Chapter Twenty
The bell over Luna’s door chimed softly as I stepped inside, and the knitting shop wrapped around me like a well-worn shawl.
I remembered the first day I’d arrived here with my best friend Skye.
Skye.
It had been so long since I saw her. We texted, traded photos of her new baby, and whatever I could think of to snap a photo of that didn’t scream a goblin lives here. But we always traded missed promises to visit one another, and truthfully, I didn’t want to put her in harm’s way.
Since coming to Stonewick, I realized that friendships were like seasons.
They’d come into our lives with quiet purpose.
Some arrived gently, like spring, when flowers bloom for the first time, and everything was fresh and new again.
Some friendships burned bright like summer, with intense joys and revelations filled with long moments that we swore would last forever.
But then autumn would roll in as leaves changed and fell, teaching us it was okay to let go.
And finally winter allowed some friendships to fall silent like the snow falling softly, covering what the other three seasons left behind.
It wasn’t until Stonewick that I realized that it was okay to have different stages of friendships and that didn’t mean failure.
Luna looked up from behind the counter and smiled. She wasn’t just being polite. I could tell she was truly happy to see me, and a sudden fling of guilt struck me. I hadn’t made myself as available to her since the whole thing with Gideon. I’d pulled back.
“There you are,” she said, her voice brightening. “I was hoping you’d come by today.”
Something in my chest tightened at that.
She came around the counter and gave me a brief, warm hug.
When she stepped back, her eyes searched my face with open curiosity.
“I heard about the circle,” she said. “Congratulations.”
I hesitated. “It was… complicated.”
She chuckled softly. “Things always seem to be with Gideon.
There it was. That common recognition with a mage we both knew, but she seemed to understand or…?
I followed her toward the small seating area by the window, where two chairs sat tucked beside a low table stacked with yarn samples and an untouched teapot. Outside, Stonewick drifted along in its early fall, with bustling tourists and locals wary of what was ahead.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” Luna added as we sat. “All of you.”
I nodded. “For the moment.”
She didn’t argue with that.
I folded my hands together. “I wanted to ask you something.”
Her brow lifted slightly. “About Gideon.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” I admitted.
Luna leaned back in her chair, hands resting loosely in her lap, listening without bracing herself.
“The Academy wanted him nearby,” I said. “It made that very clear. We agreed to let him stay at the cottage—away from my daughter, but close enough that the Academy felt… satisfied.”
“And that didn’t last?” Luna asked, which told me she hadn’t seen him.
“No,” I replied. “The Stone Ward rejected him. Booted him right out, while Miora and Elira locked the doors after him.”
Luna exhaled slowly. “That sounds appropriate considering everything Stonewick has been through.”
I frowned. “You’re not surprised.”
“I’m not,” she said honestly. “The Stone Ward isn’t sentimental. It protects what’s rooted.”
“And Gideon isn’t,” I said.
She nodded. “No. He never has been.”
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees.
“That’s what worries me. The Academy wanted him near. The cottage refused him. Now he’s… displaced.”
Luna studied me carefully, not as someone hiding answers, but as someone choosing her words with care.
“Stonewick doesn’t like things that don’t settle,” she said. “People included. Gideon is conflicted.”
“Do you know where he might go?” I asked. “Or what he might do?”
She considered that for a moment, gaze drifting to the window where a knitted pumpkin hung from a hook, gently spinning.
“I don’t know where he’ll go,” she said. “I don’t think anyone truly does.”
That wasn’t comforting.
“But,” she continued, “I’ve seen him around town enough to know he doesn’t move without thinking it through. He watches first. Listens.”
My stomach knotted as I watched her gaze skirt along the colorful skeins beside us. It wasn’t just because she saw him around town…there had to be more.
“To what?” I asked.
“To his surroundings,” she replied. “To people. To patterns. He learns his place.”
I frowned. “That makes it sound like he belongs here.”
Luna smiled faintly. “It makes it sound like he’s curious. There’s a difference.”
I let that sit for a moment, then asked the question I’d been circling.
“You always seemed to notice him.”
Her smile softened. “It’s hard not to notice someone who doesn’t quite fit.”
“That’s not an answer,” I said gently.
