Chapter Sixteen
I trudged up the cottage steps, wrapping my arms around myself against the chill as a familiar squabble reached my ears. The low rumbling of stone voices bickering back and forth, punctuated by the occasional flap of heavy wings, made me pause.
Not again.
Karvey was standing to the side. His arms crossed over his broad, carved chest, entirely uninvolved this time.
I sighed. “Please tell me this isn’t another argument about which part of the house is more important to guard.”
He turned his head toward me, his deep-set eyes glinting with amusement. “No, it’s about something far more dire this time.”
I blinked. “Oh?”
“The positioning of the holiday garland.”
I groaned and glanced up at the roof.
Sure enough, Trinity and Horny, who had a particularly aggressive stance for someone arguing about decorative placement, were mid-dispute, gesturing wildly toward the eaves.
From what I could gather, Trinity believed the garland should be draped evenly, while Horny insisted that a slightly off-kilter angle would be more aesthetically dynamic.
Karvey sighed. “It was peaceful before decorations.”
I rubbed my temple. “If you say so.”
Trinity caught sight of me and immediately pointed a stony claw. “Maeve! Tell him that symmetry is important.”
I was stunned that she was talking to me, but I knew this opportunity couldn’t be missed.
“I—”
Horny turned to me. “Tell her that an organic flow gives the appearance of elegance and tradition.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I am not refereeing garland placement. You’re gargoyles. Guardians. Fearsome stone protectors of ancient magic. Maybe let the holiday spirit rest, but make it symmetrical.”
Trinity eyed me happily.
Karvey, wisely, said nothing and instead hopped down from his perch, landing beside me with a solid thud.
“Coming inside?” I asked.
He gave a slow nod. “It’s cold.”
“Says the being made of literal stone.”
Karvey didn’t dignify that with a response and merely followed me in. Frank walked into the house with a slow, assessing stare and trotted to his spot by the fireplace.
“You weren’t going to get involved in that argument?” I asked as I put the kettle on.
Karvey settled himself near the hearth, folding his wings back. “I’ve learned to pick my battles.”
“Smart,” I mused, snapping the fire on with my fingers. Maybe magic was coming a little easier. “Wish I had that ability.”
He let out a quiet rumble of amusement but didn’t comment. Instead, he watched the flickering firelight, his expression shifting slightly, growing distant.
After a moment, I leaned against the counter, studying him. “What worries you most about Shadowick?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he weighed his words. His stony brow furrowed ever so slightly. “They are… determined.”
That was an understatement.
“They’ve been at this for so long,” he continued. “Long before Gideon. The darkness crept into their magic centuries ago, and they let it take root. They believe the curse is a testament to their suffering, but it is their tether. It’s Gideon’s tether. They cannot let go of it any more than they can let go of their hatred.”
I shivered, not entirely from the cold. “So, breaking the curse…”
Karvey’s gaze met mine. “Will not be the end of them. But it will be the beginning of something else.”
That wasn’t exactly comforting.
I poured hot water into a mug, watching the steam drift into the air.
“And what about the Academy? Do you think it has a chance to thrive again?”
Karvey’s expression softened a little. “Yes.”
I exhaled, relieved. “Why?”
He tilted his head. “Because it chose you, and I like you.”
The words landed with an unexpected weight, settling deep in my bones. The Academy—its magic, sentience, strange, slumbering existence had let me in and guided me to some of its secrets.
“But I’m merely a student trying to make things add up.”
“Oh, Maeve…” His throaty voice etched a place in my heart. “Do you think that’s all you’re meant to be? That your familial connections and uncanny ability to understand this world is just for you to gobble up information?”
I didn’t know what to say.
“This is big, Maeve. Very big. It will continue to be at your own pace and the speed of the Academy’s will, but I believe in your heart that you know you’re destined to be more than a student.”
The truth in his words stung me to look at the reality of the situation in a way I had avoided. I’d gotten so used to sideways answers and flipped questions that I wouldn’t allow myself to wonder about the possibility of my role at the Academy, and it took Karvey to unlock that wonder.
