Page 51 of Magical Mayhem
Chapter Sixteen
The path to the cottage curled off the lane like a ribbon someone had dropped in a hurry, and just seeing it made me relax. It was hard to believe how much had happened since I first set foot here so many months ago. I remember how naïve I was in thinking all I had to do was tend to the gardens, fix up the cottage here and there, and work at the tea shop.
But I wouldn’t trade anything for the world I had now. I had purpose, a new love just beginning, hope, and more fight in me than I knew what to do with.
Evening sank easily onto Stonewick, and as I rounded the hawthorn, I spotted the welcoming porch restored as if it hadn’t been used for a battlefield more times than I’d like to admit.
The chimney leaned a fraction to the left as if it had been listening hard for years and forgot to stand upright again. A row of herb boxes sat under the windows, filled with chamomile, sage, and a cheeky clump of lemon balm that enjoyed dying on me more than not.
I was halfway up the path when a dark shape peeled off the roof and dropped toward me. Karvey landed on the rail with the dignity of someone who’d practiced in mirrors. He cocked his stone head, obsidian eyes taking me apart and putting me back together again. The gargoyle could piece together things about me before I even uttered ahello.
“Are you ill?” he blurted, voice brisk with worry. “You don’t look so good.”
“Hello to you too,” I managed, reaching up to rub his head. The world wobbled a little as I steadied my breath. “I’ve had better days. Keegan… isn’t doing so well back at the Academy.”
Karvey’s head tilted the other way.
“Yes,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. “I thought as much. There’s a weight in the stones when he falters.” His wings shivered, a small, contained tremor. “Your father is inside.”
I froze. “Inside? Here? He was just at the Academy.”
“Well, he’s here.” He nodded. “With an unexpected guest, I might add.”
My heart did a small, unhelpful dance mixed with half dread and half curiosity.
At least the visitor couldn’t be Gideon since he was at the inn.
I looked up at my small haven. The cottage had always been my stabilizer, with its warm walls, a kettle that never judged me, and Miora, who always managed to stitch it back together again.
My father, accompanied by an unexpected guest, was unusual, and it probably meant that I should have turned around and walked back to town.
Instead, I swallowed the wobble in my knees and pushed forward. The steps squeaked as they always did, and Karvey hopped from the post to my porch with the authority of an old friend who had appointed himself watchdog years ago and never relinquished the post.
“I told myself I was coming here to stay out of the Academy’s bustle for an hour. Freshen up. Breathe. Maybe even feel like myself again for a minute.”
Karvey made a face only a statue could make, which is to say it looked like both a grimace and a thin smile. “I don’t think that’s likely to happen.”
“Encouraging,” I muttered.
He was right. The night had that feeling where every promise unraveled to show you the knot underneath.
I sighed and opened the door slightly as the cottage murmured to me through the wood, and the familiar hush of books greeted me first.
The faint scent of oil and cedar mingled with the sweetness from the teapot.
Karvey’s wing brushed my shin.
“Remember,” he murmured, “everyone always has a part to play, whoever it is.”
“Cryptic as usual,” I said, and pushed the door the rest of the way.
Before that moment, though, I made myself notice the small things around me, because inside could be trouble. Inside often was trouble, or at the very least, turmoil or surprises.
But the trusty gargoyle next to me was my balance. I nudged the door the rest of the way.
The cottage greeted me with its gentle clutter, featuring shelves of mismatched trinkets and charms, and a basket of wool with a half-finished project that had begun as a scarf but had evolved into a blanket.
The rug in the sitting room had a new wrinkle in it, and Karvey apparently hated that and hopped down to pat it flat with solemn efficiency, as if nothing else in the world could be right while the rug wore a frown.