“No,” she agreed. “It’s an observation.”
I sighed. “You don’t have some hidden knowledge you’re not telling me, do you?”
Luna shook her head immediately. “No. I don’t see the future. I don’t pull strings. I don’t make things happen.”
She reached for a pair of knitting needles resting on the table and began to work absently as she spoke, avoiding the true purpose of my question.
“I just live here,” she said. “And when you live somewhere long enough, you understand the history.”
“And Gideon?” I prompted.
“He leaves impressions,” she said simply. “Not always good ones. But they linger.”
That was somehow worse.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my hands together. “I don’t want him near my daughter.”
Luna met my gaze, understanding clear in her eyes. “Of course you don’t.”
“But I also don’t want him loose,” I continued. “Not when the Academy has already shown it wants him nearby.”
“That’s a fair concern,” she said.
I searched her face again, looking for something I could grasp.
“So you don’t know where he is.”
“No,” she said. “But I know Stonewick won’t let him disappear completely.”
I swallowed. “That doesn’t mean it’ll protect him or us.”
“No,” Luna agreed. “It won’t. Stonewick protects itself first.”
The honesty of that landed hard.
She set her knitting aside and reached across the table, placing her hand over mine.
“But you’re paying attention,” she said. “That matters more than you think.”
I nodded slowly. “I just wish this felt less like waiting for something to go wrong.”
Luna smiled kindly. “Welcome to living in Stonewick.”
I laughed despite myself, the sound easing some of the tension coiled in my chest.
When I stood to leave, she walked me to the door, resting her hand briefly on my arm.
“If you hear anything,” she said, “I’ll listen.”
“Thank you,” I said.
As I stepped back onto the sidewalk, the bell chiming behind me, the false fall air brushed my face, cool and deceptively calm.
Luna hadn’t given me answers, but she’d confirmed what I already knew.
Gideon wasn’t gone forever, and Stonewick was still deciding what to do with him.
I lingered in the doorway longer than I meant to, one hand still resting on the edge of the frame, the bell above us swaying faintly from my exit.
But something unsettled pushed into me, so I turned back.
Luna looked up from the counter, surprise flickering across her face before smoothing into that familiar calm.
“Did you forget something?” she asked gently.
“Yes,” I said. And then, because there was no point pretending otherwise, “No. I didn’t forget. I just… can’t leave yet.”
She studied me for a moment and nodded toward the chairs again.
“All right,” she said. “Come back in.”
I didn’t sit right away. I stood near the table, arms folded loosely, my weight shifting from one foot to the other as I searched for the right place to begin.
“You’re holding something back,” I said finally.
Luna didn’t flinch. She didn’t deny it either. She set aside the yarn she’d been pretending to organize and rested her hands on the counter.
“Maeve,” she said carefully, “I’ve already told you—”
“I know what you’ve told me,” I interrupted, softer than my words suggested. “And I know when someone’s circling the truth instead of standing in it.”
Her mouth curved faintly. “You always did have a good eye for patterns, just like Gideon.”
“That’s not an answer,” I said.
“No,” she agreed.
I took a breath and stepped closer, lowering my voice without meaning to.
“When I first met you, you told me your family wasn’t thrilled with your lack of magical prowess. That you took over the shop because knitting was… safe. Acceptable. A compromise.”
Her gaze flickered, just for a moment.
“But that’s not the Luna I see,” I continued. “You notice too much. You understand too much. You’ve been too calm about Gideon from the start. And you’re not surprised by what’s happening now.”
She closed her eyes briefly, as if bracing herself.
“I don’t believe,” I said gently but firmly, “that you ended up here because you lacked magic. I saw you in the woods when I first came here, leading a group of thread witches.”
Silence stretched between us, thick and humming.
Luna exhaled slowly and gestured toward the chairs.
“You should sit,” she said.
I did.
She remained standing, one hand resting on the counter, the other curling loosely at her side. When she spoke again, her voice had changed. It wasn’t cold or pointed, but the tone was weighted, as if she’d set something heavy down between us.
“My family wasn’t disappointed because I lacked magic,” she said. “They were disappointed because I refused to use it the way they wanted.”
