Page 101 of Magical Moonbeam
“Wrong,” I said. “And too right.”
She nodded once, as if she understood perfectly.
Lady Limora leaned forward. “Maeve, we all want to know. What are you really planning to do once you step into the real Shadowick?”
My mouth felt dry. Even the taste of basil and butter seemed far away now.
“I thought… maybe I could reach him,” I admitted. “That I could find out why. That there might still be something inside him to turn.”
Skonk groaned dramatically and dropped his forehead to the table. “Why is everyone so obsessed with redemption arcs?”
Twobble elbowed him. “Shut it. Let her speak.”
Limora watched me, the lines around her mouth softer than I’d seen before. “And if you can’t reach him?”
I didn’t have an answer.
“I have spells prepared,” Nova said, her voice drifting from the far end of the table. “We’ve all been working with Maeve. Preparing her defenses. Her mind. Her memory.”
“But what about her heart?” Vivienne asked, not unkindly.
Stella finally broke the tension. “It’s large, messy, full of sass, and unfortunately, very much involved.”
I let out a breath.
“It’s true,” I said. “My heart is tangled up in all of this. And I don’t know if that’s a strength or a mistake.”
Keegan turned toward me at last, voice low. “I think that’s exactly why ithasto be you.”
Silence followed. Not empty, but full. Like everyone at the table, they had taken a piece of that truth and were holding it in their hands.
“We feast tonight,” Lady Limora said softly. “Because we don’t know what waits one night from now. But whatever it is, we face it together.”
The lanterns above us shimmered gold.
And I found, buried under the nerves and doubts and fear… a strange and startling thing.
Hope.
Laughter still lingered at the edges of my mind like soft music, the kind that stayed with you long after the notes faded. The night had shimmered with warmth, with friendship and wine and the steady hum of magic that reminded me why I was still fighting.
But underneath it all, the shadow pulsed.
One night. That was all the time I had. The Veil was already thinning from Moonbeam’s approach, the Wards humming stronger than ever, but the question loomed like storm light behind my ribs. What would I have to give up to break the curse? What would be asked of me? What would be left?
I curled my hands around the cup of my cider, grounding myself. For a fleeting moment, I let myself imagine this was all there was. No curses. No Shadowick. Just friends and food and the faint flutter of fireflies.
And then my gaze lifted toward the street.
He stood just beyond the edge of the café’s patio, lit only by the spill of golden light from the hanging lanterns. Same tailored coat. Same watchful expression. A little more grey at his temples, maybe, but it was him.
Alex.
My breath caught.
Not a ghost. Not a memory. My ex-husband was here, in Stonewick.
A place he hated.
