Page 58 of Magical Mayhem
Instead, I breathed through my nose and tried to look like someone not about to combust in her own living room.
Mom tilted her head, eyes sharp and amused. “Darling, you’ve always had a flair for overbooking yourself.”
“I’m not overbooked,” I said tightly. “I’m… multitasking, and I’ve had no say in the matter.”
“She has a lot on her plate,” my dad said softly. “And she’s handling it all well.”
The thing was, I couldn’t even kick them out. Not Dad—he was just reacquainting himself with two legs. Not Mom—though, believe me, I considered it.
She set her cup down, gaze swiveling toward me like a hawk sizing up a field mouse. “You can’t keep all these secrets, Maeve. You’ll split in half.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” I muttered. “I’ll embroider that on a pillow.”
Miora’s voice drifted up from the cellar, tart as lemon zest: “Make it athrow pillow. Easier to launch.”
I pressed my palms into my knees and stood. “Alright. I need to get back. To the Academy. To Keegan.”
Mom arched a brow. “And what about theother business?”
My father’s eyes softened, but his voice was grave. “She means Gideon.”
“Don’t say his name!” I snapped, then winced. “It feels like summoning.”
The room went quiet enough that even Karvey’s claws scraping across the roof overhead sounded like commentary.
“How did you know about him?” I asked my dad.
He glanced at Karvey, who was peering through the window, and I scowled.
The gargoyle network was impeccable.
This balancing act would break anyone else. Keegan pulling one way, Gideon the other, the students watching, the curse stretching thin as taffy. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. Unfortunately, my worst enemy was also part of the juggling act.
The Academy was no place for my mom’s sharp elbows and unsolicited wisdom, while she’s getting reacquainted with her witch cap, and she certainly couldn’t stay at Keegan’s inn this time with Gideon secretly tucked away there.
The mental image of my mom running into him at the breakfast buffet made me sweat harder than any shadow curse.
So, I did the only thing I could. I pointed at the couch.
“You,” I told Mom. “Stay here. At the cottage.”
Her mouth pinched. “The cottage? Really?”
“It’s cozy,” I said. “And safe. And away from… everything else.”
From below, Miora hissed like a kettle boiling over. “Temporary!”
The cellar door rattled in agreement.
I ignored it, plastering on my best headmistress-in-control face.
“You can rest here. Knit. Criticize the wallpaper. Whatever you want,” I continued.
Mom pursed her lips, eyes glinting with something halfway between amusement and mutiny. “Well. At least it has character, and it’s not like I haven’t homesteaded here before. Though that relative downstairs—”
“Miora,” I cut in quickly. “She’ll… warm up to you again.”
“She didn’t last time.” My mom shrugged.
