Chapter Seven
I heard a crash outside, and my heart raced. I glanced at Keegan, who shot out of his chair as the sound carried through the window sharply enough that every conversation in the shop thinned at the edges.
A voice outside rose, sounding frustrated and tight.
Stella didn’t move right away, but her gaze slid toward the front door. Keegan’s posture changed beside me in a way that most people would miss, but I felt it instantly. The air around him tightened, not aggressive yet, just alert.
A sharp but layered shout echoed through the air, this time from an indignant goblin. Chairs scraped softly as two patrons shifted toward the window, trying to look without looking obvious about it.
Keegan and I stepped outside to see three beings looking like they wanted to tear into one another. I glanced at Keegan, who looked bewildered but worried, and I returned my gaze to the disagreement.
In the middle of all of it stood a goblin, a shifter, and Luna, who clearly regretted volunteering to stand between them.
The goblin clutched a wooden crate to his chest so tightly his shoulders had crept up toward his ears. I recognized him as one of the town’s delivery goblins, efficient and meticulous to the point of obsession. He lived in the UnderLoom but would occasionally come up to Stonewick.
Facing him was a young shifter from Caleb’s pack. He had that lean, coiled look that suggested speed even while standing still, and his eyes flashed gold in quick, uncontrolled pulses before settling back to brown. If I were the goblin, I’d be worried too.
Between them, Luna held her hands up as if she could physically keep the argument from escalating.
“You cannot simply demand supplies,” the goblin was saying, his voice vibrating with offense. “There is a list. There is an order. We have to collect some of these herbs below the surface, and that takes time. You can’t just rip them from my hands.”
“I’m not ripping them from you,” the shifter shot back, though the tension in his jaw made the word sound fragile. “I told you I would pay more than whatever the person you’re delivering to would.” Goblins usually enjoyed cash over loyalty, so this was a new development of its own.
The goblin’s eyes narrowed on the shifter. “But you reached for it. That is a threat.”
The shifter nearly snarled. “I reached to show I was serious.”
“Life here doesn’t work that way, wolf.”
Luna turned when she saw me and exhaled visibly. “Maeve, thank the Heavens.”
“What happened exactly?” I asked, keeping my voice level.
“He tried to take this,” the goblin said immediately, lifting the crate as evidence.
“I tried to buy it,” the shifter corrected. “We have a fever spreading in our camp. The apothecary said he can’t spare enough, but I saw this goblin with plenty.”
Luna shook her head, and I knew she wanted to say what we were all thinking: that you can’t bully your way into taking something.
“We’re rationing because we have to,” the goblin snapped. “Half the town has doubled in population in a week. We only have so many foragers below.”
“There are pups and a mother who haven’t shifted back properly since yesterday,” he said coldly, and I wondered why Caleb hadn’t mentioned any of this.
Keegan stepped forward. “How many?”
“Three pups,” the shifter replied. “One adult.”
The goblin’s indignation wavered slightly at that, but only slightly.
“And what about our elders?” the goblin asked. “You think they don’t get sick, too? We don’t have endless stores of this. I have specific deliveries for this batch.”
And that’s when it hit me. The Priestess had struck again without even waving a wand or sending shadows.
This was how distrust rooted itself with reasonable concerns and unmet needs. It started small and grew.
“She’s pressing this,” I murmured to Keegan. “This is the Priestess’s doing. She hasn’t reacted to what went on with the orcs because she knew this would happen once we brought everyone here.”
I felt sick.
The shifter’s breathing had grown uneven, not from aggression alone but from fear.
“If we wait,” he said, “the pups and mother could die.”
A small crowd had formed across the street, and I knew so much rested on this one moment.
If this turned into a physical confrontation, even a minor one, it would ripple outward.
By evening, the story would be retold as wolves grabbing supplies and goblins hoarding medicine.
By tomorrow, it would be something bigger.
And the Priestess would never need to step inside Stonewick to benefit from it.
“I’ll cover it,” I said. “I have two goblins who are foraging experts. They’ll provide enough for the elders if you allow the shifters to have this for the mother and pups this time. I’ll send for them immediately.”
All three of them looked at me.
“No one goes without because of a misunderstanding. We’ll allocate the appropriate resources, but this must be communicated to the Academy staff. If we don’t know of the struggles, we can’t help.”
The goblin blinked rapidly. “That’s not protocol.”
