Chapter Five
The banquet hall felt almost like a vacation, which was impressive considering two hours earlier, there had been an orc on the front steps and a shifter bristling at him while a witch was ready to use her wand, and Twobble tried to mediate with a tea menu.
Long tables stretched the length of the room, and chandeliers glowed softly. A few students lingered at the far end, speaking in low voices over cups of tea and half-eaten scones.
I had claimed a corner of one table with a small plate of bread, salami, and cheese, along with something Stella insisted was a “fortifying tea.” It tasted like honey and defiance.
A kitchen sprite zipped past my elbow, carrying a refill of cheese. It hovered midair, glanced at my plate, and dropped another slice onto my plate, even though I’d barely eaten any of it.
“Thank you,” I said as it zipped back toward the kitchen.
It paused mid-flight, spun in a delighted circle, and vanished through the swinging door.
Things should have felt normal, and after what happened on the steps, maybe even a little like progress.
Instead, I kept seeing the look on the shifter’s face, felt the orc’s restraint, and saw the fear in a few of the witches’ expressions.
The hall doors opened, and I didn’t have to look up to know who it was.
Keegan moved differently from anyone else. Quiet. Grounded. His presence didn’t push into a space. It anchored it.
He crossed the hall without hurry, boots steady on the stone. There was a faint crease between his brows that hadn’t been there this morning.
He stopped at the end of the table. “You hiding?”
“I’m strategically eating,” I said, taking a sip of tea. “It’s very different, except that I’m not hungry.”
His mouth curved slightly. He slid into the bench across from me without asking.
The air shifted, just enough that I felt it in my shoulders.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Ember’s at the front desk,” he said. “I had her stay to keep an eye on things.”
“That doesn’t sound ominous at all.”
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “The inn’s getting busy.”
“Busy how?”
“Remarkably busy.” He eyed me. “Unsettlingly busy.”
I blinked. “We just had a minor standoff on the front steps, so I’m glad things are going well everywhere.”
“I’m almost fully booked,” he continued. “For the foreseeable future.”
I lowered my cup slowly. “Tourists?”
He shook his head once, and a prickle went down my spine.
“Are they non-magical?”
Another shake of his head, and I let out a grunt. “You’ve got to tell me something.”
“Magical,” he said flatly. “Creatures of every kind.”
A pit of uncertainty formed low in my stomach.
“All of them?” I asked. “Each and every guest?”
“Yes.” He scratched his jaw and glanced around the room.
“Is this like typical fall tourism?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“No.” He bit his lip for a split second. “And they’re not here for instruction. They’re here because they think Stonewick is… stable.”
That landed harder than I expected.
“Stable,” I repeated, thinking back to the new orc arrivals.
“Safer than where they came from,” he clarified. “Things are happening faster than we thought.”
A kitchen sprite returned, this one carrying a small plate of sliced apples dusted with cinnamon. It placed them neatly between us, then glanced from me to Keegan, and I smiled.
“More orcs have come. These ones were from the north. Word is spreading fast that Stonewick is a haven, of sorts.”
“Things feel so different at the inn. Ember noticed it too.”
“How exactly?”
“They’re not passing through,” he said. “They’re unpacking. I mean, like, really settling in.”
The words sank heavily as I thought about the shifters and the orcs.
“They’re bringing trunks. Entire families are showing up with supplies.” He paused. “One coven brought heirloom stones because they worried that if they left them behind, there would be nothing when they returned.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“More displacement,” I murmured.
“Yes.”
“And I can tell the students are already nervous.”
“Only natural.”
“They’re midlife witches. They’ve survived marriages, careers, betrayal, children, and reinvention. They’re not fragile.”
“I didn’t say they were,” he said quietly. “But this is all about the unknown that isn’t controlled by them.”
“You’re right. We’re not impenetrable.”
“They signed up for classes on potions and Wards,” he continued. “Not border negotiations.”
“Yeah, well, timing is everything…”
He leaned back slightly, studying me. “What are you thinking?”
I hesitated, and the pit in my stomach deepened.
“I think she miscalculated,” I said.
“The Priestess.”
“Yes.”
