Chapter Thirty-Six
Snow still dusted the windowsills of my cottage the day after Christmas, and every time I glanced outside, I felt a swelling sense of contentment.
The world looked calm, draped in that soft hush that followed a fresh snowfall.
Although I was still reeling from recent revelations—my father’s true identity, my expanding responsibilities in Stonewick, and the Academy’s endless secrets—I felt lighter.
Christmas had brought unity. Even with the town’s mysteries swirling around us, I had Frank by my side, my father disguised as my faithful English bulldog, but with me in the only way he could be.
The fire in the hearth crackled, driving away the winter chill. I sat cross-legged on the couch in my softest sweater, cradling a green tea while Frank sprawled contentedly at my feet, chin resting on the rug.
A month ago, I would have laughed myself silly if someone had claimed my father was a bulldog. Now, it felt surprisingly right.
And he really had cozied right up to me at the tea shop the first day, guarded my hotel room that night, and stayed my constant companion ever since.
“You have to admit,” I said, leaning over to tousle Frank’s loose neck folds, “this is a pretty sweet setup. Cozy cottage, warm fire, leftover Christmas cookies—” I gestured to a plate loaded with gingerbread men Stella had whipped up “—and a day to ourselves.”
Frank let out a contented huff, blinking those big brown eyes that conveyed far more than any ordinary dog’s. Beneath that furry exterior lay a father’s mind and heart, no matter how odd the circumstances.
“I’m sorry if I’m babbling,” I said. “There’s just so much I want to say.”
He shifted and eyed me with a reassuring look. It never ceased to amaze me how expressive he could be without ever speaking a word.
His gaze contained a fatherly concern that wrapped around me like a comforting blanket. Everything was far from normal, but it was real and ours.
I set the mug aside and reached for a battered book on the table. Stella and I had been poring over magical texts, but each new volume only underscored how inept I felt with my abilities.
By birth, I was a witch, but I’d never trained properly.
“I feel so out of my league,” I admitted, flipping to a dog-eared page. The yellowed parchment smelled of dust and ancient ink. “All these incantations to ward off dark magic—they’re complicated. The phrasing, the timing under the right moon phase…” I grimaced. “Am I ever going to get this right?”
Frank let out a short snort, lumbering closer so he could rest his chin on my knee. It was his way of telling me I wasn’t alone, that he believed in me, even if I couldn’t quite believe in myself.
I skimmed a series of incantations, muttering half-formed words under my breath. The runes on the page glowed faintly, making the hair on my arms stand on end.
“Whew,” I murmured. “Not for bedtime reading.”
Frank barked, startling me.
I offered him a wry grin and opened my mouth to try one of the banishing spells, only to freeze at the sound of scratching at the door.
My first thought was Twobble.
That goblin had a habit of showing up unexpectedly. His way of knocking was more like scraping, which he somehow thought was subtle. More than once, he’d rattled my nerves in the early morning or late at night with that odd little scrabbling sound. But lately, he just invited himself in.
“Twobble?” I called, slipping on my boots. “You practicing some covert mission or something?”
When I swung the door open, cold air rushed in, and there, at the threshold, stood a fox.
Time slowed. The golden fur caught the starlight, her pointed ears twitched, and her intelligent eyes locked on mine. A breeze ruffled her bushy tail, an elegant swirl of tan and silver. My breath caught.
She was the same fox I’d seen on the Academy grounds. She had seemed natural circling the enchanted vines there. My heart fluttered with excitement and disbelief.
How had she found me?
Why had she come?
I peered past her and scanned the woods. It was oddly quiet.
Karvey was perched in a snow drift, appearing unbothered by the fox’s presence. He glanced my way and returned his gaze to the woods.
I inched out the door, boots slipping a little. The fox stayed put, tail flicking in something like curiosity. I crouched to seem less intimidating and extended my hand.
“Hello,” I whispered. “I’m Maeve. Do you… have a name?”
She tilted her head. Her nose quivered, sniffing the air. Then, just as quickly, she turned, trotting across the yard. She paused by the old birch tree, looked back with a playful glint, and vanished into the woods.
