Page 212 of Magical Mission
We sat there for a long moment, the breeze shifting around us, carrying the laughter and clinking of silverware, and the distant melody of wind chimes down the block.
The fear hadn’t vanished, but it had lessened.
“I’ll keep an eye on her from here,” I said, mostly to myself.
“And I’ll keep an eye on you,” Keegan replied.
A rare peace settled in my chest.
Maybe I had imagined it.
Perhaps I was just being a mother standing between two worlds, unsure how to let one daughter walk freely through the one she didn’t even know existed.
I pressed a hand to my hip, where the butterfly mark had finally cooled.
And for now, that would have to be enough.
We returned to the restaurant quietly, the door chiming behind us like a lullaby, as the hum of conversation and the clinking of plates enveloped us. The table still held the imprint of Celeste, her napkin half-folded, a light lipstick print on her water glass, a trace of perfume lingering in the air like a held breath.
Skye looked up as we approached, her smile instant and wide. “Took you long enough. I was about to tell the waitress we lost you to a traveling bard or a strong gust of wind.”
I chuckled and slid into the seat beside her. “Let’s not tempt fate. Stonewick’s full of both.”
Keegan settled across from us, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head with an easy sigh. “Well, I’m still here. No bards, no gusts. Just mildly concerned overprotective adults.”
“Sounds like a full-time job,” Skye said, grinning as she nudged her glass toward mine.
I clinked it gently with my own. “Cheers to keeping everyone alive and mostly sane.”
“And to food,” she added. “Because if I don’t eat something substantial soon, your child’s future godchild may start kicking out of protest.”
That made all of us laugh, and for a moment, it all felt like it used to be. Before the dragons, before the Wards, before I’d been handed the strange, glittering key to something ancient and dangerous and beautiful. Skye didn’t know what had changed in me, and I couldn’t tell her, not yet. But in the low light of the restaurant, with her laughter echoing and Keegan’s presence steady across the table, I let myself pretend we were just three friends catching up after a long week.
The waitress came over with bread and herb butter, and we fell into easy chatter. Skye told a ridiculous story about a childbirth class she’d recently attended where the instructor made everyone act out being various animals during labor. “I mean, how does one convincingly waddle like an owl? I ask you.”
Keegan nearly choked on his water, and I laughed until I wiped tears from my cheeks. It felt good. Safe.
“I miss this,” I said quietly as the conversation dipped into silence. “Just being together. Talking about ridiculous things.”
“You can still have this,” Skye said. “Stonewick or not. You’re still you.”
I gave her a weak smile, knowing the truth was far more complicated, but grateful that she believed it.
Dinner came, warm roasted vegetables, lentil stew, brown rice still steaming in its bowl. Comfort food, the kind that makes your insides feel warm and cozy. We passed dishes, shared bites, and told stories that wandered and looped, making room for everyone.
“I still think you should name the baby after me,” Keegan said casually, biting into a carrot.
Skye raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even know the baby’s gender.”
“Details,” he said. “I have a good feeling about this.”
“Don’t you always?”
Skye looked between us with narrowed eyes. “You two are oddly synced. Should I be worried?”
“No,” we said in unison, then burst out laughing.
The night settled around us, warm and flickering, with the trust that only comes with years of knowing someone.
