Chapter Three
I didn’t announce my decision.
Stonewick had a habit of overhearing things before they were spoken aloud, and I didn’t need the Academy humming louder in protest. Instead, I adjusted my coat, ignored Twobble’s sharp intake of breath, and started down the path toward the village with the quiet certainty that comes when debating gives way to listening.
The sidewalks were busy with tourists looking for pumpkins and witchy charms. Shop windows glowed with afternoon light and overflowing autumn decorations. The scent of bread, herbs, and early fall drifted lazily through the air, as if nothing more dangerous than gossip had ever passed through town.
But above it all, I felt the pull toward Luna’s shop. There wasn’t an urgency behind it, just an insistent pestering to stick my head in.
I spotted Skonk before he spotted me, which was impressive considering he was attempting to hide behind a trash can that could barely conceal a cat.
He was crouched low, eyes narrowed, posture rigid with focus, clutching a lemon scone as if it were sacred.
His attention flicked back and forth between the shop window and the pastry with visible effort.
When I cleared my throat, he nearly dropped both.
“I’m being very stealthy,” he whispered fiercely. “You’re ruining it.”
“You’re doing great,” I whispered back, because encouragement was sometimes easier than honesty.
He nodded and leaned closer. “They’re talking a lot. I don’t see shouting or theatrics. That’s suspicious.”
I gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder and stepped around the trash can before I could second-guess myself.
The bell over Luna’s door chimed softly as I pushed it open, the sound cushioned rather than sharp. The air was thick with smells of lanolin and lavender. A domestic magic ran through the air that felt woven rather than cast. Normally, the shop would have brought me comfort, but not today.
Shelves ran along the walls, overflowing with skeins in every shade imaginable. Colors shifted subtly when I wasn’t looking too closely. Sometimes, the blues deepened, greens caught light, reds stayed warm and grounding rather than bright.
Half-finished scarves drifted lazily between hooks, knitting themselves with patient determination, needles clicking in a steady, soothing rhythm. A basket of yarn rolled itself a few inches to the side to avoid bumping into me.
At the center table, Luna stood with her hands resting lightly on a length of silver-gray wool that was braiding itself without instruction.
Across from her stood Gideon.
Seeing him there unsettled me more than if he’d been lurking in shadow. He looked too real in that light, coat unbuttoned, posture relaxed, head inclined as he listened. He didn’t seem to be posturing or prowling like he was searching for prey. In fact, he just looked…present.
The two were deep in conversation with voices low. For a moment, I watched unnoticed. The way Luna gestured gently as she spoke. The way Gideon’s attention followed her movements instead of the magic weaving itself between them. It scraped against something raw inside me.
Once again, there was a closeness or an acknowledgment between these two that was undeniable.
When Luna looked up and saw me, whatever had been in her eyes softened instantly, relief and warmth rising together.
“Maeve,” she said.
Gideon turned at the sound, his gaze settling on me with that familiar, measured calm that never quite reached his eyes. He smiled pleasantly enough, but the look was unnerving.
“You’ve come for me,” he said, knowingly.
“I have,” I replied, my voice steadier than I felt as I stepped fully into the shop. The door closed behind me, the bell chiming again.
The yarn continued its quiet work around us. A scarf completed itself and folded neatly onto a shelf. A mitten turned right side out with a satisfied twitch. I wondered briefly whether Luna’s magic was always this visible, or if it sensed what was coming and wanted to be useful.
“We’re closing the circle today,” I said, because dancing around truth had never served anyone in Stonewick for long. “And you agreed to be present.”
Gideon’s eyes flicked briefly toward Luna. Something passed between them that was unreadable before he looked back at me.
“I remember,” he said. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
That should have comforted me. Instead, the mark on my hip buzzed with anticipation. Certainty from Gideon had never been simple.
Luna’s fingers tightened slightly on the yarn, then relaxed. Her gaze moved between us, as though she were holding space rather than choosing sides.
“You’re welcome to sit,” she offered gently, gesturing toward a chair that slid out from the table.
I shook my head. “I won’t keep you long.”
I turned to Gideon, “We should go, if you’re ready.”
It wasn’t a command because consent mattered now more than ever.
He studied me for a heartbeat longer, then inclined his head. “Very well. Let us not keep the circle waiting.”
As he turned toward the door, Luna reached out and touched his sleeve. The gesture was light but deliberate.
He paused.
“Be careful,” she said quietly. “Both of you.”
Gideon’s mouth curved faintly, something like regret passing through his eyes before he stepped away.
Luna looked back at me, her gaze steady and open.
“I’ll be here if you need anything,” she said.
I nodded, unable to find words that felt sufficient.
Outside, sunlight spilled across the sidewalk as Gideon stepped beside me. Skonk gasped loudly from behind the trash can, nearly dropping his scone.
Behind us, Luna’s shop continued its quiet work with threads aligning and stitches completing, as if the magic there understood exactly what kind of day this was and intended to keep weaving until the very end.
We walked side by side through Stonewick without speaking, and for once the silence didn’t feel hostile. It felt weighted
The village went about its business around us, blissfully unaware that one of the most dangerous mages walked openly along the path, hands loose at his sides, expression unreadable. A wind chime sang two doors down while someone laughed near the bakery.
But I had questions, too many of them. The thoughts crowded behind my ribs, jostling for space, each one sharper than the last and creating tension in my chest.
The Priestess.
Shadowick.
The way Gideon’s magic never quite settled, always restless, always searching.
Luna’s shop lingered in my thoughts, the softness in her eyes when she’d looked at him, the history I couldn’t touch but felt pressing close all the same. And beneath it all, the one question for him I didn’t know how to shape without cutting myself on it.
Why did you agree?
