Magical Mojo (Stonewick Magical Midlife Witch Academy #8)

Chapter One

Four weeks is just long enough for a bruise to yellow but not long enough to forget who threw the punch.

The Academy’s halls smelled like lemon oil and sunlight.

Midlife students moved like the tail end of a tide, ebbing and flowing with laughter because the tears of sacrifice would never be forgotten.

Now that exams were finished, the air had turned lighter.

Soon, students would be heading back to the villages, cities, and towns until the fall semester begins.

Someone’s familiar sneezed in a distant corridor, conjuring a drift of confetti. I didn’t want to brag, but I didn’t even flinch as the sparkly dust floated in front of me.

Growth.

I balanced a stack of returned grimoires on my hip, a pencil behind my ear, a list in my pocket with normal things on it like buy stamps, ask Stella for the focus blend at the tea shop, have Karvey look at the cottage’s stone chimney that keeps sighing at midnight like a lovesick pixie.

Normalcy almost felt like a charm I could wear if I didn’t jinx it by naming it out loud. But I knew it wouldn’t last. There was too much on the line, too many unknowns ahead of us, and a box full of magic I still needed to unpack.

“Headmistress?” A voice floated from the library doors. A midlife witch in a sunflower dress and orthopedic sandals waved a parchment. “Do we return wands at check-out or…?”

“On your honor and under the watchful eye of six gargoyles,” I teased, smiling. “Take yours home for the break, but just don’t hex a chipmunk or something.”

She laughed, clutching her wand like a new passport to joy, and disappeared down the hall. Little did she know that I was speaking from experience. I set the grimoires on the counter and breathed.

It had been four weeks since Grandma Elira’s terrible, brave choice saved us from Malore.

Four weeks since Luna and Gideon fled, and a different truth cracked open.

Four weeks of waiting for a shoe we couldn’t see to drop and trying to survive a semester around the sense that the sky was practicing how to fall.

It was still hard for me to wrap my head around the information I had learned about my other grandmother, the high priestess of Shadowick.

We’d weathered battles I once thought unwinnable, and the hard-won wisdom of these midlife witches, magical creatures, and familiars was now a permanent charm in our collective arsenal.

I wandered through the Butterfly Ward, letting the hush of magic soak into my bones.

The air shimmered faintly, carrying the sweet scent of honey and mint, and the vines along the stone walls glowed like soft lanterns in shades of lavender and rose.

Butterflies drifted lazily around me, some alive, some made of light, all moving as if they knew something I didn’t.

Beyond the narrow archway, the cobbled path curved toward Stonewick Village, where the crisp scent of dew and wild herbs deepened into something far cozier, Stella’s tea shop.

The bell above her door chimed before I even stepped inside, almost like it recognized me.

Warmth wrapped around me instantly, candlelight flickering against the shelves, the comforting perfume of rosehips and black tea mingling with Stella’s unmistakable scent of sass and centuries-old secrets.

A low murmur of conversation floated from a nearby table, and the teacups on the counter clinked like they were part of the rhythm of the room.

I breathed in slowly and steadily, letting the familiar sound and scent ground me.

The world outside might’ve been teetering between curses and chaos, but in here, everything felt right.

Stella’s tea shop was its own little universe, part refuge, part rebellion against the dark, and walking into it felt like coming home.

“Fake it till you make it, my dear.” Stella’s voice carried through the tables like the jingle of the tea-shop bell.

If zany were an energy bar, she’d be twelve servings. She materialized in the doorway with a tray, rings flashing, scarlet lipstick perfect, and a silk shawl brighter than my future.

“Or in your case, steep it till you keep it.” She set the tray down and peered into my face like a jeweler assessing a flawed sapphire. “Drink. You look two degrees past peppy and eight degrees past honest. You need to keep your sanity.”

“I’m fine.” I shook my head.

“You are not fine,” she declared. “You are stitched together with to-do lists and hope, and both are notorious for unraveling.” She poured, sniffed, and then added two more pinches of something that made my nose itch.

“Focus blend for the brain, courage blend for the heart, and a whisper of don’t you dare for everything else. ”

I cupped the tea. “Do you ever have a day where you just…wobble?”

“I wobble with style.” She took my elbow, squeezed. “You don’t have to be unbreakable to be in charge, darling. You just have to be a hinge. Doors need those. They’re what help bring in new ideas and usher out old ones. Now, drink, and tell me, have you heard any crowing crows from Gideon’s side?”

