maaaaaeve!” came a familiar voice, high, panicked, and undeniably Twobble from the back door. “Maeve, are you in there? Did you see it? Did it see you? Are you in one piece? Blink twice if your soul’s intact!”

I stood frozen.

“Open the door! Karvey sent word,” Twobble pleaded, thumping on the wood with all the force his tiny fists could muster. “Unless you’re possessed. Are you possessed?! Because if you’re possessed, I really can’t deal with that today!”

I unlocked the door but didn’t open it. “Twobble?”

“Oh, thank the roots,” he exhaled through the gap. “It was here, wasn’t it? You saw him?”

“I saw someone who looked exactly like you throwing pebbles at my head and grumbling about turnips.”

Twobble let out a groan and thunked his head lightly against the door. “Unbelievable. I told him not to mess with the garden! That’s just rude! ”

“You want to tell me who he is before I open the door?” I asked, gripping the handle just in case.

Twobble huffed. “It was my cousin. Skonk. ”

I blinked. “Skonk?”

“Yes, Skonk! He’s my identical cousin. Shows up when things get weird. Which, apparently, is now.”

I slowly opened the door.

Twobble stood on the stoop, covered in leaves and what might have been old honey. His vest was inside-out, and his wild and sparse hair curled in angles no magic could tame. But his eyes were familiar. Concerned. Him.

“An identical cousin?” I asked, arms crossed.

He nodded solemnly. “Yep. A real pain in the butt. Been impersonating me since we were kids.”

“That's... not a thing,” I said. “You can't just have an identical cousin.”

Twobble gave me a look like I’d suggested gravity was optional. “Maeve. All goblins do.”

I blinked. “What?”

He sighed and hopped up onto the windowsill like it was a personal perch.

“Look, goblin families are complicated. You’ve got your hobs, your sprats, your rootlings, and then there’s the identical cousins.

It’s more of a magical echo situation than a biological one.

Anyway, he tends to appear every ten years or so. ”

“That clears up nothing. ”

He waved a hand. “Skonk is harmless.”

“You’re joking.”

“Well… mostly harmless,” he amended, scratching his ear. “I mean, sure, he’s been known to summon a demon or two at the most inopportune times, but that’s usually tied to an emotional response or a hiccup in his snack routine.”

I held up a hand, laughing despite myself. “Okay, wait. I’m not sure I need all the details right now.”

He pointed his finger like I’d saved him the trouble. “Exactly. That’s the spirit. No one ever really wants to know the whole story with Skonk. Even he doesn’t.”

I leaned against the doorframe, the last of the adrenaline leaving my body like smoke. “So you’re saying your cousin just pretended to be you, trespassed in my garden, tried to realign some magical ley lines, and chucked rocks at my face… all just for fun?”

“Eh.” Twobble squinted up at the clouds. “Could’ve been worse. It could’ve been like when he tried to impersonate Aunt Blecka and accidentally turned an entire village into frogs. Which wasn’t technically his fault, but still.”

I stared at him.

He blinked back at me innocently. “I’m not sticking up for him. I don’t care for the chap at all.”

“You know, it’s alarming how these things seem normal when you say them.”

“I’m very grounding,” he said proudly.

I shook my head and turned back into the kitchen. “You want some tea?”

“Yes. Something calming. Maybe with lavender. I’ve had a day. ”

“You’ve had a day?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I had to chase Skonk through a shadow ridge, Maeve. Do you know how hard that is for someone with short legs and a sensitive moral compass?”

I handed him a mug.

He sipped. “Mmm. This tastes like safety.”

“So why was he here?”

Twobble's eyes went serious for a moment. “I think he was… sniffing around. Not just the garden. You. He’s drawn to big shifts in power. Moonbeams, thinned Veils, old magic waking up. The usual.”