Chapter 29 Krystal
Krystal
The world looked different in the morning.
I woke to the rare quiet of a house where no one was screaming, or crying, or threatening to freeze a person’s soul in a crystal coffin.
The sunlight through the window was soft and directionless, like someone had turned down the contrast on reality.
For a long minute, I didn’t move, savoring the fact that my body ached in all the normal places, no scorch marks, no fresh bruises, no evidence of magical warfare.
I lay there, listening for the telltale signs of catastrophe, Bryce’s bedroom door slamming, the low rumble of Zaden’s voice, even the pop of a lightbulb giving up under magical duress, but the only sound was the slow tick of the kitchen clock and the distant warble of a morning talk show through thin walls.
When I finally padded into the kitchen, Bryce was already up, perched at the table with a bowl of Lucky Charms balanced between his forearms. The wolf plush was at his side, its matted snout buried in the crook of his elbow.
He wore the same NASA t-shirt as yesterday, but his hair was freshly combed, parted with a wet precision I’d never seen without strong adult intervention.
"Hey," I said, and meant for it to come out gently, but my voice cracked.
Bryce looked up. The last time I’d seen his eyes, they’d been shot through with pain and the kind of terror no kid should know. Today, they were bright.
"Morning, Mom," he said. "No headache. Not even a little one."
The spoon clattered in the bowl, and I nearly dropped the coffee pot.
I set it down, then went straight to him, fingers to his forehead.
No fever, not even a hint of the cold sweats that had haunted him since the first time his magic spiked.
The color was back in his cheeks, and there wasn’t a tremor anywhere on him. He looked solid.
He caught my wrist. "You don’t have to check every time, you know."
I let my hand drop, fighting back tears. "Sorry, habit."
He grinned. "You’re such a mom."
It was a small moment, but it knocked the air out of my lungs. I sat down across from him and poured myself coffee, heavy on the creamer. The kitchen was a disaster, crumbs on the counter, a sink full of unwashed cups, but the mess felt earned. We’d survived another round.
I watched Bryce demolish his breakfast, all gangly elbows and determination.
The wolf plush had lost a button eye, but he stroked its head between bites, a gesture that was half comfort, half habit.
Every so often, his fingers twitched, and a spark flickered between them, barely visible.
I watched for signs of distress, but he smiled wider each time it happened.
He pushed his bowl away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "So what do we do today?"
I’d spent years dreading this question, always afraid that the answer wouldn’t be enough, that I was failing him by letting life get too small, too weird, too off-grid. But today, for once, I had a plan.
"Well," I said, drawing out the suspense, "today is your first official day of homeschooling. That means you and I get to set up your workstation, figure out the assignments, and see if we can beat last year’s record for most consecutive days in pajamas."
His whole body straightened. "I can wear pajamas all day?"
"As long as you brush your teeth," I said. "And maybe put on real pants when we go out. Deal?"
He nodded, then got up and started gathering his books, the wolf plush tucked under his arm like a co-conspirator.
There was a new energy in him, an absence of dread that made him seem taller, even though he still had to hop to reach the top shelf for his laptop.
He cleared a patch of kitchen table, scattering crumbs and cereal boxes, and set up his new "office" with the solemnity of a NASA launch pad.
I sipped my coffee and watched him arrange his notebooks in a neat row, each one labeled in marker with his name and the subject.
Math, science, English, "weird history." The last was my doing. I’d filled the curriculum with cryptids and conspiracy theories, hoping to keep his mind off the things that could actually hurt him.
He fired up the laptop and logged into the homeschool portal. A cartoon wolf mascot howled from the screen, and Bryce giggled.
"Look," he said, pointing at the screen. "It says, ‘Welcome, Bryce Gallagher. Prepare for adventure.’"
I smiled, feeling the last of the fear drain from me. "Are you ready for adventure?"
He nodded, then frowned. "Will Dad be here for lunch?"
I hesitated, the word "Dad" still new, but nodded. "He said he’d bring a milkshake."
"Awesome," Bryce crowed.
I watched him, pride and worry wrestling in my chest. The magic still flared when he got excited, and every so often, a spark would leap from his pencil to the table. But it was contained now. No pain, no headaches, no fear.
A buzz from my phone startled me. Zaden, checking in.
How’s B doing?