“But she always recalculates,” he replied.
“I know.” I stared down at the wood grain of the table. “But she’s pushing destabilization. She’s forcing movement. She thinks that if enough magical communities feel threatened, they’ll look for a single authority to restore order.”
“And you think she’s right.”
“No.” I looked up. “I think she’s half right.”
He didn’t speak.
“She didn’t account for interception,” I continued. “If creatures and covens and clans are moving, they don’t have to move toward her.”
“They can move here,” he said.
“They already are.”
Silence stretched between us.
“You’re feeling nervous about where this is going,” he said finally.
It wasn’t a question, but I answered anyway.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“Because the town’s filling.”
“Yes.”
“Because the inn’s filling.”
“Yes.”
“Because your Academy just had an orc on its steps who wanted to battle a shifter with the audience of midlife students.”
I let out a slow breath. “Yes.”
He waited.
“And because I think it’s time,” I said carefully, “to open the Academy.”
He blinked once. “It’s open.”
“Not like this.”
His brows drew together. “Maeve.”
“I think it’s time to open it to more than midlife witches.”
The words felt solid once they were out.
Keegan stared at me.
“Witches,” he said slowly, as if reminding me of something foundational. “This is a midlife witch Academy.”
“I’m aware.”
“It’s never mattered what kind of witch,” he continued. “Goblin. Vampire. Hedge. Fae-origin. The craft is what brings them together.”
“I know.”
“But they’re witches,” he said. “That’s the common thread.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re suggesting—”
“That we remove the thread,” I finished.
He sat back fully now, absorbing that.
“You want non-witches roaming these halls,” he said.
“Learning,” I corrected.
“Learning what?”
“Our craft.” I cleared my throat and turned to face him. “Think about all it offers, paired with their own abilities. Protection. Cooperation. The mechanics of Wards and why they’re important. How not to tear each other apart when pressure rises. Magic shouldn’t just be for a select few.”
He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but there wasn’t humor in it. “Maeve.”
“What?”
“You’re talking about rewriting the Academy.”
“I’m talking about adapting it.”
He shook his head once, slowly. “This place was built for witches reclaiming power in midlife for second chances, growth in craft, or to begin again.”
“And what happens when the world around it fractures?” I asked.
“Do we keep brewing tea and pretending the fractures don’t touch us?
If we do that, they’ll eat us whole. Things here are changing, Keegan.
Magic shouldn’t be for only a few because then, when someone like the Priestess waves her wand, they might think she’s more than they are. ”
“The choices we make now will forever affect the Academy.”
“The wolves want inside,” I said quietly.
His eyes flickered, and I could tell that he’d felt it too.
“The shifters are stationed in the Wilds,” I continued. “The orcs are on our borders negotiating instead of raiding. Magical families are booking rooms at your inn because they think we’re stable.”
“We are,” he said firmly.
“For now.”
I didn’t want to let my mind go there. I had to stay in the present.
He ran a hand through his hair. “If you open these doors to non-witches, you change the foundation.”
“Maybe that’s what’s required. Won’t the Academy tell us?”
“I suppose.”
“And isn’t that what magic is supposed to be about? Bringing energy together for…”
“For unity?” he asked, taking a bite of apple.
“For survival,” I said.
The word hung there, and he studied me and sighed.
“You think if we bring them inside,” he said slowly, “if we teach them here, under this roof, that it creates something stronger?”
I nodded.
“I mean, I think it could be really powerful if we let the Academy decide who comes through these doors by offering a choice. Think about Twobble. If he hadn’t kept trying, he wouldn’t be here, and he’s so valuable. Skonk too.”
“I think proximity can create understanding, and fear can breed with distance.” I pressed my lips together and felt my shoulders relax a little, seeing agreement in Keegan’s eyes.
“But their needs are vastly different,” he pointed out.
“True, but I think we should share the craft with as many allies as we have.”
“And how do you think the current students will feel?”
“They’ll adapt.” I smiled wider. “They put up with you, right?”
He chuckled. “That’s optimistic.”
Keegan’s gaze shifted past me toward the windows.
“She’ll see it as a challenge,” he said, bringing his gaze back to mine.
