Chapter Twenty-Eight
It took me several moments before I could find words again. The silence wasn’t awkward. It felt full and fragile, as if even speaking might disturb something that had only begun to settle.
Nova watched me quietly, her calm eyes patient as always, waiting for me to process what she’d implied.
I stared back, my mind scrambling to catch up to my heart, which had already started to race ahead with possibilities I’d long stopped believing.
“Fae?” My voice came out softer than I expected. “Are you serious, Nova?”
She smiled, gentle but mysterious, as always when her instincts outran explanations. “They haven’t walked these streets in more than forty years. But I’d recognize that feeling anywhere. That sense of something that doesn’t quite belong here, and yet always did.”
I shook my head, disbelief tangling with excitement inside me. My stomach fluttered strangely, with part nerves, part the early stirrings of hope I was almost afraid to trust.
Nova’s words were quiet, nearly a whisper.
“Fae are among the only beings who can move between worlds as easily as we step between rooms. They can move between worlds like we saw tonight or disappear in front of you in the gardens. If one of them is lingering in the Butterfly Ward, watching us carefully, it likely means they’re testing us. Wondering if Stonewick is safe again.”
My throat tightened. Safe. The idea of the Academy allowing this to reveal itself, or setting foot on the Academy grounds, was extraordinary.
I moved to the window, needing to feel the ordinary wood of its frame beneath my fingertips. Outside, Stonewick lay quiet under a soft veil of late evening moonlight. Nothing about it looked different, yet everything had somehow shifted.
“It was timid,” I finally said, glancing back toward Nova. “The figure in the garden wasn’t threatening at all. It felt more curious, maybe even nervous.”
Nova’s expression softened even more. “It makes sense. Think about the sapling in the Maple Ward, Maeve. You told me of its growth and spark. It’s been reaching out, trying to grow stronger. All on its own, it’s decided the time for hiding is over. That little tree is a sign. It’s the Academy’s way of quietly telling us that the wounds it’s carried for so long might finally be starting to heal.”
If only she knew about the dragons as well.
Her words landed softly, each one sinking deeper inside me. I drew a slow breath, steadying myself against the quiet awe that had begun to fill the room.
“So, you think the Wards healing could signal to the fae—and maybe even shifters—that it’s safe to return? To reunite,” I said carefully. “To come back and be a part of Stonewick again?”
Nova didn’t reply at first. She seemed to consider it deeply, fingertips tracing absent-minded circles on the table.
“I do,” she said finally. “But not because of some grand gesture. It’s happening slowly, subtly. A sapling grows quietly. A fae steps gently back into a garden after decades away. Bella, a shifter, walking freely inside the Academy’s halls... Each small moment is a piece of something much bigger. A puzzle Stonewick gave up on long ago.”
My heart swelled painfully.
“Do you think we can heal all that damage?” I whispered. “So many years, so many grudges. People in town have long memories. Even Keegan…”
Nova gave me a slow, knowing smile. “Memory can be powerful. But so can forgiveness. Change doesn’t come with loud announcements. It creeps in at the edges, quietly, like vines growing through cracks in stone.”
I thought back to the Academy grounds and how subtly the creeping vines hover and caress, no sharp and quick movements, just slow and steady.
She leaned forward a little, her voice thoughtful. “The Academy was never just stone walls and Wards. It’s always been something alive. It feels the shifts, the tiny movements toward reconciliation. The Maple Ward’s growth isn’t a coincidence, Maeve. It’s responding.”
Something tight in my chest loosened, replaced by a warmth I hadn’t felt in ages. “It’s responding to us?”
“To all of you. You, Bella, even the fae lingering nearby. The Academy sees what you’ve been doing, sees how you care. It senses the magic returning—not just literal magic, but the magic of trust, kindness, hope.” Nova paused, searching for the right word. “Belief, I think. The belief that Stonewick doesn’t have to stay wounded forever.”
My gaze drifted to the window again, seeing not just the streets but beyond them—the woods, the Wards, the Academy itself. I thought of the figure in the Butterfly Ward, lingering just out of reach. Waiting. Watching.
“So, the fae came to see if we’ll accept them,” I murmured. “If we’ll welcome them back, after all the hurt and division.”
Nova nodded softly. “They wouldn’t risk being seen if they didn’t have hope. Just as Bella wouldn’t stay if she didn’t feel safe.”
I smiled a little at the thought of Bella, sharp and bright-eyed, carefully digging through ancient library tomes. The town had accepted her more easily than I’d expected, quietly embracing a shifter’s return.
Was it possible that Stonewick could extend that kindness to the fae, too?
Something fragile inside me brightened. This was more than I’d ever hoped for. More than I’d dared imagine so quickly when the Academy first opened its doors to me.
“It all feels so delicate,” I said softly. “Like the smallest mistake could unravel everything.”
Nova shook her head gently. “Delicate, yes. But stronger than you think. New growth always starts small. That doesn’t mean it’s weak.”
Stella walked over to us at the table. “You two look like you’ve been communing with something otherworldly.”
I laughed softly. “Something like that.”
Mom studied my expression quietly, her gentle eyes searching mine. “Good news?”
“I think it might be,” I replied, unable to hide my smile.
Nova stood slowly, already moving toward the kettle to prepare more tea. “Good news, yes. But news that requires patience.”
Stella snorted affectionately, pulling out a chair. “I don’t suppose patience could mean at least sharing some details?”
Nova chuckled, her eyes twinkling as she poured tea into each mug. “Patience means I’ll share when the water is boiled for our second round of tea, Stella.”
