Page 208 of Magical Mission
Because no matter how much I wanted to keep her here, safe and folded into the quiet rhythms of Stonewick, I knew that wasn’t fair. Celeste had her own life, her own road to walk. I couldn’t, shouldn’t, wrap her in magic she hadn’t asked for.
Still, I couldn’t stop the fear that buzzed underneath everything. Now that the dragons were stirring. Now that the shadows were shifting. Now that the veil between what was known and what was hidden thinned more with each passing day.
She left tomorrow.
And I needed to make sure that when she did, the world would still be safe for her.
Even if it meant confronting everything I’d been trying to delay.
The late afternoon light poured down the cobbled streets of Stonewick, turning everything soft around the edges.
Celeste’s arm was looped through mine again as we strolled back toward Nova’s shop to pick up Skye. She’d been humming ever since our walk began, her joy floating around her like the scent of springtime jasmine. I clung to the quiet comfort of it, the normalcy, the illusion of a new normal being born between us.
Nova’s shop stood cozy and glowing beneath the hanging lanterns as the sun dipped lower. Inside, Skye was right where we left her, laughing over a deck of tarot cards, clearly having coaxed Nova into reading her birth path, baby destiny, or both.
“Oh no,” I muttered as I opened the door. “How many new theories do you have now?”
“Three,” Skye said cheerfully, rising from her seat with a hand pressed to her lower back. “One of them involves the baby being born under a sacred star and having mystical hair.”
Nova didn’t deny it.
Celeste was already giggling, tugging her coat tighter as she gave Skye a sideways hug. “You ready for dinner?”
“You have no idea,” Skye said. “If I don’t eat in the next ten minutes, your mystical star child may revolt.”
We headed back out into the golden streets, laughter trailing behind us. Stonewick’s evening glow had a kind of magic that asked nothing and offered everything—warm window lights, hand-painted signs swinging gently in the breeze, and the low hum of students and locals gathering to eat and unwind. It felt likehome.Like what home could be when all the pieces finally clicked into place.
We reached the little restaurant at the corner of Rosewalk and Birch, tucked between an antique shop and a bookbindery. Inside, it was dim and glowing, the kind of place that served meals with handwritten menus and knew everyone’s preferred tea. We slipped into a window table in the far corner, a perfect perch for watching the world go by.
The waitress had barely dropped off the water glasses when Celeste gasped.
Her breath caught sharp, not in fear, but bright surprise.
“Oh mygod,” she whispered, her eyes glued to the street outside.
Skye and I instinctively followed her gaze.
And there he was.
Darren.
Celeste’s boyfriend. Tall, sweet-faced, with that faint skater-boy nonchalance that somehow managed to survive into adulthood. I’d only met him once, briefly, at the train station. I remembered liking him. He’d seemed… normal.
“Mom,” Celeste said, practically vibrating, “he came here. He said he couldn’t join the trip, but hecame here.”
I blinked, still processing.
“Young love.” I smiled.
Darren looked up and spotted her through the window. His face lit up, and he gave a huge, boyish grin that made Celeste squeak. He jogged to the restaurant entrance, pushed through the door, and was at our table before any of us could stand.
“I told you I had to work this weekend,” he said, beaming. “Total lie.”
Celeste jumped up and hugged him so tightly that he squeaked.
“That’s a terrible lie, and I love it,” she said.
They kissed, quick and sweet, and I watched my daughter’s entire expression glow. She looked lighter, younger. She looked like someone in love for the first time in her life and not trying to hide it.
