Page 8

The stone walls of the Academy were quiet at night in the way ancient places were when they’d seen too much and were finally allowed to rest.

I’d returned late, after stopping by the cottage’s garden to thank Karvey and the others.

They’d remained perched just beyond the protective edge of the Ward, wings furled, watchful even as the stars brightened overhead.

Karvey had nodded solemnly at my gratitude, though one of the smaller gargoyles gave me a wink that made me think Twobble had somehow rubbed off on the whole lot of them.

Even if Skonk wasn’t dangerous, they chased him off on behalf of Twobble’s pride.

The loyalty threaded throughout Stonewick never ceased to amaze me.

Back at the Academy, my room greeted me like an old friend.

The fire in the hearth had sprung to life with barely a word, casting a gentle flicker across the stone walls.

My dad was already curled up near the warmth.

His snoring was slow and even, a quiet rhythm that helped calm the thrum still pulsing in my chest. Twobble lounged on the window seat, one leg kicked out as he gnawed at a biscuit that looked like it predated most of the furniture.

Judging by the dust, it had been pilfered from the depths of some teacher’s long-abandoned drawer.

I hadn’t even bothered to change out of my clothes. Just flopped on the bed, shoes kicked off, and stared at the ceiling like it might unravel all the threads I couldn’t quite piece together myself.

Shadowick. Skonk. The reversed Tower. The idea that I might be the key to something I didn’t ask to open.

I let out a long breath, and then—

Knock knock.

I sat up instantly.

The knock was gentle. Familiar.

“Maeve?” came Nova’s voice, muffled through the thick oak.

A surprise, yes—but not an unwelcome one.

“Come in,” I said, smoothing my tunic and swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

The door creaked open, and there she was with raven hair loose over her shoulders.

She was wrapped in one of the Academy’s embroidered cloaks that shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

She held two steaming mugs in one hand and a bundle of scrolls tucked under one arm, and she felt like an old friend from childhood.

“Still awake?” she asked.

“Barely, but I’ll take whatever that is.”

She handed me one of the mugs and made a sound of approval. “Chamomile and apple. With a splash of honey. You looked like you needed grounding.”

“I feel like I need to be planted and watered.”

Nova gave a soft chuckle and lowered herself into the chair beside the fire. Frank grunted, then repositioned himself slightly to rest his head against her foot. She didn’t even blink.

Twobble twisted on the window seat and pointed dramatically with a crumb-covered finger. “You’ll never believe it. Skonk showed up at the cottage. Started digging in the garden, tossing pebbles at Maeve like some sort of angry woodland theater troupe.”

Nova snorted and nearly spilled her tea. “Of course he did. That little fungus never could resist moon-cycle energy.”

“I knew it!” Twobble exclaimed. “He’s always sniffing around before something important.”

“Which,” Nova said, looking over at me with an arched brow, “is exactly why I’m here.”

I tilted my head, intrigued despite the fatigue pulling at my bones. “Because of Skonk?”

“Because of the Moonbeam,” she replied. “Skonk just confirms the timing’s close.”

She pulled out one of the scrolls and unfurled it on the edge of the rug. The ink revealed intricate astrological charts, old notations in languages I didn’t recognize, and a spattering of symbols that shifted if I looked at them too long.

“I’ve been studying the Moonbeam cycles,” Nova said, tapping a date marked in a glowing silver rune.

“As we know, they shift slightly every decade, only by a few minutes, sometimes an hour, but the margins change the way the Veils interact. That’s why some years feel more intense than others.

Why magic fluctuates. Why some gates open wider than they should. ”

“So… do you know when it’ll hit this time?”

Nova leaned back.

“I think we’re close. Within days…six maybe… The last time it hit at this exact angle, there were reports of memory bleed across fae territories. Children seeing versions of themselves that hadn’t been born yet. Entire groves waking up after a century of dormancy.”

I blinked. “That’s… comforting.”

She smirked. “It’s magic. Comfort’s optional.”

Twobble nodded like a professor. “I once saw a goat walk backwards for three hours during a Moonbeam. His horns glowed and everything.”

Nova didn’t even question it.

Instead, she rolled up the scroll and reached for another. “If we’re going to do this, Maeve, we need to be ready. And we need to move fast.”

I nodded slowly. “Do you think Shadowick will feel it too?”

“They always do,” Nova said. “The question is whether they’ll use it.”

That chill crept back into the room, and Twobble yawned loudly.

“Well, if they try anything, we’ll just toss Skonk at them. He’s unpredictable and mildly sticky. A perfect distraction. We just have to find him again.”