“Then we adjust,” I replied. “Every life is important.”
The shifter’s shoulders dropped just enough to show the edge of relief he was fighting not to display.
“And we establish a shared medical ledger,” I added, thinking quickly now. “We’ll have transparent inventory and contributions from all sides. I’m sure we have some orcs who can also help forage, if the goblins will allow them below.”
“Fine.” The goblin eyed me. “Skonk and Twobble will follow through. This I know. Send them to me, and I’ll take their help.”
Keegan stepped closer to the shifter. “I’ll go with you. I’ll ensure the pups and mother receive the medicine.”
But I knew he also wanted to see exactly what was happening in the Wilds that Caleb hadn’t mentioned to us.
The shifter looked startled. “You don’t have to.”
“I’m not offering out of obligation. I want to help.”
As Keegan and the shifter walked toward the alleyway leading to the Butterfly Ward, I watched as Keegan shifted. It wasn’t dramatic or for display. It was just someone who knew exactly where his bones belonged.
This wasn’t a crisis yet, but it was a warning, and if I didn’t move quickly…if I didn’t create structure before suspicion hardened, no amount of speeches inside the Academy would matter.
We wouldn’t be divided by force.
We would divide ourselves, and that was a victory I refused to hand her.
“I’m going to gather the witches,” I told Stella.
“I’ll get the other vampires. They work quickly with spreading the word.” Stella’s scarlet lips curved slightly. “But dear, try not to start a revolution without eating first.”
“I ate,” I said automatically.
“You drank tea,” she countered. “Tea isn’t food. It’s a coping mechanism. The sprites reported to me that you left the bread, cheese, and salami I’d ordered for you mostly untouched.”
“You have the kitchen sprites spying on me?”
Her eyes twinkled. “And the book sprites.”
I smiled and oddly felt better with that knowledge.
The walk back to the Academy should’ve been calming. The path through the Butterfly Ward usually settled me, even when the world was unraveling at the seams. Today, it only made my thoughts louder, because each step gave them room to keep listing the ways this could go wrong.
By the time the Academy came into view through the trees, the front steps were busy again, but not with conflict this time… thank goodness.
But with the quiet bustle of midlife witches coming and going. A few students lingered near the doors, their voices low, their eyes tracking the tree line a little too often. Someone had brought a bundle of wildflowers and tucked them into a crack in the stone.
Inside, the entry hall was louder than before, with voices echoing and suitcases thumping.
Twobble spotted me immediately, and my heart clenched. There was something about that little guy that just made me happy.
He was perched on a stool near the staircase with the tea-shop-menu clipboard balanced on his knees, and he looked like a goblin on a mission.
“Maeve, you’ve returned. I was beginning to fear you’d fled into the woods and claimed a new identity.”
I chuckled and glanced around. “Is that an option?”
He chuckled, and I patted his little knobby knee.
“No, I’m just thinking.”
“That’s worse,” Twobble replied. “When you think, something changes.”
“That’s literally the goal.”
Twobble hopped down from the stool and fell into step beside me. His short legs moved quickly to match my pace as he held his clipboard against his chest with the seriousness of a military officer guarding state secrets.
“I’ve had three separate women ask me if there’s a curfew,” he said. “And if the orcs are allowed inside the Academy.”
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything. I pretended I had a scone emergency and ran away. My concern is that one of these untrained and possibly unruly witches tries to cast a midnight confidence spell and accidentally summons an emotional support raccoon to fight off some imaginary wolf or orc.”
I shot him a look. “Where do you even come up with these things?”
He met it evenly. “Don’t act like it’s impossible.”
“Well, it might not be imaginary for much longer.”
He gasped, and I leaned over to speak, lowering my voice.
“I need everyone gathered in the banquet hall. Can you go round up students and teachers? We’re going to have a talk before this turns into whispered delusions.”
Twobble’s eyes widened. “And raccoons.”
“Exactly.”
“So, we’re having a battle prep talk for assembly number one.” His eyes widened.
“No, we’re having a conversation,” I corrected.
“A structured conversation,” Twobble said with obvious approval. “Those are my favorite kind. They always give me a role of some sort.”
“You’re going to help me organize the students quickly, and you’re going to keep anyone from sneaking out when it gets uncomfortable.”
Twobble puffed up. “So, I’m security.”
“Soft security,” I said. “No pelting scones at the witches or wolves.”
“What about the vampires?”