Chapter Ten
The realization didn’t land all at once.
The sensation crept in sideways, like fog rolling over a winding road.
Nova’s smile lingered on Celeste a beat too long, thoughtful rather than merely warm, and Stella’s stillness honed from curiosity into something far more alert.
Celeste shifted under all that attention. “Why is everyone looking at me like that?”
The toad chose that moment to hop, and it wasn’t a timid, apologetic hop. It was full of confidence. He jumped through the door, belly brushing the stone, and paused as if evaluating the acoustics.
The Academy didn’t reject him this time. He croaked once, loud and self-satisfied, and angled himself toward the warmth spilling from the kitchen corridor.
Twobble gasped like he’d been personally insulted.
“Oh no. No. Absolutely not. You don’t get to make yourself at home,” Twobble said.
The toad hopped again, slower this time, as if testing boundaries.
Twobble’s ears flattened.
“I will eat you,” he warned. “I don’t care if you used to file taxes.”
“I don’t think you should—” I started, then stopped.
The words caught in my throat, tangled with the memory of Alex’s voice, the way Celeste had mimicked it, the casual cruelty of it. I watched the toad settle himself beside a bench like he belonged there, like the Academy was just another place he’d decided he deserved to occupy.
Keegan leaned closer to me, eyes bright with barely contained amusement. “You’re thinking it too, aren’t you.”
“I don’t want to,” I muttered.
“But you are.”
“Yes,” I admitted.
Celeste looked between us, brow furrowing. “Thinking what?”
Nova finally spoke, her voice gentle but precise. “Celeste, when your father… changed, how did you feel in that moment?”
Celeste hesitated. “Angry.”
Stella arched a brow. “That’s putting it mildly.”
Celeste exhaled, shoulders tightening. “I was furious. Embarrassed. I wanted him to shut up. I wanted him to stop talking about Mom like she was some joke. I wanted him to stop talking at all.”
The toad croaked again, sharp this time.
Twobble pointed at him. “See? Even now, he’s being rude.”
Nova nodded slowly, eyes never leaving Celeste. “And did you think about magic?”
Celeste blinked. “No. I mean… yes? But not like casting a spell. It was more like…” She paused, searching. “Like something snapped into place.”
My chest tightened.
“Snapped?” I asked quietly.
Celeste’s gaze flicked to me. “Like the world finally agreed with me.”
Silence dropped hard. I’d never heard a more perfect explanation of magic.
Stella inhaled slowly. “Well. That answers that.”
Celeste’s eyes widened. “Answers what?”
My heart started to race again, but this time it wasn’t panic.
It was recognition mixed with a different kind of fear that comes when you see the shape of something new and realize you’re responsible for guiding it.
“Oh, heavens,” I whispered.
My gaze found Celeste again. She wasn’t my daughter who needed protecting from magic, but my daughter who was standing in it and even shaping it without knowing she’d done so.
“It was you,” I said softly.
Celeste stared at me. “No. I don’t do that sort of thing, or I wouldn’t be failing chemistry.”
“You didn’t mean to,” Nova said, kind but firm. “But intention isn’t required when magic recognizes itself.”
The toad hopped again, this time bumping Twobble’s foot.
Twobble yelped. “That’s it. I warned you.” He leaned over with fingers inches away from the toad.
“Twobble,” I said, though my voice lacked conviction.
He looked at me hopefully. “So… permission?”
I pressed my lips together. I couldn’t say no. Not when some quiet, traitorous part of me thought Alex deserved to be uncomfortable for once in his life.
Keegan snorted, unable to help himself. “You’re not allowed to eat the guests, no matter how insignificant or annoying they may be.”
Celeste let out a small, horrified laugh. “Wait. You’re saying I did that?”
“Yes,” Stella said. “And frankly, I’m impressed.”
Celeste recoiled. “You’re not supposed to say that.”
“But I absolutely am,” Stella replied. “You didn’t lash out wildly. You didn’t burn anything down. You corrected a problem.”
The toad croaked indignantly.
Stella eyed him. “And correction is rarely comfortable.”
