Chapter Sixteen
Keegan’s hands settled on my shoulders, and he leaned in just enough that his breath brushed my ear.
“I don’t like this one bit,” he murmured.
I turned slightly, just enough to catch his gaze, and smiled even though the tension hadn’t loosened in my chest.
“Agreed,” I said softly. “But apparently it’s not our choice.”
The Academy hummed beneath our feet as if it had heard us and found that amusing.
Twobble planted himself a few steps away and folded his arms over his chest, his mouth pinched into a deep frown.
“Well,” he said loudly, “now that I feel like the Academy has stuffed us into an inescapable escape room, I’d like to point out something we all seem very willing to gloss over.”
No one interrupted him. That alone told me how tightly wound everyone was.
“Gideon cursed Frank,” Twobble continued, ticking it off on his fingers.
“He cursed Keegan. He cursed the entire town. He meddled with things that had teeth and consequences, and the man didn’t lose any sleep over it at the time.
So, forgive me if I’m not ready to braid his hair and ask him what his feelings are. ”
Keegan’s hands tightened on my shoulders to let me know he felt the weight of that truth, too.
“He’s not a nice guy,” Twobble said flatly. “And sure, it’s great the Academy is suddenly holier than thou, but I’m not. If he’s staying, I want proof he’s not going to curse any of us again.”
I let out a small breath that was half a laugh, half a release of tension.
“That seems like a fair request,” I said, nodding toward Twobble. “Very fair.”
But even as I said it, my chest tightened.
Twobble wasn’t being dramatic. He was scared.
His eyes darted from Gideon to Keegan to me and back again, sharp and quick, like he was measuring distances and exits that no longer existed.
For all his bluster, Twobble had always trusted Stonewick to make sense, to follow rules even when they were strange.
This didn’t feel like that.
This felt… cruel.
The Academy blocking corridors, sealing walls, and making stairs vanish all carried the unsettling weight of inevitability.
I understood the idea of redemption. I even believed people could change.
I’d been all for redemption until it involved the people I loved.
Being forced into proximity with someone like Gideon, who’d caused real harm, didn’t feel like mercy or grace.
It felt like a test no one had agreed to take, and that hurt more than I wanted to admit.
Because my job was to listen to the Academy and to protect those I loved.
Gideon, who’d been staring at the empty space where the stairs had been, finally turned.
He didn’t look angry.
He looked resigned.
He took a few slow steps forward, stopping well short of anyone else, and lifted his chin slightly as if addressing the room, but I had the distinct impression he was speaking to something else entirely.
“I’m flattered,” he said evenly, his voice carrying in the narrow corridor, “that the Academy finds me worth keeping.”
The hum beneath our feet shifted, deepening.
“But this isn’t a kindness,” Gideon continued. “It’s a liability.”
Keegan shifted behind me, his hands fell away from my shoulders, and his posture shifted instinctively and protectively.
“I have unfinished business,” Gideon went on, his gaze unfocused now, as though he were looking past us, past the stone walls and wards and stubborn architecture. “Things that won’t remain unresolved simply because I choose to sit quietly in a classroom and behave.”
I swallowed.
“Until that business is dealt with,” he said, “anyone near me becomes collateral. Stonewick. The Academy. You.”
His eyes flicked briefly to me.
“At the right time,” he said carefully, “I will return. I will come back for what is mine.”
The words prickled along my skin.
What does he think is his?.
Behind me, Keegan moved.
I felt it before I saw it. The shift in the air, the subtle grip of magic as Keegan stepped past me, putting himself between Gideon and the rest of us without a word. His shoulders squared, his presence unmistakable.
“For what’s yours,” Keegan repeated quietly.
Gideon’s gaze slid to him, and something unreadable passed between them. The old history traded between them where serious damage and old lines were drawn deep.
“I’m not talking about her,” Gideon said after a beat.
Keegan didn’t relax. “You don’t get to decide how that sounds.”
“Enough,” I said, louder than I intended, but not apologizing for it. “All of you.”
The Academy hummed, attentive.
“Gideon,” I continued, meeting his eyes, “you don’t get to speak in riddles and expect us to trust your intentions.”
“And you don’t get to assume the worst and call it caution,” he replied.
“I absolutely do,” I shot back. “Especially when the stakes include my daughter, my town, and people you’ve already hurt.”
Twobble nodded vigorously. “She does. It’s very much her thing.”
For a moment, Gideon looked like he might argue. It was like the old version of him, the one who thrived on conflict and control, flared to life, ready to bare his teeth.
Instead, he exhaled.
“This isn’t a power play,” he said. “It’s a warning.”
“Then say it plainly,” I challenged.
His jaw tensed. “If I say it aloud, I give it shape.”
“That didn’t stop you from invading my dreams,” I said quietly.
That landed.
Keegan sucked in, and the corridor went still, even the Academy’s hum dipped lower, like it was listening harder.
Gideon studied me, and for the first time since I’d found him in the classroom, I saw something like doubt flicker across his face.
“That,” he said slowly, “wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did.”
Keegan moved again, just enough to remind him he wasn’t alone in this space.
I crossed my arms, grounding myself.
“You want to leave. The Academy won’t let you. Twobble wants proof you’re not going to hurt anyone. And I want the truth.”
