Chapter Ten
After the brownie debacle, it was like the exhaustion had drained out of me, and now I was back to being the wired witch of perimenopause who couldn’t sleep. I stood at the bookshelf near the door and wondered what I should spend my night reading.
There had to be something useful here. Some forgotten fragment of knowledge might connect the dots between Gideon, the Academy, and the shifting shadows of Stonewick.
Twobble lounged lazily behind me, watching with mild interest.
“Looking for something specific?” he asked.
“Maybe.” My fingers paused on a cracked leather cover. “Or maybe just hoping to find something I didn’t know I needed.”
As my fingers traced the colorful spines, a book warmed under my touch like it was waiting.
I pulled it off the shelf, but a cool touch grazed my shoulder, nearly sending the dusty book flying from my hands. My heart thudded against my ribs as I spun around, expecting—what exactly? I wasn't sure.
Miora stood there, her translucent form flickering slightly in the dim light of the cottage. Her ethereal features were as composed as ever; eyes sparked with that knowing glint she always carried as if she’d been privy to every secret long before I stumbled upon them.
“You really need to center yourself. You’re a little jumpy,” she quipped, her voice a soft echo in the stillness.
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing, and smiled. “Or you could try not sneaking up on people like some Victorian ghost cliche.”
She smirked, drifting closer, her gaze flickering to the open book in my hands. “You found something.”
It wasn’t a question.
I glanced at the aged pages, the delicate script glowing faintly under the flickering candlelight. I opened it, and a passage immediately caught my attention—one that seemed to pulse with quiet importance the moment my eyes skimmed over it.
“It might be about the curse,” I murmured, running my fingers over the faded ink as if the texture could offer more answers. “But it’s written in fragments, almost like someone was trying to hide it in plain sight. The Stonewick way.”
Miora leaned over my shoulder, her presence cool but not unwelcome. “Read it to me.”
I cleared my throat, my voice low as I recited, “When the moon's shadow stretches thin, the protector's heart shall fracture. Bound not by blood but by vow, the curse will claim what duty cannot withstand. Only through the tether of the heart can the cycle be undone.”
The words settled between us, heavy and lingering.
Miora didn’t speak immediately. She floated to the other side of the small room, her expression thoughtful but distant.
“The tether of the heart,” she repeated softly. “It’s not just about magic. It never is. It’s about connections… bonds that defy logic and time.”
I closed the book gently, the spine creaking under the motion. My mind raced, piecing together threads that refused to weave neatly.
“You think this is about Keegan,” I said, not even framing it as a question.
Miora nodded slowly. “And maybe about you, too.”
That thought settled over me like a weight I wasn’t ready to carry.
I stared into the flickering flames, their dance reflected in Miora’s translucent form. The tether of the heart. Was it about love? Duty? Or something else entirely?
“Whatever it is,” Miora added gently, “you’re closer to the answer than you think.”
And for once, her words didn’t feel like a riddle.
They felt like a warning.
The fire had burned low, casting long, flickering shadows across the cottage walls.
Frank’s soft snores created a steady rhythm, like a metronome marking time in the quiet. Twobble quietly perched on the windowsill as if even he had run out of commentary for the evening. The book I’d been reading lay in my lap, its pages heavy with history, magic, and secrets I could barely begin to untangle.
But my mind wasn’t on the words anymore.
I stared into the dying embers.
The glow brushed against my skin like ghostly fingers, and I let my thoughts drift to the curse—Gideon’s curse. It wasn’t just a spell, not some idle flick of power or a petty act of revenge. It was something deeper. Something personal. A wound carved into the very bones of Stonewick.
Something like the passage…A tether…
But why?
That was the question that haunted me more than any shadow or more than any ghost lingering in the halls. What had driven Gideon to cast such an awful, divisive curse that fractured families, unraveled friendships, and left an entire town gasping for breath beneath its weight?
Power?
Maybe. But power was never the root, merely the symptom. The real disease ran deeper, festering in places people didn’t like to admit existed.
I thought about the things that tethered us to this world. The invisible strings knotted around our hearts, binding us to people, places, and moments. Tragedies weren’t only from wars or disasters. They came from broken promises, love twisted into something sharp, trust shattered like glass underfoot.
Power. Love. Deceit.
Those were the true forces behind every great battle, every cursed town, every dark legend whispered in the corners of old books.
Of broken marriages.
Gideon’s curse wasn’t just magic. It was a declaration. A scar left behind to leave his mark.
But why? What had he lost? What had been ripped from him so violently that his only answer was to rip Stonewick apart in return?
Or what did he need to prove?
Was it love? Betrayal? A hunger for something he could never have?
I glanced down at the book again. My fingers brushed over the delicate script. The pages spoke of battles and alliances, ancient pacts broken, and mages falling from grace. But none of it answered the real question.
What had broken Gideon’s heart so badly that he wanted to break the world in return?
Maybe that was the key. Not the magic. Not the history.
The heart.
The heart was where the real curses were born.
Perhaps that was where they could be undone.
I closed the book gently as my mind was still tangled in thoughts.
And somewhere, buried deep in the quiet, I felt it.
The curse wasn’t just on Stonewick.
It was on him, too. Whether Gideon realized it or not, he was part of the curse, chained to it like a prisoner.
A chill skittered over my skin, raising goosebumps along my arms. It wasn’t the draft sneaking in through the crooked windowpanes or the fire burning low in the hearth. The sensation burned from something deeper. Even the air had shifted, aware of the thoughts spiraling through my mind. I was onto something.
