Chapter Twenty-One
The Academy met us halfway, and Celeste stayed tucked close to my side. Stella drifted a step behind us, and Skonk looked like a man bracing for a lecture he hadn’t technically earned yet.
Twobble popped into view from behind one of the columns, arms full of something crumbly and suspiciously powdered with sugar. He froze mid-step when he saw us, eyes lighting up.
“Well, look who survived a trip into town without triggering a magical incident,” he said cheerfully. “Should I be impressed or disappointed?”
“Give it a minute,” Stella replied. “There’s still time.”
Twobble grinned and hopped closer, his gaze darting behind us, then to the hall, then back again.
“So,” he said casually, “Details please.”
Skonk coughed, and Twobble’s grin slipped.
He folded his arms over his chest and scowled. “That pause felt loaded.”
I took a breath. “Gideon isn’t at the cottage anymore.”
The silence that followed lasted exactly one second.
“Oh,” Twobble said. “Oh.”
Celeste winced, and Stella’s mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile.
Twobble turned slowly to Skonk.
“I’m not saying this is your fault,” he said, pointing one sugar-dusted finger. “But I’m saying you were the one officially assigned to watch him.”
Skonk lifted both hands. “Before you say anything, I want it on record that I didn’t blink, nap, snack irresponsibly, or wander off.”
“Strong opening defense,” Twobble muttered.
“The Stone Ward kicked him out,” Skonk continued. “Full rejection. The cottage shoved him onto the porch and locked the doors behind him. Miora and Elira didn’t hesitate.”
Twobble blinked. “The Stone Ward? As in, ancient, grumpy, zero-tolerance Stone Ward? The cottage where I’ve humbly spent decades?”
“That one.”
Twobble rocked back on his heels. “Well. That explains the absence. And here I was ready to accuse you of losing a fully grown menace behind a shrub.”
“I resent that,” Skonk said. “There were no shrubs involved.”
Stella stepped forward, smoothing her shawl. “So the cottage disagreed with the Academy’s plan.”
“Yes,” I said, my chest tightening as I finally voiced the worry that had been riding with me since Skonk’s announcement in the tea shop. “And that’s what concerns me. The Academy made it very clear it wanted Gideon nearby.”
Twobble’s expression shifted from playful to thoughtful.
“Ah,” he said. “So this isn’t just a he-wandered-off problem. This is a two-bickering magical-authorities problem.”
“Exactly,” I said.
Bella and Ardetia had joined us, with curiosity written across their faces.
“Is the Academy… upset?” Bella asked.
I hesitated. “I don’t know.”
Before the uncertainty could spiral, Nova appeared at the edge of the hall, as calm and composed as if she’d been standing there the entire time, waiting for the conversation to catch up to her.
“It isn’t,” she said.
Every head turned.
“The Academy knows,” Nova continued, stepping closer. “It was aware of the risk when it agreed to move Gideon to the cottage.”
Twobble crossed his arms. “That’s comforting in a deeply unsettling way.”
Nova smiled faintly. “The Academy rarely commits to long-term solutions when a short one will suffice.”
Skonk frowned. “Short-term, how short?”
“Twenty-four hours,” Nova said. “Sometimes less.”
The pieces slid together so neatly I almost laughed.
“The night,” I said quietly. “It only wanted him close for the night.”
Nova inclined her head. “Yes.”
Stella exhaled slowly. “That was when the Priestess was closest.”
“And when the circle had just closed,” I added. “Everything was raw. Exposed.”
Celeste looked between us. “So, the Academy wasn’t trying to keep him forever.”
“No,” Nova said. “It was keeping him unavailable.”
Twobble rubbed his chin. “Like putting a dangerous object on a high shelf until the chaos toddlers go to sleep.”
“That’s… one interpretation,” Nova said.
“Or goblins,” Celeste chided, and Twobble laughed.
Relief eased through me. “So, it won’t hold this against us.”
“No,” Nova confirmed. “It anticipated resistance from the Stone Ward. It allowed the outcome.”
