Page 142 of Magical Mission
The gargoyles sat perched proudly on the roof, which had a few new tufts of moss growth since Miora strengthened everything from the last fight.
I thought back to everything that’s happened here since I arrived in Stonewick. The way I saw Keegan shift to save me, my dad…the cottage.
Doing the one thing he despised out of…respect.
Or was it more?
As we approached the stoop, our perched sentinels took notice.
And then—Karvey.
He launched from the highest peak of the roof, wings spread wide and gleaming in the morning sun, and swooped down with a dramatic flair that would’ve made a hawk feel underdressed.
He landed just before me in a crouch, rising to his full, craggy height, wings curling behind him.
“Headmistress,” he boomed.
I grinned. “I’ve missed you, Karvey.”
“And I, you,” he said, his stone features shifting into something soft. “The roof has been quiet. The tea, undisturbed. The porch swing—neglected.”
“I know,” I said, stepping forward to touch his arm. “But I’m here now.”
He nodded solemnly, then slowly turned his gaze toward Twobble.
There was a long pause.
Twobble raised an eyebrow. “No, I missed you too, Twobble? Not even a grunt of acknowledgment?”
Karvey blinked once.
Then turned back to me. “Shall I carry your bag?”
Twobble threw his hands up. “Unbelievable. I dragged her through goblin tunnels, rescued her from Gideon’s clutches, babysat her dad, got chased by a frisky witch two days ago, and this lump of gravel won’t even nod.”
Karvey lifted his chin. “My duties are with the headmistress. Not with those who complain about horny witches.”
I laughed and shook my head. “It’s good to be home. But let’s play nice.”
Twobble stuck his tongue out at Karvey. “Told you she likes me better.”
I turned back to the door, my hand pausing just an inch from the familiar, polished brass handle shaped like a spiral vine. “Here goes.”
The door opened with a soft creak and a sigh, and it felt as if even the cottage was breathing easier to have me home.
Warmth wrapped around me the moment I stepped into the room, and I took in the place that had started this journey I was on now.
Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass window by the hearth, casting patterns of foxes and feathers on the wooden floor. The kettle was humming from the stove even though I hadn’t lit the fire. The mismatched chairs around the table looked as though they’d been expecting guests. The shelves still carried the scent of cinnamon, and a faint trace of honey hung in the air like someone had just stirred a spoon through a mug of tea.
And maybe Miora had.
The cottage felt lived in, even though no one had been here.
Not anyone living, anyway.
Twobble stepped in behind me, instantly shaking moss from his boots onto the rug. “Still smells like dried herbs and emotional unraveling in here.”
I smiled. “I missed this place.”