Celeste backed up a step, shaking her head. “I didn’t say words. I didn’t think a spell. I just… wanted him to stop.”
“And he did,” Nova said.
“Indeed, he did.” Twobble grinned.
“Celeste, have you ever felt magic before? Or a sensation like this?”
She hesitated. “Sometimes. Little things. When I was younger. Stuff I thought was imagination.”
Of course, she had.
The toad hopped toward the center of the hall, croaking loudly as if announcing himself. The Academy’s sconces flickered but didn’t push him out, merely adjusted around his presence like a resigned sigh.
Twobble threw his hands up. “Unbelievable. He’s nesting.”
Keegan laughed outright now, unable to contain it. “I’ve never seen you this offended.”
“I am deeply offended,” Twobble snapped. “He’s amphibious and smug. You can be one or the other but not both.”
Footsteps echoed down the corridor.
I stiffened, already knowing who it would be before he stepped into view.
Gideon.
He looked more himself now, cleaned up, posture settled, the edge of exhaustion giving way to that familiar, watchful calm. His gaze swept the hall, registering the tension, the gathered faces, and then dropped—
To the toad.
One brow lifted.
Celeste gasped.
She stepped back so fast she nearly lost her footing, her heel coming down inches from her father’s head.
“Oh my gosh,” she breathed. “It’s him.”
Gideon stopped immediately, hands lifting in a clear, instinctive gesture of non-threat.
“Easy,” he said. “I’m not here for you.”
Her eyes never left him. “You tried to hurt my mom.”
“I did,” he said plainly.
“And me.”
“Yes.”
The toad croaked loudly, startled by the sudden movement.
Celeste’s breath came fast. I moved to her side without thinking, my hand finding her shoulder, solid and grounding.
“I should’ve told you more,” I murmured. “About him. About all of this.”
She nodded stiffly.
Gideon held her gaze, something unreadable passing through his expression.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and for whatever it was worth, the words weren’t hollow.
Celeste didn’t respond. She just leaned into me slightly, and I wrapped an arm around her, realizing with a sudden ache that no matter how much normal I’d wanted for her, her life was never going to be untouched by this world.
Magic didn’t ask permission.
It recognized its own.
Stella stepped forward, breaking the tension with the authority of someone who’d seen many awkward magical meetings and survived all of them.
“Well,” she said briskly, clapping her hands once. “This explains a great deal. Your daughter has teeth.”
Celeste blinked. “That’s not comforting.”
Stella smiled, approving. “It is if you learn how to use them.”
The Academy hummed softly around us, as if in agreement.
And I knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my bones, that this night hadn’t just changed one story.
It had begun another.
The Academy did what it always did when things threatened to splinter—it opened the dining hall.
The doors eased wide with a soft creak, warm light spilling into the corridor along with the scent of bread and herbs and something faintly sweet. The sound of cutlery and low voices drifted out, gentle and grounding, an unmistakable invitation to sit down and remember how to be human again.
I didn’t hesitate because we’d never finished our meal.
“Come on,” I said, guiding Celeste forward with a firm but gentle hand at her back. “You need food. And water. And a chair. In that order.”
Celeste let herself be steered, though her gaze flicked behind us once, sharp and unsettled. She didn’t resist, but I felt the tension humming through her, magic and emotion tangled tight beneath her skin.
Behind us, Gideon cleared his throat.
“I won’t be staying,” he said.
The words cut cleanly through the hallway.
Everyone froze.
Keegan turned first, his body already angling subtly into a barrier. Nova’s gaze sharpened. Stella stopped mid-step, shoulders drawing back as if preparing for impact.
Gideon’s posture was rigid, resolved.
“The circle is closed. The immediate threat is over. My presence here only complicates matters.”
“That’s one way to phrase it,” Stella said coolly.
“I’ll leave the grounds tonight.” Gideon continued.
“No,” I said.
The word wasn’t loud, but it landed.
Gideon turned toward me slowly, brows knitting. “This isn’t your decision.”
“It absolutely is,” I replied, meeting his gaze without flinching. “You don’t get to walk out now. Not after everything. Not without oversight.”