I knelt there a moment.
The snow soaked through my leggings. What was she doing here, so far from the Academy? Eventually, the cold forced me inside. Karvey watched from his snowy roost, looking neither alarmed nor inclined to intervene.
Stepping out of the cold air, I shut the door. Frank had ambled over, tail wagging furiously as if he’d been eavesdropping.
“Dad,” I breathed, still awestruck. “You won’t believe this. The same fox from the Academy… she showed up right here.”
Frank peered up at me, ears shifting. He let out a speculative grunt as if asking Why?
“Good question,” I said, going to the living room. “Karvey didn’t seem bothered, so maybe she can come and go? Or maybe she’s special.”
Frank followed, sniffing at the draft that clung to me. Something was comforting in his constant presence—my father, trapped in a dog’s body but never failing to protect me.
“I need answers,” I mumbled. “She might be an ordinary fox, but after everything I’ve seen, I doubt it.” Then I remembered vague references to fox spirits or fox shifters in my reading.
Always mischievous.
“Wait here,” I told Frank, though I doubted he’d go elsewhere.
He plodded after me anyway, tail wagging steadily, as I browsed the shelves.
I paused at one particular one that read Ancient Bestiaries of the Academy . The book was massive, with gold filigree on the cover. It had the faint, tingling aura of powerful enchantments. Frank barked sharply, nudging the book. That had to be the right one.
“Good call, Dad.” I lugged it onto the coffee table, making space by pushing aside a plate of gingerbread men and a stray ornament from our modest Christmas tree.
Gingerly, I opened the tome. The first page displayed a knight riding a griffin, lightning forking in the background. I turned more pages, finding sections on gargoyles, mermaids, and dwarven trolls. Finally, my heart lurched as I found an entry on foxes.
“Fox Shifters, Tricksters, Teachers,” I read aloud. “The Elusive Patrons of Knowledge.” The paragraph beneath showed an illustration of a sleek fox with bright eyes, swirling illusions around a group of robed students.
A rush of excitement flared in me.
“This is it,” I whispered, pulling the book closer. Frank hopped onto the couch—ordinarily off-limits, but I let it slide—and peered at the pages. I began reading aloud.
“In many realms, foxes are seen as cunning or mischievous spirits. However, within the hallowed grounds of the Academy, they have held a different role. They’re often called to teach, nurture, or protect secrets best left untold. In older texts, these fox shifters, or Vilpone, can be among the most potent guides, bridging the gap between illusions and truths.”
I looked at my dad.
“Fox shifters!” I exclaimed. “Could we be so lucky?”
I kept reading. They come and go as they please, rarely seen but often felt. Their presence signals the arrival of an important lesson or the need for deeper understanding.
Frank woofed in affirmation, or so I chose to interpret.
Skimming onward, I found references to illusions, treaties with griffins, and how fox shifters once served as instructors at the Academy. One subheading read, They specialized in illusions, shapeshifting, and empathy training . Another told stories of them forging alliances between warring factions. It all painted a vivid picture of cunning yet benevolent foxes who thrived on imparting lessons. My chest tightened with excitement.
“Dad,” I murmured, “maybe the Academy’s first new teacher is a fox.” I laughed at how absurd it sounded but could also imagine it. Dragons, gargoyles, witches, cursed bulldogs—why not a fox instructor?
Frank rested his chin on my thigh, letting out a snort.
I returned my attention to the book, flipping the pages. Each account was more fascinating than the last. Some mentioned fox illusions so powerful they could alter one’s entire perception of reality, while others described how foxes tested a person’s heart before guiding them to deeper truths.
Time slipped away.
Occasionally, I got up to refill my tea. Frank dozed in and out, rousing whenever I stumbled on something interesting.
Outside, the sun crept higher, then began its descent toward evening.
I’d peer out the window, half-hoping the fox would return. But each time, there was only the silent snow.
Eventually, I was drawn to a final passage: Rarely do Fox Shifters linger without purpose; they choose their wards carefully, offering subtle guidance to those who seek knowledge. Their illusions often center on nature, bridging the gap between what is seen and possible. My gut twisted with a spark of awe.