I glanced at Bryce, who had started his reading assignment and was already underlining every other word with a bright yellow highlighter.
"Hey, Bryce?" I called.
He looked up, eyes clear.
"Any headache?"
He shook his head. "Not even a tiny one."
I texted back.
Headache-free. You were right. The headaches were coming from Viv.
I’m always right. But this time, I wish I wasn’t.
I sent back a heart emoji and put the phone down.
Bryce worked in silence for a while, pencil racing across the page, lips moving as he sounded out the words. Every so often, he’d look up and catch me watching. Each time, he’d smile, a little embarrassed but not unhappy.
After an hour, he closed the book and announced, "First assignment done."
I clapped, and he rolled his eyes, but I could see he liked it.
We spent the next hour building a volcano for science class.
Bryce insisted on adding a moat for the lava flow, and I let him, because why not?
The kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off, but the laughter was worth it.
Even the wolf plush got in on the action, sacrificed to the red food coloring when Bryce tried to rescue it from the "magma. "
When the volcano finally erupted, Bryce howled, a full-throated, joyous sound that rattled the windows.
Lunch came and went, the kitchen crowded with grilled cheese and bad jokes and Zaden’s never-ending supply of dad puns. Bryce told him about the volcano, the sparks, the new world order at the kitchen table.
Zaden listened, grinned, and then, when Bryce went to the living room to watch TV, pulled me into a quick, fierce hug.
"He’s better," I said, my throat tight.
Zaden nodded. "He’s free. You did it, Krystal."
I held on a moment longer, then pulled away. "We did it. All of us."
He laughed, then pointed at the volcano, now oozing a pink river down the side of the table. "You know that’s never coming out, right?"
I shrugged. "Let it stain. I want to remember today."
He kissed my cheek, then went to join Bryce on the couch. I watched them, father and son, laughing at a cartoon, the old wounds finally starting to scab over.
I poured another cup of coffee and stood at the window, watching the birds in the yard. The world was still out there, full of monsters and witches and the kind of danger I couldn't ever fully banish. But inside this house, at this table, there was peace.
The transition from schoolwork to spellwork was fast. I'd barely had time to finally wipe the last of the volcano residue off the table before Aurelia arrived, all silk scarf and brisk purpose, followed five minutes later by Eleanor, who looked freshly pressed and a little wary. The air between them felt fragile, as if the memory of last night’s siege hadn’t worn off.
Still, neither woman hesitated when Bryce bounded up to greet them, wolf plush still tucked under his arm.
"We’re ready for the big leagues, right, Mom?" he said, looking at me for permission. When I nodded, he pumped a fist in the air.
Aurelia clapped her hands. "All right, young magus. Table clear, sleeves up. Let’s see what we’re working with.
" She set her tote bag down and unloaded a small arsenal.
Candles, a wooden box of crystals, a coil of white chalk, a battered notepad full of diagrams and runes.
Within thirty seconds, the kitchen looked more like a laboratory than a place for eating lunch.
Eleanor eased into the background, hands folded, watching with a tight smile.
Bryce dropped into his chair, eyes wide. "Are those real crystals?" he whispered, as if the kitchen might be bugged.
Aurelia nodded, arranging them in a loose circle. "Amethyst, rose quartz, and a few surprises. We’ll start easy. See if you can feel the difference."
She rolled a piece of amethyst across the table. Bryce caught it, rolling it between his palms, then held it to his forehead as if trying to tune in. I watched his expression shift, suspicion, surprise, then delight.
"It tingles," he said, giggling.
"That’s your magic interacting with the stone," Aurelia explained. "It’s a good sign."
Eleanor stepped forward, her own crystal in hand. She placed it on the table, then nodded at Bryce. "Breathe in, like this. Deep and slow. Let the air go all the way down."
Bryce mimicked her, exhaling with a dramatic flourish.
For the first time, the sparks in his fingers didn’t leap out randomly.
They hovered, the static held between breaths.
Eleanor smiled, her hand steadying his shoulder.
"Very good. The breathing helps keep the current from running wild. Try it again, but slower this time."
I hovered at the end of the table, caught between wanting to intervene and wanting to let the moment be.
The tension from this morning had faded, replaced by an energy that was almost contagious.
If the old wounds between my mother and me were still there, neither of us let it show, not in front of Bryce.