Chapter Twenty-Two
The bell rang again, deeper this time, its tone resonating through the Academy in a way that felt deliberate. The warmth at my hip flared in response, a steady pulse that made me instinctively press my hand there, grounding myself as the buzz in the walls shifted to something alert but not alarmed.
“Okay,” I murmured. “Something’s definitely arrived.”
Keegan was already beside me, close enough that I could feel the solid reassurance of him without needing to look.
“Gideon?” Ardetia mused.
“I don’t think so, but nothing would truly surprise me at this point.”
“You felt it first,” Keegan said quietly.
“Yes,” I replied. “And whatever it is, it’s complicated.”
Twobble popped up on my other side, craning his neck toward the entrance. “If this is another surprise guest situation, I’d like to formally request a better warning system. Birthmarks and bells are clearly not enough.”
Nova appeared just behind us, her expression calm, eyes focused beyond the doors as if she could already see what waited on the other side.
“The Academy isn’t tense,” she said. “It’s receptive.”
“That’s not ominous at all,” Skonk muttered, falling into step as we moved forward. “It’s not like it hasn’t already invited the man who cursed the entire village to stay the night recently or anything.”
Twobble nodded in agreement as we walked together down the main corridor, the goblins shuffling behind us, the toad hopping along with irritating confidence in the center of the floor. I shot my ex a look.
“Don’t,” I warned.
He ribbited, entirely unrepentant.
The doors loomed ahead, tall and carved with sigils that glowed faintly as my hand brushed against the stone, leading to them. The warmth at my birthmark surged once more, then steadied, like something inside me acknowledging what stood on the other side.
I opened the doors, and a cluster of elderly women stood on the steps.
They weren’t dressed alike, but there was an unmistakable cohesion to them, as if they’d arrived from different places but for the same reason.
Shawls layered over coats, sensible shoes, a few flashes of bold jewelry that hummed faintly with magic.
Their hair ranged from neatly pinned silver to wild white curls, and every single one of them was looking at the Academy with open, unapologetic interest.
I blinked, momentarily wrong-footed.
“Oh,” I said. “Hello.”
For half a second, my brain scrambled to make sense of it, and the most ridiculous thought surfaced first. Early students. Stonewick had taught me that magic didn’t always align with appearances, and the Academy had never been shy about bending expectations.
“I’m sorry,” I added quickly. “Classes don’t start for another week and a half, but if you’re here early—”
One of the women stepped forward, gently interrupting me. She was tall, her posture straight despite her age, eyes sharp and kind all at once.
“Oh no, dear,” she said. “We’re not students.”
I let out a breath. “All right. Then may I ask—”
“Lady Limora sent for us,” she continued.
“Lady Limora,” I repeated, glancing briefly at Nova, who gave a slight, confirming nod. “She… brought you here.”
“Yes,” another woman chimed in from behind her, adjusting the strap of a well-worn bag. “Said the Academy would know what to do with us.”
“That’s… vague,” Twobble muttered.
The woman with sharp eyes smiled faintly.
More figures slowly appeared behind them on the path now, additional elderly women making their way up the steps in pairs, chatting quietly, entirely unbothered by the fact that they were approaching a powerful magical institution as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
I hesitated only a moment before stepping aside. Whatever Lady Limora was doing, refusing entry wasn’t the answer.
“Well,” I said, forcing a welcoming smile, “please come in.”
The Academy’s lanterns brightened as the women crossed the threshold, the air warming as if pleased by their presence. Several of them paused just inside, hands brushing the stone walls, murmuring to one another.
“This place remembers,” one said.
“Yes,” another replied. “And it listens.”
Before I could ask what they meant, my ex hopped forward with impeccable timing and landed squarely in the center of the hall.
“Ribbit.”
The reaction was instantaneous.
“Oh my,” one woman breathed. “Isn’t he… expressive.”
“What a handsome toad,” another purred.
You’ve got to be kidding me. What is it with him?
Another leaned closer, squinting. “That’s not a natural enchantment.”
“No,” a third agreed. “That’s personal.”
I closed my eyes.
Celeste, hovering near the doorway, made a small choking sound.
“Please tell me they’re not impressed.”
The toad puffed up, clearly enjoying the attention, and hopped again for emphasis.
Stella appeared at my side, surveying the scene with open amusement. “Well. This explains the bell.”
Keegan leaned closer, voice low. “What was Lady Limora thinking?”
“I haven’t a clue,” I replied.
The tall woman who’d spoken first turned back to me. “You must be Maeve, the headmistress.”
I nodded. “I am.”
Her gaze flicked briefly to Keegan. “That explains a few things.”
I stiffened slightly. “Does it?”
She smiled. “Enough.”
That wasn’t unsettling at all.
More of the women filtered inside now, the Academy accommodating them easily, corridors widening subtly, light adjusting as if making room.
“Lady Limora said you might be surprised,” the woman continued. “But not unprepared.”
I let out a slow breath. “Probably depends on a person’s definition of prepared.”
The woman chuckled as I glanced around at the growing group, at the Academy’s calm acceptance, at the toad basking in entirely too much admiration.