My pulse kicked up. “Which was?”
She hesitated, looking directly at me. “Shadowick.”
The words skidded across my skin like a fire about to be set, but I didn’t say a word.
“They wanted me trained there,” Luna continued. “Raised there. Taught how to move between influence and control. How to bind, how to persuade, how to make power… orderly.”
I swallowed. “And you said no.”
“Yes,” she said. “I said no, and I left.”
Something clicked into place, slow and terrible.
“Your family,” I said quietly. “They’re connected to Gideon.”
Her shoulders sagged, just a little. “He’s my cousin.”
The room seemed to tilt, the coziness of the shop suddenly threaded with something darker and sharper.
Gideon.
Luna.
Shadowick. All the quiet overlaps I’d noticed but dismissed. The reasons she didn’t want to teach in the Academy and always kept one foot out of our tight-knit circle.
“You knew,” I said.
“I knew what he was capable of,” she replied. “When I was young, I didn’t know who he would become or what his choices would be.”
I pressed my palms against my knees, grounding myself.
“And when he came to Stonewick?”
“I hoped he wouldn’t,” she admitted. “And when he did, I hoped he’d pass through.”
“He didn’t,” I said.
“No,” she agreed. “He never does.”
I stared at the yarn-lined walls, at the softness she’d built so deliberately around herself.
“So the magic your family wanted you to do,” I said slowly, “had nothing to do with knitting.”
A faint, sad smile touched her lips. “Knitting is what I chose instead.”
“To anchor yourself,” I murmured.
“To remember who I am,” she corrected.
Anger flared hot and sudden. It wasn’t exactly at Luna, but at the heaviness of everything she’d kept from me.
“You let me walk into this blind,” I said. “You could have given us more direction.”
Her expression tightened. “I have no direction to give. I severed my ties with Shadowick and, moreover, Gideon. He’s a loose cannon, always has been.”
“That’s not the point,” I snapped, then softened my tone. “You should’ve told me.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I should have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She hesitated, and for the first time since I’d known her, she looked afraid.
“Because I was afraid that if I said it out loud, Stonewick would decide I was part of the problem. Or worse, you would.”
The words landed hard.
“I chose this town,” she went on. “I chose this life. I chose to stay small and quiet and useful in ways that didn’t harm anyone. I thought that was enough.”
I leaned back, letting that settle.
“Stonewick doesn’t punish people for where they come from,” I said slowly. “It punishes people for what they do with it.”
“I know that now,” she said. “But I didn’t always trust it.”
I closed my eyes briefly, then looked at her again. “Did Gideon always know you were here?”
“Yes,” she said. “He always has.”
“And?”
“And we don’t speak,” she replied. “Not really. Not about what matters.”
I believed her. That somehow made it worse. “Until recently.”
“True.”
“So when you told me you didn’t know where he’d go,” I said, “that was true.”
“Yes,” she said. “But I know what he’ll be tempted by.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“Relevance,” she said. “Control. The belief that he still has a role to play.”
I felt a chill trace my spine. “And Shadowick gives him that.”
“Shadowick gives everyone that,” Luna replied. “That’s its danger, but Stonewick can offer the same.”
Silence fell again, heavy but honest now.
Finally, I stood. “Thank you for telling me.”
Her eyes searched my face. “Are you angry?”
“Yes,” I said. “But not in a way that means I won’t listen. I’m not mad that you’re from Shadowick. I’m upset that our bond wasn’t strong enough that you felt you could tell me.”
Relief flickered across her features.
“I need you to understand something,” I continued. “My daughter can’t be collateral in anyone’s family history. Not yours. Not mine. Not the Priestess’s.”
“I understand,” Luna said immediately. “Truly.”
I nodded once. “Good. Because if Gideon moves toward Shadowick again, or toward anything that puts her in danger, I need to know. Immediately.”
“You will,” she promised.
I moved toward the door, then paused with my hand on the handle. “One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t fail your family by refusing Shadowick,” I said. “You survived them.”
Her breath caught, and I left the shop as the truth sat heavy in my chest, but it was better than shadows.
Gideon wasn’t just unmoored.
He was tied to a history that refused to stay buried.
And now, so was I.