Magical Musing (Stonewick Magical Midlife Witch Academy #2)

Chapter Nine

The familiar curve of the path to my cottage felt like a warm embrace after everything I’d been through. I couldn't even think straight between worrying that I was about to lose Keegan and vowing to the Academy I’d return. Not to mention a shifter? The deeper I sank into Stonewick’s ways, the more magical the every day became.

The fading light painted the sky in soft streaks of pink and orange, which looked like a marvelous winter painting with the white wrapping the limbs of the trees and the blanket of snow on the forest floor.

The cool air smelled faintly of pine and ice, crisp with the promise of night. As soon as the little stone structure came into view, my heart lifted, light and untethered. It was a surprisingly balmy night for Wisconsin, the temperature hovering in the low-thirties, just enough to keep the snow and ice around but warm enough to make me swelter after the brisk walk to my cottage with Frank in my arms for most of the way.

But there it was.

Home.

The naked vines crept up the sides of the walls. Icicles dangled from the roofline in a sparkling display.

A faint ribbon of smoke puffed out the slightly crooked chimney, and I assumed Twobble must be inside, keeping things warm.

But the best part was that I loved every perfectly imperfect inch.

My exhaustion didn’t disappear, but it lessened, dulled by the simple joy of being back in a space that was mine. Frank snorted beside me, his stubby legs working overtime as I placed him on the snowy path. He trotted ahead like he was personally responsible for escorting me.

But then something caught my eye.

I squinted at the roof, expecting to see Karvey and his buddy, the cranky little gargoyles who’d made themselves my self-appointed rooftop sentinels. Sure enough. They were hunched on the edge, their wings tucked in, their usual scowls carved into their stone faces.

Only they weren’t alone.

Three more gargoyles had joined them on the roof. Smaller than the originals but just as grumpy looking, with varying degrees of chipped ears, cracked wings, and expressions that ranged from bored disdain to outright contempt. One was perched lopsided as if they couldn’t be bothered to sit properly. I half expected it to start filing its nails while yawning at me, while another seemed mid-snarl, frozen forever in a silent growl. One was lanky, the other portly, and the other similar to Karvey.

“Well,” I muttered, tilting my head, “this is new.”

Karvey didn’t move, but I could’ve sworn his scowl deepened.

Frank, unimpressed as always, just snorted and marched toward the door like he had better things to do than worry about rooftop politics.

I followed, shaking my head with a tired chuckle. He was probably wiser than us all.

Inside, the cottage greeted me like an old friend. The fire was already crackling, casting flickering shadows along the walls. I inhaled deeply, the scent of woodsmoke and something faintly sweet lingering in the air—lavender, maybe, or some leftover charm woven into the history of this place.

Then I saw him.

Twobble.

He was sitting by the hearth, his small body hunched over and small arms folded on his chest. He looked like he’d been waiting forever and wasn’t impressed with my tardiness. His large, luminous eyes blinked slowly when he spotted me.

“Well, hello to you too,” I said, dropping my bag near the door and kicking off my shoes with a groan of relief.

Twobble didn’t respond—not with words, anyway.

The little goblin gave an exaggerated sigh, rolled his eyes, and turned back to face the fire, clearly embodying the spirit of goblin disapproval.

Frank plopped down beside him, and their silent companionship was oddly comforting.

Despite the exhaustion pulling at me, I smiled.

My new normal.

My heart felt full in a way I hadn’t expected. Maybe because even in the strangest corners of my life—grumpy gargoyles, snarky goblins, stubborn bulldogs—I’d found a kind of magic that felt like home.

I sank into the worn armchair by the fire and let out a sigh that felt like it came from the depths of my soul.

The Academy.

Keegan is a cursed shifter.

The fire’s warmth embraced me like a blanket, easing the tension in my shoulders. We’d been through so much with Keegan, and I still couldn’t completely wrap my head around what I had just witnessed or what it meant for the future of Stonewick… for Keegan.

“Thanks for starting the fire, Twobble.”