Whatever Lady Limora had set in motion, it wasn’t chaos for chaos’s sake. It was deliberate, layered, and very much not finished.
“Welcome,” I said finally, meeting the woman’s gaze. “We’ll… figure this out together. We have plenty of room.”
The doors closed behind the last of them, and I accepted that my day had just taken a very unexpected turn.
The Academy had never felt crowded before.
Alive, yes. Watchful. Curious. But crowded was new.
Women filled the hallways now, their voices low and conversational, shawls draped over shoulders, sensible shoes scuffing softly against stone that seemed more than happy to accommodate them.
The ladies moved with an ease that came from knowing exactly where they were going, even when they didn’t, pausing to admire an archway here, a tapestry there, fingers brushing carved stone with something like fond recognition.
I stood near the center of it all, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
And then it hit me.
It wasn’t a dramatic revelation, just a quiet alignment of details sliding into place.
The stillness beneath their movement.
The way none of them blinked too often.
The faint, metallic scent from their own magic when they passed.
The way the lanternlight didn’t quite reflect in their eyes the same way it did in everyone else’s.
Oh.
“Oh,” I murmured.
Keegan glanced at me. “You figured it out.”
“Yes,” I said faintly. “Yes, I did.”
Vampires.
Every single one of them.
These ladies weren’t cloaked-in-shadow-and-drama vampires. They weren’t feral. These were… established and grounded. Women who’d lived long enough to stop performing immortality and start wearing it like a well-tailored coat. Their magic didn’t shout. It settled deep in their bones.
Stella had gone very still beside me.
Her gaze swept the hall once, twice, and then she let out a low, incredulous laugh.
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
“You know them,” I said.
“Oh, I know some of them,” she replied. “That one there? Hates cardigans. That one? Poisoned a duke in 1783 and still won’t admit it. And that one—” she paused, eyes narrowing fondly “—borrowed my spell book in 1926 and never returned it.”
A woman across the hall lifted her chin in acknowledgment, lips curving in a smile that showed just a hint too much tooth.
Stella waved cheerfully.
Twobble tugged on my sleeve.
“So,” he whispered, “just to confirm, we’re surrounded by extremely old, extremely competent blood-drinkers.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Great,” he replied. “Love that for us.”
My ex ribbited loudly, unimpressed by the revelation, and hopped forward as if inspecting his new audience.
Several more of the women noticed him immediately.
“Oh,” one said, peering down. “That’s unfortunate.”
Another tilted her head. “That spell’s messy.”
“Personal,” a third added. “Always personal.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Of course you’d all clock that immediately.”
Stella smirked. “We appreciate a good curse. Even when we disapprove of the target.”
Footsteps echoed from the far corridor then, steady and unmistakably purposeful. The murmur of conversation shifted as heads turned, a subtle straightening rippling through the gathered vampires like a tide responding to the moon.
Lady Limora appeared first.
She moved with effortless authority, robe flowing, eyes bright with satisfaction as she took in the scene.
Opal flanked her on one side, sharp-eyed and already assessing sightlines, while Vivienne drifted on the other, her expression serene in the way that usually preceded chaos. Mara was nowhere to be seen.
“Well,” Lady Limora said, clapping her hands once. “Everyone made it.”
Maeve, that was me, found her voice again.
“Would you like to explain,” I asked carefully, “why my Academy looks like a reunion for the undead elite?”
Lady Limora smiled at me as if I’d just asked the right question.
“Because the Priestess isn’t lounging at a spa,” she said simply. “And neither should we.”
That sent a chill through the hall, subtle but unmistakable.
Opal folded her arms. “She’s quietly moving pieces.”
“And when quiet pieces move,” Vivienne added, “it’s never for something small.”
“So, you summoned… backup.” I crossed my arms, grounding myself.
I rather liked the idea.
Lady Limora inclined her head. “Tried and true backup.”
Stella snorted. “You could’ve warned me. I would’ve worn something with more zest.”
“You look fine,” Lady Limora said. “Besides, these women don’t care about appearances. They care about outcomes.”
She gestured broadly to the hall. “These are women with spines and fangs of steel. Survivors. Strategists. The kind of gals who don’t panic when the world tilts.”
One of the vampires raised her teacup in agreement, where she got it from, I couldn’t say.
“You think trouble’s coming,” I said.
Lady Limora met my gaze squarely. “I know it is.”
Silence settled, heavy but not afraid.
Keegan stepped closer. “And what can we do? What do you want from us?”
Lady Limora’s smile softened. “There’s a bigger cause in all this. It’s not just about Stonewick or the Academy. This is about magical folk everywhere. So, understand that when ancient threats start circling, it’s wise to have equally ancient women standing in the way.”
Stella looked around the hall again, something like pride flickering through her expression.
“Well,” she said, “this is going to be one hell of a time.”
I exhaled slowly, taking it all in—the vampires, the magic, and the unspoken promise that whatever the Priestess was planning, she wouldn’t find Stonewick unguarded.
Trouble was on the horizon, and for once, we weren’t waiting it out alone.