The Academy hummed softly, as if in agreement.
Skonk let out a breath. “Well, that’s good. I was worried the building might start dropping ceilings on me as punishment.”
Twobble brightened. “Give it time.”
Celeste squeezed my hand. “So, what now?”
I looked around the hall, at the ancient stone and soft light, at the place that had chosen when to intervene and when to step back.
“Now,” I said, “we stay alert, but we breathe.”
Nova nodded. “The Academy is not done watching. But for today, it has released its grip.”
Twobble perked up. “Does that mean snacks and tea are back on the agenda?”
Stella smiled. “Always.”
The tension eased into something gentler as the Academy settled into its quieter rhythms. Gideon was no longer contained, but he wasn’t forgotten either.
And for the moment, that balance felt like enough.
The ribbit echoed down the corridor, and I froze.
Just having him around made my skin crawl, and I usually liked toads.
I stopped mid-step and closed my eyes.
I’d been so wrapped up in Academy intentions and Wards with opinions that I’d managed to shove the very real, very greenish brown problem to the back of my mind.
But there he was, perched on the edge of a stone planter, throat puffing as he regarded the passing world like he was waiting for room service.
“I really do need to deal with you,” I muttered.
The toad blinked slowly.
Behind me, Stella cleared her throat. “I was wondering how long it would take before you acknowledged the elephant, or frog, in the room.”
I turned, rubbing my temples.
“He’s seen too much, Stella. The Academy. Magic. Me. You. Keegan. He’s been ribbiting at curses like they’re Tuesday inconveniences.”
Celeste hovered nearby, arms folded, gaze fixed on her father with a mixture of fascination and lingering resentment.
“He does look… happy,” she offered.
“That’s what worries me,” I replied. “If I turn him back, I have to explain things. Or I don’t explain things. And then there’s the question of where he goes. I can’t just… send him home like this never happened.”
Stella tapped her chin thoughtfully. “There is always the old mind eraser spell.”
Ardetia, who’d been leaning against the archway pretending she wasn’t listening, stiffened.
Her eyes widened. “Absolutely not.”
Stella blinked. “Well, that was absolute.”
“That spell is a slippery slope,” Ardetia said firmly, pushing away from the wall. “You erase one thing, and it destabilizes the rest. Memories anchor identity. You start pulling threads, and suddenly someone doesn’t know why they’re afraid of water or why they never call their sister.”
Celeste looked between them. “That sounds… bad.”
“It is,” Ardetia said. “And it never stays contained to just the magic bits.”
Stella sighed. “Fine. Ruin my favorite shortcut.”
“I don’t want to erase him,” I said quietly. “As much as he’s been… himself. I don’t want to rewrite someone just because it’s inconvenient.”
The toad let out a soft ribbit, as if agreeing.
Celeste crouched down and reached out a hand.
“Hey,” she said softly.
I tensed. “Celeste—”
“It’s okay,” she said, fingers gentle as she patted the toad’s head. “I just wanted to see.”
The toad froze before leaning into her touch with an unmistakable air of smug contentment.
Stella snorted. “Well. That’s new.”
Celeste straightened, brushing her hands on her jeans.
“He’s still annoying,” she said. “But… I don’t feel scared anymore, like I’ll accidentally make him disappear or something.”
“Step in the right direction,” Twobble said, grinning.
Something in my chest shifted at that.
Before I could respond, footsteps sounded behind us, steady and familiar. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Keegan stopped short when he took in the scene: Stella mid-sigh, Ardetia clearly mid-lecture, Celeste standing over a toad who looked far too pleased with himself, and me staring at the problem like it might hop away if I blinked.
He lifted a brow. “I feel like I missed something.”
I smiled tiredly. “Just debating the ethical ramifications of turning my ex-husband back into a man and erasing his memories.”
His mouth twitched. “Ah. A casual afternoon, then.”
The toad ribbited again, louder this time.
Keegan looked down. “Is he… judging me?”