The realization settled over me like a heavy cloak. The books, timelines, and spells all mattered, of course. Deciphering the codes woven into the Academy’s history would unlock puzzle pieces. But it wasn’t enough. Not really. Knowledge could only take me so far if I didn’t understand the heart of the curse itself.
Gideon’s curse wasn’t just about power. It wasn’t about the Academy’s magic or Stonewick’s ancient roots.
It was personal.
The thought lodged itself in my chest like a splinter. To undo the curse, I needed more than incantations and forgotten lore. I needed to know him —what fueled his rage, what cracked his heart wide open and left him with nothing but bitterness to stitch it back together.
I glanced down at the book resting in my lap. It felt like staring at a map without a key; the roads were clear, but the destination was hidden. I traced the faded ink with my fingertip, wishing it could whisper its secrets aloud.
Twobble perched on the windowsill, his sharp little eyes reflecting the flicker of the dying fire. He didn’t say anything; he just watched me with that knowing look he always seemed to carry—as if he’d seen more than he let on.
Perhaps he had.
“The Academy needs to open,” I murmured, more to myself than to him. “Soon.”
Because that was the truth gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. The longer it remained dormant, sealed off from the world, the weaker it would become. And the stronger Shadowick would grow, its claws digging deeper into Stonewick’s fragile seams. I could already feel a slow, creeping corruption threading through the town, hidden in shadows and whispered in the spaces between words.
I stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor with a sharp screech. Frank lifted his head, one bleary eye cracking open before deciding I wasn’t worth the effort and flopping back down with a huff. Twobble didn’t flinch.
Pacing helped. I needed movement to keep my thoughts from tangling.
“What if the curse isn’t just about Stonewick?” I said aloud, my voice echoing slightly in the small space. “What if it’s not only about the Academy? About… us?”
Twobble tilted his head, finally blinking. Progress.
I kept going, the words spilling out faster now, fueled by the frantic beat of my heart. “Gideon didn’t just want to destroy Stonewick. He wanted to destroy what it meant . The Academy isn’t just a building. It’s a symbol. A place where magic and knowledge lived, where people were connected. Where people with life experience connected.”
Connected.
That was the word that hit me like a punch to the gut.
The curse didn’t just break spells or seal doors. It severed connections. Between people. Between places. Between magic and the hearts that wielded it.
Maybe that’s what Gideon wanted all along—to isolate. To fracture. Because what’s more devastating than loneliness wrapped in the illusion of power?
I stopped pacing, staring out the window. Snow drifted lazily outside, blanketing the world in deceptive softness. But beneath it, the earth was hard and cold. Frozen.
Like Shadowick.
Like Gideon.
“Understanding him is the key,” I whispered. “Not just what he did, but why .”
Because if I could understand that—if I could find the thread that unraveled him —maybe I could unravel the curse, too.
“That would be too dangerous.” Twobble finally spoke, his voice low and thoughtful. “Curses are like echoes. They carry the voice of the one who cast them, even after the voice is gone.”
I turned to him, heart pounding. “Then maybe it’s time to stop listening to the echo and start listening to the source.”
He didn’t argue. That was something.
I grabbed the book, flipping through the pages with renewed purpose. There had to be something—some hint buried in the history.
Not just of the Academy but of Gideon himself. People don’t become monsters without a story. And every story had a beginning.
The trick was finding it.
I stumbled on a passage halfway through, the ink darker, the handwriting more rushed. Like whoever wrote it had been in a hurry—or desperate. My pulse quickened as I read.
Power doesn’t corrupt. It reveals. The heart laid bare under the weight of what it craves the most.
I traced the words with my finger, feeling their weight settle over me.
What did Gideon crave? What had he lost?
I didn’t have the answers yet, but I knew one thing. To save Stonewick or open the Academy and break the curse, I needed to find out the answers.
Before it was too late.
He was only a little older than Keegan. How did someone so young wield such enormous power forty years ago? Power capable of fracturing a town, sealing an Academy, and cursing an entire generation of magical folk. It didn’t make sense—not the kind that neatly fits into history books or whispered legends.
Magic wasn’t just about skill. It was about intention. Emotion. The fuel behind the fire. So, what gave Gideon that kind of strength? What did his heart crave—or lose—that twisted him into the shadow that still haunted Stonewick?
Power doesn’t corrupt a person. It reveals their natural tendencies.
The words from the book echoed in my mind, refusing to let go. Maybe it wasn’t just about what he wanted. Perhaps it was about what was taken from him. Loss can hollow a person out, leaving them brittle and sharp-edged, desperate to fill the void with anything that stops the ache. Even if that anything is darkness.
I stared at the flickering fire, watching the flames dance and snap.
My thoughts spiraled, tangled with questions I didn’t know how to untangle. Had he been betrayed? Abandoned? Forgotten?
But then I thought of Keegan… His resilience was something to admire.
A knock at the door startled me, sharp and sudden, breaking the fragile thread of my thoughts. I jerked upright, my heart skipping a beat. Frank didn’t move, his snores steady and indifferent. Twobble didn’t even flinch, still perched on the windowsill, lazily flipping through a small, tattered book he’d probably swiped from the town library.
Of course. Nothing ever fazed them.
But me? I felt the pulse of something unfamiliar under my skin.
The knock came again, softer this time, almost hesitant.
I glanced at Twobble, hoping for some flicker of concern and acknowledgment that this could be dangerous. But he just turned a page, utterly disinterested.
“Glad to know I’m the only one worried,” I muttered, moving toward the door.
Frank let out a snort in his sleep, mocking my caution.
I hesitated for just a second before unlocking the door. The cold air rushed in, carrying the faint scent of snow and something else.
And whatever I expected, it wasn’t this.