Chapter Eighteen
We stood together at the threshold as Gideon was led out of the Academy, and for the first time since morning, nothing fought us.
No walls slammed down, and no stairs vanished.
The massive doors opened smoothly, sunlight spilling across the stone floor in a wide, welcoming swath, and Gideon stepped through them without resistance.
Skonk followed several paces behind, muttering under his breath, while Ardetia moved with calm purpose at his side, her presence quiet but unmistakably firm.
I watched Gideon’s back as he crossed the courtyard, half expecting the Academy to change its mind at the last second, to yank him back with some dramatic display of ancient will. But it didn’t. The doors remained open. The air stayed still.
The Academy had agreed.
For now.
“Well,” I murmured, mostly to myself, “that went better than expected.”
“Better,” Keegan agreed. “But not finished.”
“No,” I said. “I keep wondering how long it’ll stay agreeable.”
He glanced down at me, something thoughtful in his expression.
“Long enough for you to breathe, at least.”
That mattered more than he knew.
“Long enough for Celeste.”
We turned back inside together, the doors closing gently behind us, the Academy settling into a quieter rhythm now that its chosen problem had been relocated rather than expelled.
I felt the building’s awareness linger, patient and watchful as the Academy’s magic rebuilt its steps and cleaned up the rubble as if nothing had just happened.
Keegan followed me to the sitting room, where I could already hear Twobble’s voice rising and falling as he recounted the explosion for the third time, each version somehow involving more dramatic personal heroics.
Celeste was perched on the edge of the sofa when we entered, her knees drawn up, while Twobble stood guard like a very short, very opinionated sentry.
She looked up the moment she saw me.
I crossed the room in two strides and pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly, my cheek pressed to her hair. She hugged me back just as fiercely, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the steady beat of her heart against mine.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I should’ve done that from the get-go. I shouldn’t have let it get that far. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to try to negotiate with the Academy.”
She pulled back just enough to look at me. “Mom, you handled it.”
“I still should’ve handled it sooner,” I said. “Your well-being is the most important thing.”
Her expression softened, and she leaned back into me. “I know.”
Twobble cleared his throat loudly. “For the record, I was prepared to bite someone. I was hoping it would be your ex, but…”
I smiled despite everything. “I never doubted that.”
Keegan lingered by the doorway, giving us space without leaving, and I felt a deep, aching gratitude for the way he always seemed to know where to stand.
As the adrenaline finally drained away, something else took its place…resolve.
“I’m done,” I said aloud, surprising myself with how certain it sounded. “At least for today.”
Celeste tilted her head. “Done with what?”
“With magical chaos,” I replied. “With Academy negotiations and ancient grudges and people getting blasted into rubble. You’re finally here. That matters most.”
Her eyes lit up. “Does that mean we’re going into town?”
“Yes,” I said, smiling fully now. “It does.”
Keegan straightened. “Stonewick day?”
“Stonewick day,” I confirmed.
Celeste practically bounced. “Can we get pastries?”
“Obviously,” I said. “And books. And we can visit that little clothing shop with the shoes you like.”
She grinned. “And lunch at the café?”
“Yes,” I laughed. “All of it.”
Keegan stepped forward, hands in his pockets, a smile tugging at his mouth. “If you’re up for it, I’ll meet you both at the inn tonight. Dinner’s on me.”
Celeste’s excitement dialed up instantly. “Your inn? With the fireplace and the fresh bread?”
“The very same,” he said.
“That sounds perfect,” I said, meaning more than just the dinner.
He nodded, eyes warm. “I’ll see you later, then.”
But as he turned to leave, something small and irritating made itself known.
A ribbit.
I froze.
Slowly, I turned toward the doorway.
Alex sat there, very still, very toad-shaped, his belly expanding from the short time he’d been here and obviously sneaking food from the kitchen. He watched us with what I could only describe as smug amphibious patience.
I sighed.
Celeste groaned. “He’s still a frog?”
“A toad,” Twobble corrected.
“Unfortunately,” I said.
He ribbited again, louder this time.
For a split second, I considered it. Turning him back. Dealing with it. Cleaning up yet another magical mess before it grew legs and wandered off, but there was something about letting the mystique of our magical capabilities simmer a little longer.