I glanced again toward the window, imagining the Wards slowly breathing life back into Stonewick, a cautious fae carefully stepping into a world that had long forgotten them, and Bella’s laughter echoing down the Academy’s halls. All these tiny, impossible pieces were slowly becoming something beautiful.
Maybe Nova was right. Maybe the town’s wounds really could heal, little by little. And maybe, despite how fragile everything felt right now, Stonewick was ready.
We were ready.
A faint knock at the door made me jump, and I chuckled when I saw Twobble peering into the window with Frank by his side.
“You fill in Stella and my mom,” I told Nova, opening the door.
I stepped outside Nova’s shop and zipped up my coat.
The streets of Stonewick felt reassuringly ordinary. Cobbled pathways led toward familiar shops, cafes, and homes.
Yet everything around me felt subtly different.
Twobble lifted a hand and waved lazily, his greenish-gray skin catching twilight as he squinted up at me.
“There you are,” he called, half-relief and half-exasperation. “We’ve been looking for you for weeks. Frank’s about chewed through half your living room waiting.”
Frank let out a snuffling bark, as if supporting the claim, his thick bulldog body plopping heavily down beside Twobble’s feet.
“Sorry, Twobble,” I said, smiling gently. “I didn’t mean to disappear. But you know how the Academy is.”
Twobble waved off my apology. “I figured you were tangled in something interesting—always are. Just thought we’d come check since Frank was pacing in circles and sighing like a lovesick gargoyle.”
Frank huffed again, nudging his broad head against Twobble’s leg.
“Fine,” Twobble said, scratching behind Frank’s ears with exaggerated patience. “Like a grumpy lovesick gargoyle.”
“I’m back now and should be for a little longer.” But Twobble’s curious expression was already drifting past me to peer suspiciously at Nova’s shop.
“So,” he said slowly, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “Care to share whatever it is you four have been whispering about? Or am I not fancy enough to join your magical gossip circle?”
“You’d never let us get away with that,” I said, laughing. “Of course I’ll tell you.”
I glanced back at Nova through the window, who gave me a nod of approval.
I took a breath, bracing myself for Twobble’s reaction. “We think there might be a fae inside the Academy grounds.”
Twobble blinked. Then his mouth opened and closed a few times, his large goblin ears twitching as he processed my words.
“A fae,” he repeated flatly.
“Yes.”
“A fae,” he said again, emphasizing the word as if tasting something bitter.
“Yes, Twobble,” I gently said, watching his eyes narrow.
He crossed his wiry arms over his chest, his expression quickly shifting from surprise to annoyance.
“Well, isn’t that just perfect?” he grumbled. “You mean the Academy that won’t let me , your loyal friend and personal goblin companion, inside even to fetch a book, is willing to entertain a fae? A fae who, may I remind everyone present, was first to abandon Stonewick the very second trouble knocked?”
I bit back a smile, though guilt tugged at the corners.
He had a point.
Twobble had been there from the beginning. He’d helped rebuild my cottage, kept Frank company, carried messages, and fussed endlessly about our well-being. Yet he remained blocked at every turn by an Academy apparently content to leave him pouting at its edges.
“You know,” he continued, warming up to his rant, “this is just typical. Loyalty means nothing these days. Absolutely nothing. I’ve done nothing but serve faithfully, endure hardship…”
“You mean endure Frank,” I teased.
“Precisely my point!” Twobble said, eyes wide as he gestured dramatically. Frank snorted again, pawing at Twobble’s foot in mild protest.
I stepped forward, putting a gentle hand on Twobble’s shoulder.
“You’re right,” I said quietly. “You deserve to be inside. You’ve done more for me and the Academy than half the beings who’ve crossed its threshold. But…” I hesitated, searching for words that wouldn’t further wound his goblin pride. “I think the Academy’s choosing carefully right now. Slowly. It’s testing itself as much as it’s testing us.”
His expression softened slightly, the frown becoming more thoughtful. “Testing us?”
I nodded, squeezing his shoulder.
“Think about it. Bella’s a shifter, and the Academy opened its doors to her. Now a fae is cautiously trying to return. Maybe the Academy knows something we don’t yet. Maybe it’s trying to heal the old divisions. It has to move slowly with baby steps. Letting in Bella, then this fae visitor… maybe soon it’ll be ready to fully open, and then…”
“Then they’ll finally realize they owe me an apology?” Twobble offered hopefully, his scowl already fading into a grudging grin.
“Yes,” I chuckled softly. “An apology, a welcome banner, and probably a parade in your honor.”
Twobble gave a sharp nod, brushing imaginary dust off his worn jacket.
“Now, that’s more like it. Parades, I deserve.”
Frank barked softly, the sound short and agreeable, as if firmly backing Twobble’s opinion.
“Look,” I continued gently, “the Academy is waking up slowly, carefully, trying not to make the same mistakes it did in the past. It can’t afford to rush things. Neither can we.”
Twobble’s shoulders relaxed fully, though he still grumbled, “Fine, I suppose patience is a virtue.”
“You’re terribly virtuous.” I giggled.
“I know,” Twobble sighed dramatically. “It’s exhausting.”
Frank stood again, nudging at Twobble’s leg impatiently.
“Well,” Twobble said, returning his gaze to me, “I’ll take Frank home before he decides to start chewing shoes again. But mark my words, Maeve. If this fae starts throwing parties or tea gatherings there, I will have words with that Academy. Serious words. I’m tired of being left out of all things Academy.”
I laughed, gently shooing him toward the path. “Duly noted, but do you care to escort me to my next stop in the meantime?”