I shook my head. “Silence. And it’s not the comforting kind. Not a peep from him or Luna. No nightmares, no hidden messages, no…” I shrugged. “Nothing but silence for four weeks. I haven’t had that kind of peace since I arrived in Stonewick.”

“Frightening.” Stella pretended to shiver.

“The silence worries me,” I confessed.

“Silence is a liar,” Stella muttered, then brightened. “Now, where’s that goblin? If I find him in a corner with a pile of crumbs and he tells me he is taste-testing anything in my shop today, I will—”

“Present!” Twobble sprang from behind a cart like a bad idea wrapped in a gift bow, both hands sticky with something that looked suspiciously like lemon glaze.

“Reporting for duty with zero pastries in my pockets.” Something crinkled.

“Okay, five. Five cupcakes, but they aren’t pastries.

I have them for emergencies. Speaking of which, are we still pretending everything is fine?

I’m very good at pretending. See?” He put both fists on his hips and sucked in his belly. “Confidence.”

Stella swatted a crumb off his cheek. “You, darling, are a true disaster. And if you pilfered my lemon knots again—”

“Pilfer is a harsh word. I reallocated.” He leaned in, voice dropping like a stage whisper. “Any updates from the Shadowick fan club? I miss the drama of an ominous letter. The quiet is giving me hives.”

“It’s giving me heartburn,” I said, and sipped. “Nothing from Gideon. No sign of Luna.”

Twobble’s ears dipped. “I never liked it when the villain goes on a lunch break. Means he’s building something.”

The bell jingled, and Nova arrived like she always did…already knowing why she was here. The seer’s raven hair was pinned in a low twist.

“Two more students checked out of Maple Dorm for the break. Ember’s counting heads in the dining hall. The Wards are steady. Too steady,” she informed me.

“Define too steady,” I said. “Because I rather like them steady.”

Nova’s green eyes flicked toward the window. “A river looks placid just before it drops off a cliff. Stillness is a posture.”

Stella clicked her tongue. “Very poetic, lovely, but we could do with a less lyrical cliff.” She poured Nova tea without asking. Nova drank without looking down.

Ardetia appeared next, not entering so much as lingering in the seam between here and there. Fae reluctance gave her an elegance that made me want to check my posture. She hovered just inside the doorway, gaze on the light pooling across the stone floor.

“The butterflies in the Ward changed flight,” she said softly. “They are tracing the edge of the light, not the flowers.”

“Predicting a storm?” I asked.

“Remembering one,” she murmured. “I don’t like it.”

Twobble hopped onto a stool and crossed his legs. “And yet, here we all are, not panicking. Excellent hinge work, Maeve.”

“Don’t encourage Stella’s metaphors,” I said dryly.

“Metaphors are free,” Stella sniffed. “Unlike tea. Twobble, you owe the shop thirty-three bucks, and soon, I’ll charge interest.”

He grinned. “Charge it to my tab.”

“You don’t have a tab.” She winked.

“I do now.”

Stella smiled and looked out the window as Bella walked past the window and entered.

Bella slid in with an armful of morning light. Her hair caught bronze even in shade, and her grin was pure trouble like mischief with a conscience.

Today her ears were human, but if I blinked, I could see the way her fox would spring from her bones, quick and sure. It reminded me of Keegan.

“Report from the grounds.” She smiled. “The students have eaten their feelings and are now pretending they didn’t.

Also, someone charmed the ferns by the south steps.

They spelled a rude word when I walked by.

It was creative, but it seemed more like teenage rebellion and less like midlife maturity. ”

I snickered. “When have you ever known any of us to be mature?”

“Does that mean Skonk is back on campus?” Twobble said, scandalized and pleased.

“I don’t know,” Bella said sweetly. “You two are like mismatched socks in the same bin.” She bumped my shoulder with hers. “How’s your heart?”

“Held together with tea and lists.”

“Good glue,” she said, and meant it.

Keegan arrived last, like a thundercloud you want to walk into.

He filled the doorway without trying, shoulders broad beneath a plain shirt, hazel eyes carrying more worry than he’d admit.

Some days the curse made his edges shadowed, a bruise under the skin of his magic, but today he looked merely tired and unfairly handsome. The unfairness annoyed me, but it was a useful emotion to keep my mind on track.

“You should be in bed,” I said.

“You should be in bed,” he countered, then ruined his gruffness by looking at me softly. He leaned against the doorframe, jaw rough with a new beard. “Any news?”

“Not the good kind,” Nova said. “And not the bad kind. The kind that makes you wonder if magic is holding its breath.”

He grunted. “He’s setting up a board game.”