Chapter Twenty-Five #2
“Reporting for doom-day,” Twobble said, saluting with his least sticky hand.
They stepped inside.
“We’re not calling it doom-day,” I said.
“Right,” he said. “Circle Day. Path-Pummeling Day. Priestess-Annoyance Day. I have alternatives.”
Skonk adjusted his spectacles. “We come with news,” he said.
“Good or bad?” Keegan asked.
“Mostly good,” Skonk said. “With undertones of concern, obviously. It’s us.”
Twobble bounced on his heels.
“Frank slept,” he announced. “Like slept slept. All night. In his own room. Not that anyone asked.”
“Really?”
Skonk nodded. “No pacing. No partial shifting. No muttering. His breathing was steady, his pulse strong, and he did not once try to chew a pillow in his sleep.”
“That happened one time,” Keegan muttered.
“Three,” Skonk corrected.
“Shh,” Twobble said, waving him off. “The point is, your dad is ready. He ate breakfast. He made a joke about the Academy porridge. He only scowled at Gideon’s empty chair twice.”
I blinked. “He scowled at an empty chair?”
“It was labeled,” Skonk said.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Of course it was.”
“Stella’s at the Academy already,” Twobble continued, clearly in full briefing mode.
“She’s made enough post-circle tea to drown a middling deity.
Nova’s triple-checking the Hollows threads for communication.
Ardetia says the Fae are grumpy but still on our side, and Bella sent word that the perimeter around the Wilds is clear. For now.”
“For now,” Keegan repeated under his breath.
Skonk flipped open his notebook. “Oh. And your mother reinforced the transit circle at the end of town. Layered charms. Very elegant. She made the chalk line do a little spiral at the end. It was impressive.”
My throat tightened, unexpectedly. “She always was good with details,” I said.
Twobble peered up at me. “You okay?”
“Ask me again in six hours,” I said.
“We will,” he said promptly. “We’re very annoying.”
He rocked back on his heels, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Also, if you were wondering whether your father is emotionally ready for this, he hugged your mom this morning and didn’t pretend it was an accident.”
I blinked. “That’s your metric?”
“It’s a good metric,” Twobble said. “Frank doesn’t do casual affection with exes. That’s how you know he’s serious.”
Keegan’s mouth twitched. “And what’s your metric for me?”
Twobble glanced between us. “You haven’t made a single sarcastic comment about your own impending doom this morning,” he said. “Which is either progress or very worrying. I’m making notes.”
Skonk dutifully scribbled. “Goblin Psychological Indicator #12: Keegan’s doom humor level.”
“Take that out,” I said.
“Never,” Skonk replied.
Despite everything, despite the knot in my stomach and the way my magic felt like it was pacing under my skin, I found myself smiling.
This was why we were doing it.
Not for grand prophecies, or the Hollow’s inscrutable design, or even to spite my power-hungry grandmother, though that was a nice bonus.
It was for this.
For goblins with crumb-strewn shirts and serious notebooks. For my curse-stricken wolf of a not-quite-husband, trying so hard to be steady. For my parents learning how to exist in the same magical building without flinching.
For Celeste, texting me about Kierkegaard and soup.
“Okay,” I said, squaring my shoulders. “Review the plan with me. One more time.”
Skonk brightened, flipping to a different page.
“We meet Gideon in the Wilds in a little under six hours,” he recited.
“Nova will anchor the grounds. You, Keegan, Frank, and Gideon step into the circle as primary anchors—north, south, east, west. Stella, Ardetia, Bella, and your mother will hold the secondary ring. Twobble and I will be positioned just outside for defensive support and snacks. The gargoyles will guard the perimeter; Elira will monitor the Stone and Academy Wards through the anchor.”
“The circle closes when we all commit,” I added. “Fully. No hedging, no ‘I’ll see how it goes.’ If one of us flinches—”
“The pattern fractures,” Keegan finished. “And we all have a very bad day.”
“Possibly permanently,” Skonk said helpfully.
“Not helping,” I said.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “Accuracy compulsion.”
Twobble bounced in place. “But if it works—”
“If it works,” I said, “we cut off the hunger path. Or at least make it a lot harder to use. We weaken the priestess’s favorite toy. We give Stonewick breathing room.”
“And then,” Twobble added, “we eat cake.”
I blinked. “We have cake?”
He looked offended. “Of course, we have cake. I’m not attending an ancient rite to restore balance to the world without baked goods.”
Keegan snorted. Some of the tightness had left his face.
“Thank you,” I said to both goblins, meaning more than the report. “Really.”
Twobble puffed up, ears flicking. Skonk ducked his head, pleased.
“We’ll meet you at the transit circle in an hour,” Skonk said. “Nova wants everyone there early to check resonance.” He hesitated. “Are you going to… tell Celeste anything before we go?”
The question landed like a stone dropped into a pond.
“She knows something big is happening,” I said slowly. “She doesn’t know the details. I don’t… want to send her a text that says ‘Hey, baby, might die at magic circle, love you.’”
Twobble winced. “No, don’t do that. Terrible tone.”
“I’ll message her afterwards,” I said, throat tight. “When it’s done. When I can say ‘We’re okay’ without lying.”
“If you need a distraction later,” Twobble said, “I can pretend to choke on cake.”
“Please don’t,” I said.
He grinned. “No promises.”
They left in a swirl of energy and half-formed arguments about whether goblins counted as official ceremonial witnesses. The door clicked shut behind them.
The room felt smaller without their noise.
Keegan stepped close again, resting his forehead against mine. His breath warmed my lips, steady now, if not quite normal. The shadows under his eyes were still there, but he didn’t look like he was about to fall over. Not physically, anyway, and then he kissed me.
Softly and gently as our worries blended together and he stepped back.
“Last chance to run away with me,” he murmured.
“Where?” I asked. “The non-cursed shoreline?”
“Somewhere with bad cell service and good soup,” he said. “We could fake our deaths and open a very small, very judgmental inn.”
“As tempting as it is to own the world’s most sarcastic bed-and-breakfast,” I said, “we have a date with a cursed circle.”
He sighed, but there was no real protest in it. “Worth a shot.”
I slid my hand against his cheek, feeling the faint chill under his skin where the curse tugged.
“Hey,” I said. “Whatever happens out there… we’re doing this together. You’re not a bridge alone. You’re… one of those braided rope things. With too many knots.”
“That’s very romantic,” he said dryly.
“I’m a poet.”
He kissed me once again, just enough to remind me that for all the magic and curses and grandmothers with delusions of godhood, there was this too. This human, painfully mortal, deeply inconvenient love.
“Let’s go end a Hunger Path,” he said.
“Let’s go annoy my grandmother,” I said.
“Best bonus,” he agreed. “And by the way, can we talk about potential in-laws because you’re serving up quite the assortment?”
“In-laws, huh?” I smiled and felt my chest loosen just slightly.
Outside, somewhere beyond the stone walls, the Wilds waited. The Hollows thrummed. The Wards watched. Gideon moved, silent and sharp, across a landscape that had seen too many old rites.
And soon, with my heart full of fear and stubbornness and the memory of dragon eyes, I’d step into the circle and hope the world chose to hold.