No answer.

Frank let out a contented grunt, curling up into a squishy loaf of bulldog by the hearth. Twobble sat stiff as a board, his tiny body twitching with indignation. He was definitely holding something in.

It had to be the most passive-aggressive posture I’d ever seen from a goblin, which was saying something.

I watched him for a beat, waiting.

Nothing. Just a little huff and a pointed tilt of his head with two gigantic ears contracting in annoyance.

“Okay,” I said slowly, squinting at him. “What’s with the silent treatment? Did I offend you, or is this just part of your new mysterious aesthetic now that I returned from the Academy?”

No response.

Not even a little snarky one.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

“Is it about the new gargoyles? Because, in my defense, they showed up uninvited. I didn’t send out a flyer. I was perfectly content with just us. I like our cottage unit.”

Nothing.

“Are you mad I didn’t bring you Stella’s muffin?” I pressed. “Because I was emotionally fragile. And also very tired. Never in a million years did I expect to see Keegan with…”

Twobble spun around so fast I nearly fell out of my chair. His little green arms crossed tightly over his chest, and his face twisted in pure, righteous indignation.

“Oh, now you’ve got something to say,” I muttered, suppressing a smile.

“You didn’t invite me to Keegan’s house , ” Twobble snapped, his voice high-pitched with fury. “It only happens once every ten years.”

I blinked. “I barely knew of it myself. Nova hauled me out of the Academy.”

“Likely story.”

I stared at him, exhaustion temporarily forgotten.

“Wait… you’re mad because I didn’t invite you to Keegan’s near-death experience? Was I supposed to send carrier pigeons? Have Stella come get you?”

“Yes!” Twobble flailed his tiny arms. “Do you know how rare it is to witness a shifting recovery like that? No one has continually resisted shifting. I could’ve documented it.”

“Have you been before?” I asked.

“Yes. Only because he happened to be here when it happened last time.”

“Twobble, it wasn’t a party. There were no snacks. Keegan was basically unconscious. I didn’t even know what was happening.” I frowned at the little green guy.

His forehead creased. “You had muffins. You said so yourself.”

I shook my head and bit back a chuckle. “Since when have you ever waited for an invitation?”

“That’s not the point!” he squeaked, stomping one tiny foot with a marshmallow's force. “The point is, I’m part of this narrative , Maeve. I have a role to play. I can’t be left out of the good stuff.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll make sure to send you a formal invitation to the next life-or-death crisis.”

Twobble paused mid-stomp, considering this. “With waxed calligraphy. It’s classier.”

I snorted, making some tea.

He still gave me a look that said he wasn’t completely over it, which wasn’t on my to-do list for the day. I had no intention of insulting goblins today or any day. They had far more access to magic than I ever could. They even had special moss that glowed. There was no way I wanted to cross that threshold.

Frank snored loudly, clearly unimpressed with both of us.

The heat of the fire finally seeped into the tired edges of my bones, and I sighed.

Twobble cleared his raspy throat. “I’m hungry.”

My eyes darted to the goblin, and I smiled. “You’re hungry?”

“If I said it, I meant it.”

I let out a chuckle and shook my head. “I have some really bad news.”

“What’s that?”

“Since I’ve been at the Academy longer than I thought, whatever is in the fridge is bad besides the cheese, and I didn’t stock up the pantry much before…”

Twobble’s little hand shot into the air in disgust. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“Excuses.”

“Twobble, it’s not an excuse. It’s a fact.”

He pinched his nose and let out a suffocating groan. “And what are you, Maeve?”

“Umm.” I glanced around the cozy room. “I’m umm…tired, worried, confused.”

Twobble frowned and shook his head to interrupt me. “I didn’t ask how you were feeling. I asked what are you?”

I smiled and nodded. “Oh. Sorry. I’m a mom, ex-wife, daughter.”

His green forehead wrinkled in disgust. “A witch. Maeve. A witch. You. Are. A. Witch.”