“She already does. We might as well make use of this moment when everyone is coming together. Yes, we’re stable, but that’s only for now. We can’t guess what’s ahead once she starts executing her plans again.”
He looked back at me.
“And if it goes wrong?” he asked quietly.
I reached for his hand and heard Twobble barking some orders to Skonk in a hallway beyond, something to do with a flattened croissant, and I smiled.
“It will. Some of it will. You can’t have success without a little bit of failure along the way.” I let out a sigh. “But if we don’t, she consolidates through fear. If we do, we consolidate through choice.”
He leaned forward again, forearms on the table, closer now.
“You realize,” he said softly, “that once you do this, there’s no returning to a quieter version of this place. There’ll be goblins tearing through this building in greater numbers. Orcs stomping down the halls, and wolves shifting whenever they feel like it.”
“I think quiet left a long time ago, and I doubt it’s coming back.”
He nodded and sat back as the doors at the far end of the banquet hall opened, and Nova stepped inside.
Her raven hair was still braided, though a few strands had come loose and brushed her cheek. There was dirt at the hem of her long coat. Her staff tapped once against the stone floor as she crossed the threshold.
She didn’t hurry.
She walked the length of the hall, eyes taking in the witches, the windows, the chandeliers, the space. When she reached our table, she inclined her head to Keegan, then to me.
“More shifters are coming,” she said.
The pit in my stomach deepened. “How many?”
“More than we anticipated.”
Keegan’s jaw tightened. “From Caleb’s pack?”
“No,” Nova said. “Two other large packs.”
“Two others,” I repeated.
She set her staff gently against the table and rested both hands on the wood. “Word has spread. The northern territories aren’t holding. Smaller packs are abandoning outposts. They’re moving here.”
The kitchen sprite from earlier peeked around the door, gauging the mood again. Nova glanced at it and offered the faintest smile, and the sprite relaxed and disappeared.
“How soon?” I asked.
“By nightfall, the first group,” she replied. “By tomorrow, perhaps a dozen more.”
“Once the goblins return with the information about the orcs’ land, we’re going to have to send them onto the shifters’ woods.”
Nova nodded as the room tilted slightly. Everything was happening so quickly.
“The packs won’t cross the boundaries,” Keegan said firmly. “Unless they’re invited.”
A student in the corridor outside the hall laughed at something someone said, the sound bright and normal. It felt strangely distant.
“Did you speak with Caleb?” I asked Nova.
“Yes. He won’t refuse them, and the packs here promised to welcome them.”
Keegan ran a hand through his hair again. “If this becomes an influx—”
“It already is,” I said quietly.
Nova studied me more closely. “You’ve decided something.”
Keegan let out a breath. “She has.”
I didn’t look away from Nova.
“If they’re coming anyway, I don’t want them circling our borders in tension. I don’t want students watching treelines and imagining threats.”
“You want them visible,” Nova said.
“I want them integrated.”
Keegan made a low sound under his breath.
Nova didn’t react to him. Her eyes stayed on me. “That would alter the Academy.”
“Yes.”
“It would alter Stonewick.”
“Yes.”
She was silent for a few seconds, and then she nodded.
“The wolves will follow structure if it’s offered,” she said. “Chaos only rises when there is none.”
Keegan looked between us. “You’re both remarkably calm about this.”
Nova’s lips curved faintly. “Calm doesn’t mean unaware.”
“Well, just for the record, I’m absolutely not calm about any of this.” I wrapped my fingers around my teacup, though it had gone cold. “I just can’t let anyone see me sweat.”
Keegan smiled and shook his head. “You still amaze me.”
“Thank you. I amaze myself sometimes.”
Nova chuckled and nodded. “You’ve grown well into your role, Hedge Witch.”
“I think I’ve only scratched the surface.”
“Correct.”
“So how many total do you think will be arriving?” I asked.
“By the end of the week?” Nova said. “Perhaps fifty.”
The number landed softly.
Fifty.
It wasn’t an army, but it was enough to change the shape of things.
The Academy hummed again beneath us, and it didn’t resist; it just listened. And I knew that was answer enough.