Page 56 of Goody Magic Academy: Year Three

Despite everything, a bubble of laughter escaped me. “That’s beyond terrible, even for you,” I groaned, shaking my head even as a smile tugged at my lips.

Kamaron’s answering chuckle filled the room, momentarily chasing away some of the lingering shadows as I felt some of the tension drain from my body. His ability to find humor even in the darkest of times was one of the things I treasured most about him.

“Thanks, Kamaron,” I said quietly, gratitude coloring my tone. “I needed that.”

But it wasn’t just his joke that I needed. His pep talk had given me back my courage and determination.

He nodded affectionately. “Any time, Peyton. Now, let’s go show the high priestess what happens when she messes with our family.”

As Kamaron left to rally the others, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. It was time to face whatever came next—hopefully with a few more dad jokes along the way.

Chapter

Thirty-One

Afew minutes after Kamaron left to rally the others I started to get ready. The simple act of getting dressed felt like donning battle armor.

I ran my shaking fingers through my hair, deftly weaving it into a tight braid. The familiar motion was steadying, a small ritual of preparation.

I splashed cold water on my face, hoping to subdue the puffiness around my eyes. It wouldn’t completely erase the evidence of my grief, but it didn’t matter now. I was done crying.

Memories of Jaxon fueled my resolve. He wouldn’t want me wallowing in self-pity. There would be time to grieve for him properly when this was all over. I inhaled deeply and reached for the door handle, ready to face whatever awaited me outside.

I pushed the door open and looked at the hallway stretching before me. I started down it, hearing muffled voices drifting from the dining room that grew clearer as I approached.

The conversation abruptly ceased as I entered the room and multiple pairs of eyes settled on me. I took in the familiar faces, noting the mix of emotions—concern, wariness, and something harder to define. But two strangers stood out among the group.

My gaze locked on a man with furled golden wings. Even without them being fully visible, there was no mistaking him: this was the Golden Demon Lucien Acosta, that I had caught a glimpse of before. The anguish etched into his features mirrored my own.

Beside him stood an imposing figure—tall, muscular, with long dark hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. There was an air of gravitas about him, and vast wisdom was reflected in his piercing eyes.

I stood my ground, my chin lifted slightly. Whatever judgment or anger these two newcomers might hold toward me, I was prepared to face it. The time for hiding was over.

But then unexpectedly the imposing figure smiled, catching me off guard and momentarily easing the tension in the room. “You must be Peyton,” he said, his deep voice resonating with warmth. “I am Anton Lange, a vampire. I am also headmaster of Legacy Academy.” The introduction was like another ray of hope, hinting at resources and knowledge now at our disposal.

His hand moved to the broad shoulder of the man beside him. “This is Lucien Acosta, Raven’s mate.” The words hung heavy in the air, laden with unspoken grief and worry.

His breath hitching, Lucien’s voice burst forth, raw with emotion. “When you left... Was she alive?” His anguished gaze bore into me, desperately seeking any shred of hope.

His worry loomed over us like gathering storm clouds. “Yes,” I managed, struggling to meet his eyes. “But she was in great pain. I think she was fighting very hard.”

Rose spoke up. “The tracking spell says that the Dragon Nexus is still in the bayou. Raven is probably there, too.”

Headmaster Lange’s words cut through the heavy atmosphere. “Indeed. This may actually be an opportunity for us.” His tone held a glimmer of strategic hope.

Headmaster Tarus stepped forward, his presence commanding attention. “I agree. The high priestess will have to use every scrap of the Dragon Nexus’ power on Raven. The silver dragon is too powerful to succumb easily.”

Shame and inadequacy washed over me. “You mean like I did,” I mumbled, my gaze dropping to the floor.

“I mean nothing of the sort, Peyton,” Headmaster Tarus corrected me, his voice firm but not unkind. “Raven Acosta is our most powerful supernatural. Do not compare yourself to her.” His next words sent a jolt through me. “Although… You have proven yourself to be a formidable opponent against the high priestess. Well done.” The praise was unexpected, a balm to my battered confidence.

A surge of determination swept over me. They saw potential in me—saw me as an asset rather than a liability! It was time to live up to their faith, to channel my grief and anger into action.

Headmaster Lange’s gaze locked with Headmaster Tarus’, a silent exchange of strategic thought clearly passing between them.

An excited grin spread across Headmaster Tarus’ face, like that of a kid in a candy store. “I am not sure, but I believe it will give us time to attack.” The cautious words carried a glimmer of optimism.

“But I’m not strong enough to battle the Nexus,” I admitted sadly. The memory of being used as a weapon against my will sent a shudder through me.

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