“Oh, sorry. Yes, I’m hoping to be one. Yes.”

“You are one.” His frown only deepened. “The Academy wouldn’t have invited you in if you weren’t one, which means only one thing…”

My stomach knotted. “What’s that?”

“That the least you should be able to do is a simple food spell. I’ll be your guinea pig.” He clapped his hands quickly. “Scoot. Whip up something with one of those recipe cards on the top shelf behind the vinegar.”

I cocked my head slightly. “Recipe cards?”

“Yes, recipe cards. Haven’t you snooped around?”

“As much as time has allowed. Yeah, but I didn’t remove everything from each cabinet and…” I stopped and looked into Twobble's big, glossy eyes and just smiled. “My mistake. I’ll give it a stab.”

Twobble, now sufficiently less offended from our earlier discussion, hovered nearby.

I sipped my tea and stretched, glancing into the dark woods. It was hard to believe so much had happened in such a short period. Anyone who stepped foot in this cottage wouldn’t know that Gryphons used the roof as a landing pad or that I’d gotten my first taste of Stonewick in battle.

Listen to me.

Celeste would think I was off my rocker.

And maybe I was.

I heard a slight scratching and thumps above and smiled, thinking about the gargoyles who called this cottage home. One thing I was quickly learning about magic was that everyone had a place and a time.

And even though the Academy seemed to have me figured out, I did not have much of me figured out at all.

I couldn’t help but laugh softly at how inept I truly was when it came to magic. “Hey, Twobble?”

“Did you forget about the food or…” His shoulders pinched together in annoyance.

I pointed toward the window with my mug.

“No. I haven’t forgotten about your food, but I have to talk myself into it. Magic doesn’t always come easy to me.”

“Hogwash.”

I ignored him. “What’s the deal with the extra gargoyles? I thought Karvey and his sidekick were doing just fine being grumpy on their own. Did he start a club while I was gone?”

“Don’t you remember what happened a few weeks ago?”

I frowned, tilting my head. “Uh, you’ll have to be more specific. My life’s been a highlight reel of chaos lately.”

Twobble rolled his large eyes so dramatically that I was convinced he’d practiced it in the mirror.

“The cottage almost got blown to bits, Maeve. You know, magical explosion, structural instability, debris flying everywhere… Ring any bells?”

I blinked. “Oh. Right. That little incident.”

He threw his tiny hands in the air, wings buzzing with indignation.

“That little incident? Maeve, we were one poorly timed Gryphon sneeze away from having an open-concept floor plan!”

I chuckled, setting my mug down and stretching my legs toward the fire. “And here I thought the extra gargoyles were to protect me.”

“The cottage. Always the cottage. The Stone Ward is vitally important.” Twobble snorted. “But, oh, sure, let’s go with that. It sounds much nobler than the truth.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Which is?”

“The new gargoyles are basically magical duct tape,” Twobble said flatly. “Karvey made a maintenance request to the gargoyle network and voilà—reinforcements. They’re here to stabilize the protective Wards and, you know, make sure your roof doesn’t spontaneously combust.”

“Miora did an incredible job rebuilding the cottage,” I pointed out.

“Indeed. But Karvey feels the damage never should have happened in the first place.”

I choked on my tea, laughing.

“You think gargoyles just sit around brooding for fun? Well, okay—some of them do. But Karvey’s very dedicated to his job. His paperwork is impeccable, and he’s efficient. He knows what’s coming.”

“What’s coming,” I repeated with a sigh. “I wish I did.”

Twobble shook his head and patted my arm. “No, you really don’t want to know that. The element of surprise is much better in this case.”

“I’ll have to remember that.” I shook my head.

It was kind of reassuring to have them here, and they felt less like creepy stone decorations and more like…odd little guardians.

Grumpy.

Judgmental.

Magically-inclined guardians.

“It’s weird. Even with everything that’s happened, this place feels more like home than anywhere I’ve ever been.”

Twobble didn’t respond right away. For all his dramatic flair and tendency toward sass, he had a knack for knowing when to be quiet.