A soft rapping at the glass startled me. I flinched to find Karvey leaning in. With the window cracked open, he muttered, “Your fox friend vanished behind the tree. Thought you should know.”
I nodded. “Thank you. I saw her run off.”
“Foxes aren’t bad, Maeve, but they always have their agendas. Be mindful. They’re mischievous and sneaky.” Then he was gone, leaving only his footprints in the snow.
“Everybody’s got beef with somebody, don’t they?”
My dad snickered.
I was sure of it.
I returned to the couch and flipped through the last few pages of the Fox section. Illustrations of cunning smiles, swirling illusions, and elaborate deceptions with half-invisible corridors filled the parchment. Each note or annotation suggested the foxes were crucial to the Academy’s golden age, forging unexpected alliances and imparting knowledge. The more I read, the more I felt an undeniable pull—like the Academy had begun to stir, seeking out old guardians and new teachers to mend what was broken.
I marked my place with a ribbon and closed the book sometime later. My thoughts whirled. The day after Christmas was supposed to be a lull, a chance to recover from festivities. Yet here I was, face to face with a fox that might be a teacher, trickster, or both.
I felt a renewed energy, a conviction that our stumbling attempts to reopen the Academy were not in vain. Maybe we were on the right track.
“So, the Academy might have its first teacher.” A hush seemed to settle then as if the cottage held its breath at the possibility. I let out a slow laugh, surprised by how comforting the thought felt. “Or maybe I’m reading too much into it.”
Frank sidled up, pressing his warm bulk against me. He snorted in a way that struck me as reassuring and affectionate, reminding his child to trust her instincts. We’d come so far—why not trust a little more?
The temperature dropped as the cottage’s old windows fogged at the edges. I stacked more logs on the fire, watching sparks swirl up the chimney.
The leftover gingerbread on the table was too tempting to resist, so I munched a piece while still chuckling over the idea of a fox teacher. A pang of longing stirred in me.
I wanted nothing more than to see the Academy halls bustling with students, see curses undone, and watch my dad finally freed from his canine form. I wanted to witness Keegan choose his form if and when he wanted it. If we had allies like that fox, maybe it wasn’t so impossible.
Sometimes, little miracles happened. Maybe the fox’s arrival was one of them.
As evening settled, a quiet peace enveloped the cottage. I felt that same gratitude whenever I remembered I wasn’t alone. I had my father with me in a form both comforting and tragic, but we were forging a new path together.
The Academy’s mysteries loomed, Gideon still lurked, and life in Stonewick was never simple, yet I felt a gentle hope. Our bond—and the new connections we were making—mattered.
I paused by the window one last time, scanning the yard where the fox had vanished. Snow glimmered in the moonlight, and the birch tree’s limbs swayed. No glint of russet fur, no footprints. But I felt the fox’s presence linger in the air.
“All right, Dad,” I said with a weary smile, letting him trod alongside me. “We should call it a night. Tomorrow’s another day of figuring out illusions, enchantment, and whether we’re about to hire a fox to teach at the Academy.” The absurdity made me laugh out loud. “And I’m here for it,” I added, excitedly.
Once again, I couldn’t help smiling at the sheer magic of it all. Frank waddled to his spot on a plush pillow near the couch, releasing a sweet sigh of contentment as I climbed the steps to the loft.
Pulling the covers back, I felt a calm certainty settle over me.
We would find the fox again. Or she would find us.
We would build a future for Stonewick, bring life back to the Academy, and protect each other from Gideon’s schemes. And, with a little luck, maybe we’d even free my father from this canine curse someday. The spark of determination embraced my heart, bolstered by the odd family I’d found in this magical town.
“Sleep well,” I whispered, flicking off the lamp.
My dad’s only reply was a contented snort as he nestled down. As I settled under my blankets in the darkness, I held onto the thought of a fox shifter stepping into the Academy halls to teach illusions and empathy.
It felt right, like a story waiting to be lived.