Page 131 of Magical Mayhem
And it would be on me.
I straightened my shoulders, forcing the thought into the back of my mind. There would be time for grief later. For now, I needed them whole. I needed them ready.
“Pair with your instructors,” I said firmly, raising my hand until the noise softened. “Remember what you carry. Remember what you are. Malore’s shadows will not win because they cannot mimic what we hold: each other.”
The hall moved then, chairs scraping, voices lifting again as students stood and began gravitating toward their chosen teachers. Nova gathered her cluster near the window, Ember near the hearth, Ardetia by the fountain centerpiece, Bella in a corner already laughing with her group, Stella fussing and preening as she waved hers closer, Lemonia drawing runes in the air as her students leaned in to copy them.
It wasn’t chaos. It was motion with purpose.
I stood at the center of it all, watching the pieces shift into place, and I felt the faintest tug of hope.
Not safety. Not certainty. But hope.
And maybe that was enough to carry us forward into the storm.
I turned slightly, catching Keegan’s gaze across the hall. His hazel eyes were tired, shadowed, but when they met mine, they softened. He nodded once, as if to say:Yes. This is how we stand.
But behind that look, I still saw the doubt. The pain. The weight of his mother’s silence and his father’s absence.
And I knew the shadows weren’t finished.
Not by a long shot.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I eyed the women and creatures before me in awe. The Academy had opened its doors for this very purpose. For midlife witches, shifters, and fae who had thought their days of magic were over. For the second chances, the forgotten, the ones who carried scars like talismans. And now here they were, sleeves rolled up, wands and charms in hand, ready to defend the place that had called them home.
I swallowed hard. I couldn’t let myself think about what might happen if I failed them.
Nova stood at the tall windows, speaking in that quiet voice that made people lean in, whether they wanted to or not. She was teaching her cluster how to scry not in bowls of water, but in the shifting fog outside the glass. A woman with streaks of silver in her hair gasped as an image shimmered into focus, and Nova only inclined her head, encouraging her to look again.
Across the room, Ardetia knelt by the fountain centerpiece, vines snaking over her fingers as she showed her group how to knot their strength into talismans. The witches and shifters mimicked her motions, clumsy at first, but laughter soon bubbled when a charm sparked bright enough to make a sprite sneeze midair.
Bella’s group was louder, of course. She perched on the edge of a table, tail flicking, demonstrating how a fox movesunseen through shadow. Her students laughed nervously when she shifted mid-sentence, fur rippling into place before she disappeared entirely. Their laughter turned into applause when she reappeared behind them, smirking as she tapped one witch on the shoulder.
Stella had gathered her cluster near the long side of the hall. Folk amulets, sachets, and teapots clinked together as she handed out bundles. “Every household trick is a shield if you do it right,” she declared, pressing a sprig of rosemary into one student’s hand and a string of dried apples into another’s. “You think this is nothing? Try telling that to a shadow who doesn’t like flavor.”
Ember hovered by the hearth, her glow dim but steady. She was showing her group how to bind memory into charms, drawing on the warmth of shared stories. The students leaned close, recounting the names of lost family and friends, knitting them into the circle Ember traced. Their faces softened, eyes shining with grief and love, and the Wards became stronger for it.
Lemonia worked with quiet precision, her chalk etching sigils onto the floor as her students copied her lines. Runes bloomed into light, steady and orderly, and those who had felt scattered only moments ago now stood taller, their magic flowing into form.
I walked among them, listening, watching, my chest aching with pride. And guilt. Always guilt.
They had trusted me to lead them into this. And if I failed…
No. I couldn’t think like that. Not here, not now.
The Academy opened its doors for this. For them. For me. For Stonewick.
I was in the center of the hall when movement caught my eye.
Two women crossing toward me.
The first was my mother. Her steps were purposeful, and her expression was unreadable in the way that always made me brace. The second was Keegan’s mother, silver hair gleaming even under the dim lanterns, her bearing regal despite the weight in her eyes.
Together, they cut through the groups like a knife through silk. Conversations faltered as the students noticed, some whispering, others simply staring. The two women did not falter or hurry; they simply came straight to me.
My mouth went dry. I glanced instinctively toward Keegan, but he was busy with Ardetia’s group, his attention fixed on the students there. Good. For now.