I looked at my daughter and at the sunlight streaming through the windows.
And toward the day waiting just beyond the Academy doors.
I shook my head.
“He can wait,” I said firmly.
Twobble snorted. “Music to my ears.”
I took Celeste’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Today’s for us.”
She squeezed back. “I like that plan.”
We headed for the door together, leaving the toad behind, the Academy humming quietly in our wake.
For the first time since Celeste arrived, I let myself believe that it was okay, just for a few hours, to choose joy over vigilance.
Stonewick would still be there when we returned, and so would the rest of it.
Right now, my daughter needed me, and I needed her because what became apparent was that her magic was coming on strong, and we would need to prepare.
As we wandered out of the Academy, it felt rather rebellious, as if choosing a normal morning in Stonewick counted as defying a prophecy.
Celeste stayed close without clinging, her fingers laced through mine, her steps a little lighter now that Gideon wasn’t within view and no one was yelling about Wards, vows, or exploding architecture.
Twobble had offered to come with us, then remembered he’d promised to supervise amphibian containment, which I didn’t question because, honestly, someone needed to keep Alex from attempting another smug hop into a wine cellar.
I didn’t need to deal with a drunk toad when I returned because Alex could never handle his liquor.
The Butterfly Ward greeted us the way it always did, like a breath drawn in through the nose and released through the mouth, gentle and grounding.
The air grew sweeter, laced with the faintest hint of fallen leaves and crushed greenery, and the color returned to the world in a way that wasn’t loud but was undeniably present.
Butterflies drifted through the space, their wings catching the light, and the Ward’s vines arched overhead as if they were making a canopy specifically for Celeste and me, as if Stonewick itself had decided we deserved softness.
The false fall was still settled over the town beyond, that enchanted season that arrived even when the calendar insisted it shouldn’t.
The Ward held the last of summer at its edges, but the moment we passed through the narrowing path and down the familiar alley that funneled toward the village, it was all pumpkins and crisp air and the sort of golden light that made every window look like it was glowing from the inside.
Celeste glanced up at the hanging lanterns strung between the buildings and smiled in spite of herself.
“Okay,” she admitted. “This is… adorable.”
“It’s aggressively adorable,” I said, and she laughed, the sound easing something tight in my chest.
Stonewick’s narrow alley opened into the village like a curtain pulled back.
The street was lined with decorated storefronts and scattered pumpkins in every shape imaginable, some carved with friendly faces, some left basic and polished, and some enchanted to tremble slightly whenever anyone walked too close, as if they were gossiping about passersby.
Orange and red leaves that didn’t belong to any adjacent tree swirled along the ground in tidy little vortexes, never straying into the road long enough to become litter, and the air carried the scent of cinnamon and warm bread that made it impossible to feel entirely afraid.
The village had that lived-in charm that always felt like a hug, but now that I knew what lurked beyond the edges, I couldn’t help but stay on guard slightly.
Celeste stared at a pumpkin display near Luna’s knitting shop window and then turned to me with sudden seriousness.
“So,” she said, “when are the students coming back?”
I blinked, startled by how normal the question sounded, how easily she said it, as if the Academy had always been a place with students and schedules rather than curses and secrets.
“A week from now,” I replied. “If everything holds.”
Her brows lifted. “That soon?”
“It’s the Academy,” I said, and shrugged. “It wakes up, and then it expects everyone else to keep up. There’s not a lot of easing into things with sentient buildings. Cottage is the same way.”
Celeste made a face. “That sounds stressful.”
“It is,” I agreed, then softened it with a smile. “But it’s also exciting. The Academy’s been dormant for so long that the idea of midlife students laughing in those halls again feels like… like the town is finally taking a full breath.”
She nodded slowly, absorbing that, and we kept walking, weaving through the gentle bustle. A couple of townsfolk waved, and Celeste waved back a little awkwardly, still finding her footing in this version of my life, this version of her own.
We headed toward Stella’s tea shop because, in Stonewick, it was the closest thing we had to a community hearth.
The windows were fogged slightly from warmth inside, and the sign above the door swung with that familiar confident sway, as if it knew it was the best place on the street.
A witchy wreath hung from the handle, woven with dried herbs and tiny paper stars, and the bell above the door chimed the moment we stepped inside.