“Maybe that’s because you’re finally where you’re supposed to be.”

I glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. His glowing eyes met mine, no sarcasm, no snark—just truth.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Maybe.”

The fire burned low, filling the space between us. Frank let out a particularly loud snore, his jowls flapping with the force of it, and the moment shifted back into something lighter.

“So,” I said, clearing my throat, “should I be worried about the gargoyles staging a coup? Or is Karvey still running a tight ship?”

Twobble smirked. “Oh, Karvey’s in charge. Trust me.”

“Okay. Now, onto your food.” I stood and walked into the kitchen, but my mind drifted—unbidden—to Gideon and Shadowick.

The fire couldn’t quite reach the chill that crept in with the memory of his name, the tangled threads of unanswered questions and half-formed fears.

The Academy had its secrets, but so did Shadowick—secrets woven into the very ground, into the spaces between words left unsaid.

But so did Stonewick.

“I’d like to put in a request,” Twobble said, climbing onto the counter in front of me and hopping onto his two bare feet.

The little guy reached for the cabinet door, swung it open, moved the vinegar, and appeared with an old wooden box, which he handed me with force. “Brownies.”

“You want me to conjure up some brownies?”

He nodded and smiled. “I have full faith in you.”

I wiped my hands on my apron and leveled a look at Twobble, who was perched on the counter, swinging his little legs as he watched me with far too much enthusiasm.

“You sure about this?” I asked, eyeing the bowl in front of me.

“Maeve, you’ve been getting better at spells every day,” Twobble said, grinning. “And, more importantly, I want brownies. So, let’s get to it.”

I sighed, but the truth was, I wanted brownies, too. And I was feeling reasonably confident about my conjuring abilities. At least, I would say more optimistic than last time when I’d accidentally turned my tea into something that smelled suspiciously like pond water.

I gathered a mixing bowl, square pan, and spatula before taking a breath.

Staring at the recipe card for sweet treats, I focused and flicked my fingers over the mixing bowl while whispering the incantation.

“By cocoa’s aroma and sugar’s sweet,

From flour’s dust to something sweet,

Bake and rise, a warm delight, rich and gooey, pure with might.”

Twobble looked at me and grimaced. “You sure it was might at the end of your little saying?”

“Might?” My brows furrowed, and I glanced at the card. “Oh, no…It should have been pure with right . Are you sure I said might?”

The air swirled with sweetness, the scent of cocoa thickening around us.

“It smells okay,” I said, watching and waiting.

Twobble looked unconvinced.

For a second, everything seemed to be going perfectly. A warm, gooey brownie square materialized in the dish, rich and fudgy.

“Phew.” I glanced at Twobble.

Then it exploded.

Not just a little pop, either.

A full-on chocolate detonation.

A shower of molten brownie batter splattered across the kitchen, coating the walls, the counter, and my face.

Twobble, miraculously untouched, blinked at me, his mouth twitching.

I wiped a glob of chocolate from my cheek and arched a brow at him. “Say it.”

Twobble clamped his lips together, but his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

“Say it,” I repeated, narrowing my eyes.

He tried.

He really did. But then he burst out laughing, clutching his little sides.

“Okay, okay—maybe I am worried about the magic a little,” he confessed.

I groaned, reaching for another towel as Frank trotted into the kitchen, took one look at me, snorted, and turned right back around.

Even the dog was judging me.

Twobble wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning. “I mean, they almost turned out.”

I sighed, shaking my head as I surveyed the disaster zone that was now my kitchen.

Twobble hopped off the counter and patted my hand. “You know what? Maybe next time, let’s just bake them the normal way.”

I huffed a laugh. “Yeah, next time.”

Grabbing a wet rag, I cleaned up anywhere I spotted chocolate as Twobble glanced at me. He snapped his fingers, and a smore appeared between his fingers.

My hand whipped to my hip, and I shook my head. “Are you serious?”

He winked at me and took a bite as I finished cleaning.