But asking Gideon anything was like stepping onto ice without knowing where it might crack or how I might fall.
So I walked, listening to the rhythm of our steps. I watched the way his gaze tracked reflections in windows, the way he tilted his head slightly as if measuring the town against an internal map that never stopped updating.
“You’re quiet,” he said eventually, not looking at me.
“I could say the same,” I replied.
A corner of his mouth lifted. “You could.”
“I know you have questions,” he said.
I glanced at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”
He let out a breath that might have been a laugh if it had been warmer. “You’re terrible at hiding your thoughts, Maeve.”
“And you’re terrible at answering direct questions,” I shot back. “Which is why I haven’t asked any yet.”
“That’s considerate of you.”
“I try.” I wanted to say it sarcastically, but sarcasm had never been my strong suit.
We walked a little farther and turned down the tiny alley. The Academy rose ahead of us beyond the Butterfly Ward. Its towers caught the light, and I wondered just how far it would let Gideon come. I felt the Academy stirring, the low hum underfoot, the awareness heightening as we drew closer.
It knew we were coming. It always did.
“I didn’t expect you to come get me,” Gideon said quietly.
I frowned. “You agreed to return for the circle.”
“Yes,” he said. “But agreement and expectation are not the same thing.”
I didn’t answer that. The truth sat uncomfortably in my chest.
If it weren’t for the circle, if it weren’t for the vow the Hollows were holding tight, would I have gone to Luna’s shop at all? Or would I have let Stonewick deal with him in its own time, from a distance that felt safer?
He stopped walking.
I took another step before I realized he wasn’t beside me anymore, and I turned back to look at him.
Gideon stood there in the middle of the alley, the late afternoon light catching in his dark hair, his expression stripped of its usual sharpness. My mind flashed back to him on the outskirts of the village when he was a boy, an outsider? And my heart tugged despite myself.
When Gideon looked at me then, really looked at me, something in his gaze shifted.
“Thank you,” he said.
The word landed wrong. It was…too sincere and unguarded.
“For what?” I asked, though I knew.
“For coming to get me,” he said. “And for not sending someone else.”
Guilt flared hot and fast.
“Don’t thank me yet,” I said. “This isn’t exactly an act of mercy. I have my reasons.”
“I know,” he agreed. “But it’s still a choice.”
I searched his face for the familiar arrogance, the edge that always made him feel untouchable.
It was there but thinner. His mask had slipped just enough to reveal the man beneath, tired and worn and far more complicated than I wanted him to be.
It was easier to throw him in the evil bucket and let him live there, but since the beginning…
I’d felt there was more, and I disliked that part about myself.
It was also how I managed to be married to a man who slept with everyone but me for the last several years of our marriage, without even realizing it.
Because sometimes your mind refuses to reconcile that humans could be so deceitful.
“You’re still wondering why I agreed,” he said, bringing me back to reality.
I hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
“Ask me.”
“Why?” I said, the word quieter than I’d intended. “Why now?”
He held my gaze for a long moment, and I braced myself for something harsh, something devious, something designed to keep me off balance.
Instead, he sighed.
“I’m tired,” he said simply.
His words startled me more than any threat could have. “Tired?”
“Tired of making choices for other people’s power,” he continued. “I’m tired of being moved across boards I didn’t design. I’m exhausted from believing that if I just gathered enough influence, enough leverage, enough magic, I would eventually get to decide something that actually mattered.”
I swallowed, and the Academy quieted around us, as if even Stonewick had leaned closer to listen.
“I’ve been a pawn for longer than I care to admit,” he said. “For Shadowick. For Malore. For the Priestess. For forces that told me I was special while tightening the leash one link at a time. When I cast the curse on Stonewick and…”
“And on my father and Keegan,” I interjected.
He pressed his lips together and nodded. “I believed it was my decision and what was best for Shadowick.”
“But you didn’t seem unaware,” I said carefully.
“I wasn’t,” he replied. “But awareness doesn’t free you if the only choices you’re offered still serve someone else. I’m not trying to blame my age, but I was na?ve.”
His confession landed harder than I expected.
“So you agreed because… what? You want redemption?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. I agreed because for the first time, the choice was mine.”
I felt the hum beneath my feet strengthen, the Academy’s presence pressing closer now. It liked what it was hearing, but could the Academy decipher Gideon’s half-truths from reality?
“And because,” he added, quieter still, “I hope that if I start making the right choices, real ones, not strategic ones, then maybe what belongs to me will finally return.”
The words echoed through me, unsettling and strange.
“What belongs to you?” I asked.
His gaze slid past me, toward the Academy gates now visible ahead, stone and ivy and ancient promise. Something unreadable flickered across his expression.
“We’re here,” he said instead. “This isn’t quite as gloomy as Shadowick’s Academy.”
“I’ve never seen it,” I muttered, knowing he wouldn’t give me the answer I’d craved since I saw him at Stonewick’s edge so long ago. The vision might have been in my dreams and between realms, but I’d felt his anguish.
The Academy grounds loomed before us, the invisible boundary clear to my senses even if it looked like nothing more than a change in paving stones. I felt the Wards stir across the village, felt the land weigh him, assess him, and remember things I couldn’t see.
He stepped forward, and I tensed, breath caught, ready for resistance, for rejection, for some sign that the Academy wouldn’t allow this.
Instead, the hum deepened, and the air shifted.
Gideon crossed onto the Academy’s property without resistance, the stone beneath his feet steady and silent.
I turned toward him, my question burning now, impossible to hold back.
“Gideon,” I began. “What is it you think will return to you?”
He didn’t answer, and the Academy doors waited ahead, open and watching, and whatever truth he carried with him slipped into the space between us, unanswered, as the circle drew closer to closing.