Keegan’s jaw tightened in approval.
Gideon’s eyes flicked to him, then back to me. “You can’t honestly believe this is wise.”
“I believe,” I said evenly, “that you leaving alone, exhausted, stripped of the shadows’ strength, and still very much on the Priestess’s radar would be reckless.”
Nova nodded once. “She already captured you once.”
“And she’ll try again,” I added. “If you walk out of the Academy tonight, you’re vulnerable.”
Gideon’s mouth tightened. “I can handle myself.”
“That’s not the point,” I said. “The point is that if you’re doing anything, going anywhere, making any decisions that affect Stonewick or my family, I need to know about it.”
His expression hardened. “You don’t get to manage me.”
“I’m not managing you,” I said. “I’m keeping you where I can see you.”
The air between us snapped taut.
For a long moment, it looked like he might argue and say something arrogant and infuriating that would justify every instinct telling us to throw him out into the night and bar the doors behind him.
Instead, his gaze shifted.
Just slightly.
To Celeste.
She stood there behind my shoulder, arms crossed now, eyes fixed on him with something raw and unfiltered. It wasn’t just fear alone, or anger, but recognition and memory. She had a clear-eyed understanding of exactly who he was and what he’d done.
Whatever he saw there changed something.
His shoulders lowered a fraction. The fight drained from his stance like air from a punctured lung.
“…Fine,” he said quietly.
The word echoed, and Keegan blinked, while Nova lifted a brow.
Twobble, who had been hovering near the wall, whispered loudly, “Huh. That worked?”
I didn’t respond. I just nodded once, sealing the moment before it could unravel.
“You’ll stay,” I said. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
Gideon inclined his head stiffly. “As you wish.”
I turned away before anyone could say anything else, guiding Celeste forward again.
That was when my foot caught on something soft and damp.
I stumbled.
And very nearly trampled my ex-husband.
Toad—or the husband formerly known as Alex—let out a startled croak and flopped sideways, narrowly escaping the full weight of my boot. He puffed himself up indignantly, glaring at me with those droopy, golden, and deeply offended eyes.
“Oh,” I said flatly. “You.”
Celeste winced. “Mom.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I said automatically.
Which was true.
Mostly.
Except I realized in that exact moment that I didn’t feel bad.
Not really.
The absence of guilt startled me more than the toad had. I’d spent years apologizing for Alex’s behavior or explaining it away, while always shrinking myself to smooth over the mess he left behind.
Now he was a toad on the floor in my way.
I stepped around him without another word.
But that was when the guilt finally arrived, late and indignant, trying to insist I should feel worse than I did. I acknowledged it, then let it pass. Some reckonings didn’t require penance.
Behind me, Twobble crouched low and bared his teeth at the toad.
“You watch yourself,” he hissed. “One hop too many and you’re dinner.”
The toad croaked back, unimpressed.
“Twobble,” Stella said dryly, “stop threatening the amphibian.”
“He started it,” Twobble muttered.
The dining hall welcomed us with warmth as we stepped inside.
Long tables gleamed softly, dishes already waiting from when we’d hurriedly left.
The Academy, it seemed, had decided nourishment was nonnegotiable, and somehow the kitchen sprites had ensured everything was piping hot, even with the interruption.
Celeste sagged slightly as we reached the nearest bench, the adrenaline finally draining away. I sat beside her, close enough that our shoulders touched.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
She exhaled. “So… that escalated.”
I snorted quietly. “You have no idea.”
She glanced down at her hands, and back up at me. “You okay?”
The question caught me off guard.
“I think so,” I said honestly. “Ask me again tomorrow.”
She smiled faintly. “Deal.”
Behind us, the hall filled with voices as the others filtered in.
Keegan and Nova peeled away to arrange Gideon’s temporary quarters, Stella was already issuing instructions to a sprite about tea, while my dad was hovering with that protective energy that never quite left him.
The Academy hummed, settled for now, and I settled on the bench, looking at my daughter that I’d tried to keep untouched by magic, but the young woman standing squarely in it.
I had a lot of catching up to do, and for the first time, that didn’t scare me at all.