Page 157 of Magical Moonbeam
I nudged him with my shoulder, just enough to make him stumble slightly. He recovered, but his expression changed, just for a moment. He was reading the air again. Every shift in the trees. Every twitch of scent. His shifter instincts were impossible to hide.
“What is it?” I asked quietly.
“We’re being followed.”
I didn’t ask who.
There was only ever one answer now: Gideon. Or something he sent.
We moved faster.
The familiar curve of the path gave way to the first hint of the Butterfly Ward, trailing ivy with blue-tipped leaves and glimmers of light that darted between the branches like fireflies made of memory. The closer we got, the harder it was to breathe.
Not because of the air, but because the Ward washurting.
“She looks ill,” I said.
“Can we fertilize?” Celeste asked, not understanding.
“It’s not that simple,” Keegan murmured. “Magic this old never forgets pain. It just… folds it into itself.”
I reached out and touched a vine.
It recoiled.
Not in fear, but in warning.
“Celeste, stay behind me,” I said, bracing my hand over the small pulse of warmth in my chest. My magic stirred like a sleepy animal, unsure if it was needed or if it was too late.
“I’m not—” Celeste eyed me.
“Behind me,” I said again, gently but firmly. “You saw what happened last time. I won’t risk you being pulled in again.”
Celeste fell back a step, but not before brushing her fingers against my wrist. “Then be careful, okay?”
I nodded.
The vines creaked as we stepped forward. They parted for me, barely, like the Ward still recognized me but was saving its strength for the unknown.
Keegan placed a hand on my back, grounding me. “The light’s wrong.”
“I know.” I could feel it in my bones. The light was fractured. It wasn’t illuminating anymore. It was reflecting, as if it didn’t know what was real.
We crossed the outer threshold of the Ward, and the air shimmered gold.
That should have been comforting.
It wasn’t.
The vines above curled like question marks, and the tiny butterfly lights hovered midair, frozen.
“No flutter,” I whispered. “No movement.”
“That’s not a good sign, right?” Celeste asked.
“No,” Keegan and I said in unison.
A soft sound carried on the wind, then, barely audible, like wings but broken ones.
