Page 115 of Magical Moonbeam
He sniffed my knee in a rare moment of dog-like affection, then trotted over to the hearth and pawed at the old blanket he liked to drag around when he was feeling restless.
I understood. I was restless too. Restless and terrified and angry in ways I didn’t know how to name.
Because this was it.
The Veil was thinning. The moon had spoken. And I was being asked to walk into a world that had once only existed in illusions and dreams, and take my dad with me.
“What if I fail?” I whispered.
Frank walked over and nudged me again, this time with enough force to nearly topple me sideways.
“Okay,” I said with a soft laugh. “Rude. But fair.”
I stared into the fire for a long time. Let the heat sear some of the fear from my bones. Let the truth of what was ahead sink in.
Shadowick wasn’t just the shadow town.
It was a wound.
A waiting wound full of whispers, secrets, and twisted roots that had taken hold of my life long before I ever set foot back in Stonewick.
And now, I had to go back into that wound, drag my family with me, and hope that somehow, it wouldn’t consume us whole.
“I need to talk to Nova,” I said, mostly to myself.
My dad stood, shaking out his coat, and looked at me with that same patient, knowing expression that reminded me he wasn’t just a dog. Not really.
He was still my dad.
And he was ready to fight.
“You’re going to stay hidden,” I told him again, firmer now. “Promise me. Only come out if everything goes wrong. I mean,reallywrong.”
He gave a single short bark, and I took that as agreement.
I stood, brushing off my pants and swallowing the lump in my throat.
“Alright,” I said softly. “Let’s get ready.”
Because this wasn’t a dream anymore.
This was the day the Veil opened.
And blood would keep me anchored.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I trailed my hand along the stone walls of the Academy as I walked, pausing here and there to press my palm flat against the cool grooves, as if I could absorb a little of the building’s strength through osmosis. The Academy always felt alive, more than stone and stairways and drifting candlelight. It breathed, and it remembered.
And now it was watching once again.
I paused beneath a carved archway, the morning sun slanting through the leaded glass, painting a dozen pale colors across the floor like spilled hope. My heart thudded against my ribs, a dull percussion of nerves and resolve.
Moonbeam didn’t care for calendars or mortal certainty. It had risen already. Which meant… everything had shifted.
My fingers tightened along the edge of a windowsill as I stared out toward the edge of the grounds.
I wasn’t ready. But maybe that was the point. No one ever truly was.
