Page 93 of The Messengers of Magic

Chapter Sixty-Six

A delaide lay wrapped in Pen’s arms, listening to the quiet rise and fall of his breath.

The moment felt impossible, too fragile, too perfect, like something meant to remain a dream.

And yet, here she was, snuggled against him, her body still humming with afterglow, her soul anchored to something that felt like home.

She wished she could stay like this forever, certain she’d never known such peace.

She let herself sink into the stillness, willing her mind to follow. But it wouldn’t. Though her pulse had begun to slow, her thoughts had already begun to race, stirring up a whole new world of questions.

“Pen,” she said, lifting her head from his chest. “Do you think when I pulled you from the loop, it also ended the loop for Rowland?”

“To be honest, I had the same thought just a moment ago.”

“Maybe we should go over to Carolyn’s,” she said, sitting up. Suddenly, lying still felt unbearable. The quiet had passed, a crack had opened, and the questions kept pouring in. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and pulled on her clothes.

“Leaving so soon?” Pen teased.

“I don’t plan to be gone long, just long enough to make us some coffee,” she said with a smile.

He shot up in bed, tension creeping into his posture.

“Wait, don’t go in there—”

It only took her two steps into the hallway to understand why.

The flat, or what had once been the flat, was gone.

In its place stood what looked like the upper loft of an old barn.

Wide wooden beams arched above her, the floor beneath her feet was raw and unfinished, and light spilled in through tall, unglassed windows, casting long bars of morning sun across the space.

“I was going to tell you,” Pen said softly from behind.

She didn’t turn. Her stomach plummeted, and her head spun, trying to stitch sense into the unraveling sight in front of her.

“When did this happen?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Right after you freed me from the loop.”

Adelaide took a tentative step forward. The air was thick with the scent of fresh timber and hay. The flat hadn’t just changed, it had reverted, as if the building had been peeled back to its original form. She could tell it was the same place, just laid bare.

She rushed to the windows. The street was still there, but not as she remembered it. The bakery was gone, and the cheerful sign that had once hung over its door was nothing but weathered wood.

Adelaide turned to Pen, her teeth biting at her thumbnail. “What about Dottie and Iain? What happened to them?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, stepping closer and resting a hand on her shoulder.

This wasn’t just a problem anymore; it wasn’t something that could be patched or reversed with a ritual; their reality was folding in on itself, piece by piece, and if they didn’t act soon, their world would be replaced entirely.

Frankie skittered into the room, his small paws barely making a sound against the unfinished wood floor. He paused, nose twitching, looking around, then let out a soft chitter as he trotted over to Pen.

“No breakfast today, buddy. I’m sorry,” Pen murmured, bending down and stroking the little fox’s head.

Adelaide exhaled sharply. “What are we going to do? The solstice isn’t until tomorrow.” She glanced down at Frankie, who blinked up at her with wide, uncertain eyes.

“First, we need to see what else has changed. Why don’t you get dressed and head over to the apothecary to see Carolyn? I’m not sure I should be seen just yet. Showing up looking like I did back in 1955 might stir up more questions than we want to answer.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding. “I guess you’re right. And if Carolyn is there, that gives us time to sneak over and see if Rowland is back in our timeline.”

“Good thinking.”

Adelaide cast one last look out the window.

The town beyond no longer looked solid. It was as if two versions of it, two realities, were bleeding into one another, one melting over the other, swallowing up the familiar and replacing it with something twisted.

The trees were wrong, the buildings, too.

Even the horizon bent in an unnatural way.

Everything that was coming into focus from the other reality was distorted, colors too sharp or too dull, proportions off, almost like a dream painted from a memory and blurred by time.

Below, people were on the street; some walked on, oblivious, their routines undisturbed, but others seemed dazed, expressions clouded with confusion and despair. It was clear now. Some were already caught in the shift, and others hadn’t fully crossed over.

She turned away and reached for the door, but Pen caught her hand, fingers curling around hers, spinning her back toward him.

“I don’t want you to be surprised by the bookshop,” he said. There was something in his voice, and a crease between his brows that hadn’t been there before. “It’s different.”