I smiled despite the knot forming in my chest. “Thanks, Twob.”

He gave me a mock salute with the remains of his biscuit.

Nova stood and squeezed my shoulder. “Sleep. I’ll wake you if the signs stabilize. We’ll know. The Academy always knows.”

As she left, I watched the fire flicker across the ceiling.

Maybe we were closer than I realized.

Perhaps, this time, we’d step into the Moonbeam on our terms.

Sleep came slower than I’d hoped.

My mind wouldn’t quiet. The teacup on the bedside table had long gone cold, the soft ticking of the enchanted clock marking the passage of a night I wasn’t sure I wanted to cross into.

But eventually, the pull was too strong.

And I slipped under.

Into the fog. Yet it wasn’t the fog of sleep, but the fog of Shadowick.

I stood in the center of town, not in a vision or an echo.

This version was sharper than before

The cobblestones beneath my boots were slick with moisture. The air was thick, clinging to my skin like wet ash, and the lamplight didn’t glow. It flickered, struggling against a darkness that moved.

Buildings loomed like skeletal ruins, familiar in shape but wrong in feel. And the fog threaded through every gap, every window, swirling around my ankles to anchor me in place.

I knew instantly this wasn’t my dream.

I hadn’t called for him, but he was already here.

“You’re early,” came a voice behind me.

I turned.

Gideon stood at the end of an alley, framed in dim, fractured lamplight.

His long coat shifted with the windless air.

The shadows rose around him like adoring serpents.

His dark hair gleamed silver in the flicker of light, but his eyes were the same…

icy, sharp, and wrong. His gaze glittered with something that felt far too close to familiarity.

And danger.

“I didn’t summon you,” I said, my voice firm despite the tremble I tried to swallow.

He stepped forward, unhurried. “Of course not. I invited myself.”

I swallowed.

“Don’t look so cross,” he said, lips curling in a half smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve missed you.”

My stomach dropped, and he stopped a few feet away.

Gideon’s head tilted, with his gaze cool and calculating as he studied me.

“You’ve grown into your magic faster than I expected,” he said, voice smooth as glass. “And yet… you still wear your heart on your sleeve. Just like your father.”

I flinched before I could stop myself.

He noticed.

“Oh yes,” he said softly. “Frank, isn’t that what he likes to call himself? Such a loyal little bulldog now.”

“Leave him out of this,” I snapped.

He smiled again, but it was colder this time. “Everyone in your life is part of this. Every connection you make is a thread I can follow. You should be more careful.”

I stood my ground, fists clenched at my sides. “What do you want from me?”

His expression didn’t change. “You already know.”

“I don’t.”

“You do. ”

His voice echoed around the alley like it had been spoken from every stone. I shook my head, but he took another step closer, and the fog pulled tighter around us.

“You’ve been dancing the Hedge,” he said. “Standing between the light and the dark. The seen and the unseen. You’re valuable, Maeve. More than you know. The Academy may not understand your true potential… but I do.”

My throat went dry.

“I think,” he continued, “you want to meet me again. In the flesh. You’re curious. You’ve always been curious.”

“No,” I said, though it didn’t come out nearly as loud as I intended. “I just want to understand you.”

He went still.

Then, slowly, he smiled, and this time it did reach his eyes.

But it was not a smile of warmth.

It was a smile that knew too much.

“That,” he said softly, “is exactly what I’m afraid of.”

The air shifted, and the fog surged upward like a living wall, swallowing the light entirely. My breath caught as the weight of it pressed against my skin, thick as oil, sharp as needles.

Gideon leaned in too close and whispered, “You’ll see me soon.”

I woke with a gasp, bolting upright in the dark.

Sweat clung to my skin. My blankets were tangled around my legs, and the fire had dwindled to embers. My dad stirred near the hearth, his ears twitching, but he didn’t wake.

The room was still.

Safe.

But my heart thudded against my ribs like it wanted to escape.

I threw the blankets off and swung my legs to the floor, pressing my bare feet to the cool stone. The shock grounded me just enough to breathe. Just enough to think.

He’d been in my head.

Without an invitation. Without a tether. Without a sign.

Or was it a dream? How would I know the difference?

And worse, he knew things.

Knew me.

I wrapped my arms around myself and inhaled through my nose, slow and steady, until the chill stopped rattling down my spine.

“I’m okay.”

My dad stirred again, gave a little groggy snort, and rolled over.

I pressed my palm to my birthmark. It was warm. Steady.

Still mine.

Still me.

But I didn’t close my eyes again.

Because I wasn’t okay.

Not even close.