“Do you think I can do it?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended. “Whatever it is?”
Karvey didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
The certainty in his tone startled me. I had spent so long second-guessing myself, wondering if I was even supposed to be here and if I was making a mistake trying to put myself in the middle of something I barely understood. But hearing that unwavering confidence from someone—something—who had seen centuries of conflict and protected the Academy long before I knew it existed… meant something.
I swallowed hard. “Well, that makes one of us.”
Karvey let out a low hum. “Doubt is human.”
“That’s an understatement.”
Karvey let out a deep rumble of amusement. “Humans love to doubt every step they take, while gargoyles? We know nothing other than the importance of firm decisions.”
“What happens if your firm decision is wrong?” I asked simply.
“Then we make another firm decision that will be right because the lesson would have been undoubtedly harsh, but we always keep it moving.” He studied me. “Something that is far more damaging than the wrong decision is no decision. Remember that.”
“Always?”
He nodded. “Just about.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do.” Karvey glanced toward the door. “You will leave to see your daughter soon.”
I tensed slightly. “Yes.”
Karvey nodded as if this were simply a fact to acknowledge, not something to argue over. “Then I will ensure that no one follows you as best I can, but I’m afraid you won’t be alone.”
I blinked. “Wait—really? You’re not going to tell me it’s a bad idea?”
Karvey’s wings shifted slightly. “I do not tell people what to do. I simply prepare for what will come.”
Something about that answer sent a chill through me. Not necessarily bad, but one that settled beneath my ribs, whispering that things were shifting faster than I realized.
I exhaled slowly, nodding. “Thank you.”
“Midlife’s weird enough with kids leaving for college and perimenopause making me forget why I walked into a room,” I muttered. “But now I’m having full conversations with gargoyles like it’s normal.” I glanced at him and shrugged.
He frowned. “Who says it isn’t?”
I chuckled and nodded. “Still better company than my ex.”
“I’m not sure I’m supposed to be flattered or insulted. Your ex sounds like a real dud.”
I grinned, nodding. “Yeah, he really was.”
“Rest tonight, Maeve. Tomorrow will come regardless.”
It sounded suspiciously like wisdom, but I was too tired to unpack it. Instead, I sat beside the fire, sipping my tea and watching the flames dance. Karvey sat beside me, silent and steady, as if he had all the time in the world.
And maybe, in his way, he did. Four other gargoyles were stationed outside with holiday spirit, and I got the distinct feeling that Karvey didn’t want any part of it.
His stone ears twitched as the muffled arguing outside reached a new peak. The voices turned higher, more insistent. He let out a long-suffering sigh and flexed his wings slightly as he turned toward the front door.
“I should go,” he said, his gravelly voice laced with exasperation. “Time to settle this before someone does something irreversible. Again.”
I stepped toward the door and opened it for him.
“Go work your magic—or, you know, sprinkle your ancient gargoyle wisdom. I’ll be here if you need backup.”
He nodded solemnly. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
Karvey launched into the night with a mighty leap, his wings cutting through the air. I watched him go, shaking my head.
Just another night in Stonewick.
I locked the door behind me, momentarily pressing my back against it and exhaling slowly. The day had been long, my brain full of riddles and spells, conversations that circled in my head like wayward storm clouds. I was starving but also too tired to cook anything substantial. A quick snack would do—something easy.
Dragging myself into the kitchen, I grabbed a box of stale crackers, placed them on the counter, and rummaged through the cabinets for something to make them more interesting. Peanut butter? Too messy. Cheese? Didn’t feel like grating. A spell? Now that had potential.
Practice made perfect, right?
I flipped open one of my books and skimmed through the pages until I landed on something promising.
Enhancement Enchantment: A Simple Charm for Boosting Flavor and Satisfaction.
Sounded harmless enough, and the wine worked out well.