“How different?” she asked.

He hesitated, and that hesitation told her everything.

“It’s not the Feather Thorn anymore,” he told her, eyes dimmed with something heavier than sadness.

A shiver worked its way down her body. The shop she’d poured herself into, the hours spent painting, restoring, dreaming, was gone in the blink of an eye.

Not just altered, not broken. Gone. She swallowed hard, pushing down the tears.

Would she ever see it again? Would she ever get the chance to run her bookshop the way she’d imagined?

“Be careful,” he added, pulling her into a kiss.

She kissed him back, letting the moment press into her skin.

Everything melted away, the worry, the questions, the unraveling world.

There was only Pen. She wished she could freeze time and slip back into the loop with him.

As their lips parted, reality crashed down around her once more.

She did her best to give him a reassuring smile before she opened the door and walked out.

“I’ll be back soon,” she promised, as she stepped out into the unknown.

She descended the stairs with cautious steps, the stone stairwell still its usual damp.

When she walked through the door that should have led into the Feather Thorn, it wasn’t old books or Pen’s cologne she smelled, it was iron, smoke, hot metal.

The air shimmered with heat, the scent of scorched leather and fire saturating it like incense of times past.

A steady hammering echoed through the space, metal on metal. She rounded the corner, each step slower than the last.

Pen had tried to prepare her, but now, staring into the furnace-lit room, it felt like her dreams had been burned to ash. The bookshop was gone, completely gone.

In its place stood a forge, massive and glowing with firelight.

Where the children’s corner had once been, iron tools now hung.

Where the register had sat, an anvil glistened with fresh sparks.

A man stood, hunched over it, hammering a long glowing strip of metal, each strike sending a shower of sparks flaring.

His face was shadowed, and he didn’t look up.

She didn’t know what to do. He was right there, directly in her line of sight, yet his eyes never lifted to her. It was as if she didn’t exist, as if she were nothing more than a ghost.

She turned slowly, hand brushing the doorframe as she whispered to the empty air, “This must’ve been how Pen felt.”

As she slipped outside, Adelaide braced for the familiar bite of winter, but it never came. Instead, a warm breeze brushed her skin, carrying the sweet scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. The seasons had shifted, just as the town had.

Then she looked up. The sky… it looked wrong.

It was the wrong kind of blue, almost periwinkle, and scattered across it, faint but unmistakable, were stars. Stars, in daylight. Stars that didn’t belong.

Head down, she hurried down the street, trying not to look at the sky again.

The chimes over the apothecary door jingled as she entered, and the familiar scent of herbs and spices curled around her. The counter was empty, but from the back room came the sounds of movement and a gentle humming.

“Carolyn?” she called, keeping her voice soft, not wanting to startle her.

“Just a moment,” came the reply, followed by the clatter of tins.

When Carolyn appeared in the doorway, dusting her hands on her apron, she paused and looked at Adelaide. There was no spark of recognition, no warmth of familiarity. “Can I help you?” she asked, and Adelaide’s heart sank.

Adelaide just stood there. She sounded right, she even looked right, mostly.

Same kind eyes, same calm presence, but the blue of those eyes skewed slightly green, and her hair, once silver and white, now shimmered auburn, the white only just beginning to creep in.

She looked younger. By at least ten or fifteen years.

Adelaide turned, glancing around the shop. The jars lining the walls were the wrong shape, square instead of round. The dried herbs that once hung in loose wreaths now dangled in neat bundles, bound tightly with twine. Things looked… almost right, but not quite.

“Are you all right, dear?” Carolyn asked, her voice kind but wary.

Adelaide forced herself to nod. “Yes. Sorry. I’m just passing through.” She swallowed. “Can you tell me the name of this town?”

Carolyn smiled, the same sweet smile Adelaide had known for years. “Welcome to Leymark.”

Her stomach twisted. “Thank you,” she murmured, turning to leave.

“Have a blessed day,” Carolyn called.

The door shut behind her with a gentle click, and Adelaide stood motionless on the street, her breath catching as panic clawed its way up her throat. This wasn’t Helensburgh, not anymore.