Chapter 21 Dean #2
The minty tang of old magic ghosts my tongue as she speaks.
But watching her talk about her research, her new life, her plans, I see the scars of old wounds—still visible, but no longer raw.
She’s mostly healed, the way broken bones knit stronger at the fracture points.
But there’s still something tentative in how she leans forward, in the way her fingers trace the rim of her teacup when she mentions our parents.
Like she’s built a beautiful life but left space in it, waiting for the last pieces to slot into place. Waiting, maybe, for me.
“Dean?” Her voice shifts, knowing. “What’s really on your mind?”
“I’ve been such a fool about this. I thought I was being strong for you. I thought your silence meant you needed me gone, and I convinced myself that protecting you meant staying away.”
I roll a sugar packet between my fingers, needing something to ground me against the tide of emotion threatening to crack my careful control.
Nell's fingers clench around her teacup, her knuckles whitening against the delicate china. “And I was too proud to reach out first. Too afraid you’d reject me after everything I said. I told myself you were happy in Magnolia Cove, that you’d built this perfect life without us.
That reaching out would disrupt your carefully constructed world.
” A bitter laugh escapes her. “I even convinced myself it was selfless letting you have your space, your success. When really, I was just protecting myself from having to face what I’d done. ”
Her dark eyes glimmer, but if she feels like crying, she fights back the urge. A skill I’ve also mastered.
“We’re quite the pair, aren’t we?” I offer, my voice rough. “Both so determined to protect each other that we forgot how to be siblings.”
“Stubbornness is a Markham family trait.” We both laugh and she continues on tentatively. “You know, if you wanted to come home... I mean, you probably have people you care about in Magnolia Cove. Or maybe someone special?”
I look away, but Nell's question hangs in the air like magic, impossible to ignore. The cafe’s morning bustle fades to background noise as memories of Missy surface—her music weaving through my magic, her laugh breaking through my defense, her goodbye etched into my heart like a knife carving into a tree, cutting down to the sap.
“There was someone.” The words taste like regret and there’s no flavor that matches that.
“She’s…” How do I explain her? The way she made colors brighter just by existing in my world.
How she saw through every barrier I’d built without even trying?
“She’s a musician. A cellist. But she ended things because she thought she was protecting me.
Protecting my relationship with our parents. ”
I rip open the sugar packet and pour the contents into my tea. Each word feels scraped from somewhere too raw to touch. “She encouraged me to attend the wedding. Said I shouldn’t lose my family over her.”
“This is Missy?”
I lifted my spoon to stir the tea but set it back down and stare at my sister.
Color stains her cheek but she shrugs. “Mom told me about her.”
“Yes,” I all but spit the word. “Missy.”
My tea sits untouched, sugar crystals settling to the bottom like sediment, like all the things I can’t quite say.
Mom would have told Nell everything, then—how they caught us at the festival, how Missy’s mere presence threatened their precious rules.
The way they’d looked at her like she was a curse made flesh, a danger to be contained rather than a woman who made music feel like pure enchantment.
“Mom and Dad would never accept her.” My gaze has gone distant to a window smudged with children’s fingerprints.
“She knew it. She saw their faces, felt their judgement. Something about her always affected my magic, intensifying it. It’s like I could feel the pain she experienced that night.
So she did what she thought was right. Encouraged me to choose my family.
And I did what I thought was right. To let her go so I don’t cause her more of that pain. ”
My fingers curl around the teacup, and I take a long swallow of the too-bitter brew—most of the sugar still clumped uselessly at the bottom.
“The thing is, Missy wasn’t wrong. I couldn’t fight her decision because I couldn’t promise her happiness.
I couldn’t let her sacrifice her joy to be with someone when our parents would never accept her. ”
Nell's frown has deepened until it’s pressed thick lines on either side of her mouth. “Are you sure you couldn’t make it work?”
I jerk my gaze up to meet hers. How could she ask that?
She’s already heard Mom’s side. She already knows Missy is right.
Our parents would be a thorn in our side if we were together, or a silent absence that Missy would inevitably blame herself for.
And I won’t set her up for misery. “How could it? Her sister’s involved in our world, yes, but she’s still non-magical.
I’m Head Warlock, a Markham, I have duties and—”
“Wait.” Nell sets down her cup with a sharp clink. “Her sister knows about magic?”
“Alex. Yes, she’s marrying a local.”
“And you said Missy affects your magic somehow?”
I guess I had said that. “The wards… they strengthen when she plays. Her music makes everything more intense but somehow easier to control. But she’s—”
“A Resonant.” Nell practically vibrates with excitement. “She must be.”
“A what?”
“We’ve been researching them at Calthorne.
” Words tumble out of her as she leans forward.
“The information is new, very experimental, but more and more we’re discovering that some humans have a natural harmonic with magical energy.
They can’t perform magic themselves but they amplify it, strengthen it.
It’s incredibly rare, but…” Her eyes sparkle. “It often runs in families.”
“Alex.” Understanding strikes like lightning. “That’s why she saw through the wards so easily.”
“Exactly!” Nell has come alive. Her hands whip around as she talks. “And you say Missy’s a musician? Resonants are almost always artists. Their creativity naturally attunes them to magical frequencies.”
“But the council’s rule about humans—”
“Were made before we understood Resonants.” She waves away my protest. “Dean, think about it. She strengthens your magic. She naturally perceives magical energy. Her sister’s already part of our world. The universe practically gift-wrapped her for you.”
I take a swallow of the tea and grimace when I realize once again that I’d still forgotten to mix in the sugar. “It doesn’t matter now. She’s leaving on tour.”
“Says who?”
“She has a contract…”
“Because you gave her no reason to stay!” Nell pounds the table with her fist, rattling the china. “God, you really are as stubborn and bullheaded as I am.”
“Mom and Dad would never—”
“Let me work on Mom and Dad.” Nell's smile turns wicked. “Go get her. Before she leaves thinking she has to sacrifice her happiness for yours.”
The server drops by with fresh cups of tea and takes away the one I barely touched.
My parents' disapproval weighs heavier than a boulder, but something nags at my thoughts. I’ve bent rules for Alex and Missy, made exceptions I’d never consider for other humans.
Because somehow, deep in my bones where magic lives, I knew they were different.
This Resonant business—it explains everything.
The way the wards sing when Missy plays, how her music weaves through magical currents like it belongs there, how Alex sensed magic from the beginning.
I can hear Grammie Rae’s voice in my mind. The magic knows who it wants. At least she isn’t here for this conversation. She’d probably elbow me again and cackle loudly enough to draw half the cafe’s attention.
“No.” The word comes out stronger than I expected, carrying the weight of decision.
It’s Head Warlock Dean Markham’s voice as I’ve never heard it before.
“I’m going to convince Mom and Dad myself.
You’re right, Nell. I should have fought.
Should have the hard conversations instead of letting my pride convince me that pushing everyone away was noble. ”
Nell’s grin turns as fierce as flames. “Hell yes! That’s the brother I remember.” She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, her smile softening as she looks at me. “Oh, and when I’m in the Seychelles, I’ll actually send you a postcard this time—so you’ll know it’s from me.”
“I’d rather visit.” The words make her eyebrows jump up. “Once you’re back. If that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay.” Her eyes are shimmering again but then they glisten with mischief instead. “And I hope to get to meet this Missy of yours then too.”
Hope blooms in my chest like learning how to manage magic. “I hope so too.”
Some patterns demand to be broken. Some songs refuse to end until every note finds its rightful place. And something deep in my bones knows mine and Missy’s song isn’t over yet.