Gideon’s mouth curved faintly. “You always did.”
The Academy thrummed, patient and immovable, walls still sealed, stairs still absent, corridors refusing to cooperate.
We were stuck.
Together.
And as I stood there, caught between distrust and a strange, unwilling hope, I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever the Academy was trying to force into being, it wasn’t finished shaping us yet.
The Academy relaxed, as a creature does when it decides the immediate threat has passed.
The sensation was a slow, deliberate easing that I felt through the soles of my feet and up my spine. The hum beneath us softened, the air warming a fraction, tension draining from the stone like breath leaving clenched lungs.
With a quiet thrum, the stairs reappeared.
Solid. Whole. Unapologetic.
I let out a deep breath, and I wasn’t the only one.
Gideon stood very still at the edge of the stairwell, shoulders drawn together, jaw set.
But I watched as the moment registered, and the invisible pressure he’d been pushing against finally gave way. His shoulders loosened, just a little.
The Academy had made its point, and now it was stepping back.
“Of course,” Twobble muttered. “Now it decides to behave.”
No one waited around to see if the Academy might change its mind.
The group scattered almost immediately, like a flock running into pasture.
Lady Limora swept off down one corridor with her skirts whispering and the toad dangling indignantly from her grip once again.
Ardetia followed Nova in the opposite direction, their low voices already slipping into strategy and spellwork.
Stella vanished with my dad padding along beside her, the bulldog casting one last smug glance over his shoulder.
Even Twobble hesitated only a second before hustling after them, muttering something about needing a snack and emotional fortification.
In less than a minute, the corridor felt strangely empty.
Only Keegan and I remained, standing side by side as Gideon fell into step behind the others, his back to us now, posture composed but watchful. He didn’t look back. I wasn’t sure whether that was restraint or pride.
We watched him disappear around the corner, presumably headed back toward his temporary quarters now that the Academy had decided to allow it.
Keegan broke the silence first.
“So,” he said quietly, “he returned to your dreams?”
I smiled faintly and shrugged. “Dreams? Nightmares? Who’s into labels?”
He let out a soft laugh, but his eyes stayed serious, searching my face for what I wasn’t saying yet. I stopped walking and drew a slow breath, the cool stone beneath my feet grounding me as I weighed how much to share.
I knew better than to keep things from him.
I turned to face him and lifted my hand to his cheek, my fingers brushing along the line of his jaw, feeling the warmth there, the steadiness. The simple reality of him standing in front of me felt like an anchor after everything else.
“How are you feeling,” I asked gently, “since the circle?”
His smile spread without hesitation, bright and genuine in a way that still startled me sometimes. He leaned into my touch, eyes softening.
“Honestly?” he said. “Like a million bucks.”
I laughed under my breath. “That good, huh?”
“That good,” he confirmed. “I haven’t felt this way since before Stonewick was cursed by Gideon.”
The words landed heavier than he meant them to.
Decades.
I nodded slowly, my hand still resting against his cheek as the truth of it settled in.
“Before you and my dad were cursed by him,” I said quietly.
Keegan’s smile faded, not into sadness exactly, but into something more thoughtful.
“Yeah. Before all that.”
We stood there for a moment, the Academy’s lanterns glowing softly around us, corridors calm again, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. But I knew better. We both did.
“He’s changed,” Keegan said after a beat. “Some.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Enough to notice, but not enough to trust.”
He nodded. “That’s where I landed, too.”
I dropped my hand from his cheek reluctantly and folded my arms, staring down the corridor where Gideon had gone.
“I don’t like that the Academy’s forcing this,” I admitted. “I understand it, but I don’t like it.”
Keegan shifted closer, his shoulder brushing mine. “It’s never gentle when it thinks it knows better.”
“No,” I said. “And it usually does.”
He snorted softly. “Doesn’t mean we have to enjoy it.”
I glanced up at him, grateful for the steadiness he offered without trying to fix anything. “He said he has unfinished business.”
Keegan’s jaw tightened. “That worries me.”
“Me too,” I said. “Especially after what happened in the dream. Or whatever that was.”
He studied me carefully. “You think the Priestess was involved.”
“I think she tried to be,” I replied. “And that scares me more than anything Gideon’s said out loud.”
Keegan reached for my hand this time, threading his fingers through mine. “Then we stay alert.”
“Yes,” I said. “And we protect Celeste.”
“Always,” he said without hesitation.
The Academy hummed again, soft and approving, as if it agreed with that plan at least.
I glanced once more down the hall, imagining Gideon in his room, pacing or sitting too still, carrying whatever weight he’d decided was his alone to bear.
Part of me was angry with him. Part of me was tired of being drawn into his gravity.
And part of me, quiet and unwelcome, understood exactly why he felt the need to leave, even as the Academy refused to let him.
Stonewick had always been like that.
It didn’t release its pieces easily. My mind drifted to Grandma Elira, and I suddenly felt like we were all just a number.
Keegan squeezed my hand gently. “You okay?”
I nodded, though the truth was more complicated than that. “I will be.”
We turned and began walking again. The corridor stayed open ahead of us without resistance, the stairs remained solid beneath our feet, and the Academy was calm for now.
But I knew this wasn’t the end of anything.
It was just the pause before the next move.