I muttered the incantation over the crackers, envisioning the most delectable, buttery, flaky bite possible. A faint shimmer coated the food, and I grinned, feeling a slight sense of accomplishment.
Finally, something is working in my favor.
Food spells were my jam.
Then I took a bite.
And gagged.
The texture turned chalky, like eating a handful of dry plaster, and the flavor—if I could even call it that—was somehow both burnt and raw at the same time. I coughed, spitting the mess into the sink, and groaned.
“Great. I can’t even manage a snack spell, and I’m supposed to be important to the Academy.” I couldn’t even laugh at the irony.
But a delicate chuckle echoed through the room from behind me. A cool shiver rippled down my spine, and I smiled.
“Oh, please,” came a familiar voice. “That little mishap is hardly worth the existential crisis. Since when have you been a woman who is a Debbie Downer? You’re resilient. You’re a fighter. You’re a believer. And Stonewick has a grocery store. You just need to make time to go there.”
I turned, finding Miora hovering near the pantry, her form slightly more defined than usual. She floated effortlessly like someone who’d spent an eternity doing it.
“I’ll put that on the list.” I waved a hand at the ruined crackers. “So, you saw that, huh?”
She nodded, her lips quirking. “I see most things.”
“I just—I don’t know. It’s stupid, but sometimes it feels like I’m trying so hard to fit into this world, and it keeps spitting me out like a hairball. I mean, I’m not completely incompetent, right?”
Miora tilted her head. “Well… you just ruined a perfectly good box of crackers.”
“They were stale to begin with.” I shot her a look, and she chuckled.
“But,” she continued, floating a little closer, “you also opened the Academy’s doors after decades of silence. You deciphered part of an ancient curse. You’ve made allies of creatures most wouldn’t even acknowledge exist.” She gestured toward the window where Karvey had just disappeared. “So, if we’re tallying things up, I’d say you’re doing fairly well.”
I sighed, my fingers idly tracing the edge of the counter.
“I just wish I knew how to do things right the first time. It feels like I’m always fumbling through, figuring things out too late.”
“You’re persistent like your father.” Miora’s expression softened. “Trial and error is how magic works, Maeve. And life, for that matter.” She paused, her gaze drifting momentarily before adding, “Do you know how long I spent in this cottage, convinced that my unfinished business would never be resolved? That I was simply meant to linger in between, never quite here, never quite gone?”
I hesitated, taken aback by her rare moment of vulnerability. “How long?”
“Longer than I care to admit. And yet, now, here you are—stirring things up, shaking the dust off of everything, making me feel as though maybe, just maybe, the waiting had a purpose.”
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Miora…”
She waved a hand, dismissing the sentiment. “I’m not looking for pity. I’m simply saying that we don’t always see the point of things while we’re in them. It took me forever to understand that, and I had nothing but time. On the other hand, you have been in this world for a blink of an eye and are already questioning whether you belong.” She arched an eyebrow. “Have you considered the possibility that the world is adjusting to you instead?”
That thought hadn’t occurred to me. I always felt like I was catching up like an outsider trying to learn the rules of a game that had already started long before I arrived. But what if the game was changing because of me?
I glanced down at the ruined crackers and smirked. “Well, if I am making the world adjust to me, I think I need to get the numbers for some takeout places.”
Miora laughed, the sound light and airy. “See? Now, that’s just smart. Lean into your strengths and ignore your weaknesses.”
I nodded. “Good call.” I grabbed a piece of cheese from the fridge, cut a few slices the old-fashioned way, and popped one into my mouth. “See? No spell disasters.”
Miora gave an approving nod. “A miracle indeed.”
I rolled my eyes, but a genuine smile tugged at my lips. For all my doubts, for all the things I hadn’t figured out yet, I wasn’t alone in this. Whether it was a snarky ghost, a grumpy gargoyle, or a town full of magic, I was still unraveling. I had people—spirits, creatures—who saw something in me worth betting on.
Maybe I needed to start betting on myself, too.