“Yes,” Stella and I said in unison.
Keegan crouched beside Celeste, studying the toad with a thoughtful expression.
“You okay?” he asked her.
She nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”
His gaze lifted to mine, something soft and protective there. “We’ll figure it out.”
I nodded, grateful beyond words. “I know.”
Ardetia folded her arms. “Whatever we do, it has to be deliberate. No shortcuts. No panic spells.”
Stella sighed dramatically. “You take all the fun out of questionable magic.”
Keegan glanced between us. “So. No mind erasing.”
“No,” I said firmly.
Well, maybe,
The toad blinked.
“And no turning him loose without a plan,” I added.
Another ribbit.
Keegan smiled faintly. “He’s very vocal.”
“He always was,” I said dryly.
We stood there a moment longer, with the problem very much unsolved but no longer ignored. Celeste leaned against my side, Stella muttered about tea, Ardetia watched the toad as it might suddenly sprout legs and run, and Keegan’s presence grounded the whole absurd scene.
For now, the toad waited, and so did we.
However, within a few short seconds, the chaos began, fittingly, with a leap.
One moment, the toad was perched smugly near the planter, blinking like he owned the place, and the next he sprang with surprising force straight toward the low table stacked with scrolls and teacups.
The impact sent parchment fluttering and a cup tipping onto its side, tea spilling in a dramatic arc across the stone floor.
“Oh no,” I said, already moving. “Absolutely not.”
The toad ribbited loudly, clearly thrilled with himself, and hopped again. This time, he dove toward a stack of cushions meant for quiet reading, scattering them.
Stella gasped. “He’s feral.”
“He’s always been feral,” I griped, darting forward just as he launched himself onto a bench. “Alex, stop that!”
The toad ignored me completely.
Skonk groaned from the doorway, holding a fresh treat. “I leave for ten minutes.”
Celeste laughed despite herself, half-horrified, half-amused, as the toad bounded past her and knocked into a plant stand. The plant swayed dangerously, its leaves dangling and almost reaching for the toad as if it had its own solution. I’d never seen that side of the plant before.
And that was when it happened.
Heat bloomed along my hip, sudden and unmistakable.
I froze.
The birthmark.
It wasn’t burning, but it pulsed with warmth, like a warning ripple. I pressed my hand against my side instinctively, breath hitching as the sensation intensified.
Keegan noticed immediately. “Maeve.”
“I feel it,” I said quietly, my eyes tracking the toad as he skidded to a halt near the far wall. “Something’s stirring.”
The Academy responded with a subtle shift, the hum deepening, sconces brightening just a fraction as if the building itself had gone alert. The air felt charged now, not dangerous yet, but rigid.
The toad puffed up, throat swelling as he let out an indignant ribbit that echoed louder than it should have.
“Oh, no,” Stella muttered. “That’s not normal.”
Ardetia stepped forward, eyes narrowing. “He’s reacting to something.”
“To me?” Celeste asked, glancing between the toad and me.
“Maybe,” I said, though my focus stayed on the warmth spreading under my skin. “Or maybe whatever just brushed past Stonewick’s Wards.”
“What did you say?” Nova asked.
But my ex hopped again, this time directly toward the center of the hall, landing squarely atop a sigil etched faintly into the floor. The moment his webbed feet touched it, the sigil flared.
Light rippled outward in a brief, dazzling pulse, and the toad froze.
So did everyone else.
The warmth on my hip deepened. It still wasn’t painful, but insistent, like magic knocking from the inside out.
Keegan swore softly under his breath. “That mark of yours…it’s responding.”
“Yes,” I said, heart pounding. “Which means whatever just set him off didn’t come from him.”
The toad blinked, then ribbited once more, this time sounding almost… offended.
Stella sighed. “Wonderful. The frog’s a magical tripwire.”
The Academy shuddered in agreement, stone and magic settling into a watchful silence as I straightened, hand still pressed to my hip.
Something had crossed a line, and the toad, of all creatures, had felt it first.