“This,” she said, nodding to the cards pressed against me, “is why clarity matters. The shadows fear what is revealed.”
My hands shook as I laid the cards back on the velvet, my pulse still hammering. “Nova… what do they mean? Truly?”
She brushed her fingers over the Death card, tracing the flowers blooming over the stone.
“It means nothing is as it seems. Your fear of Gideon. Your love for Keegan. Even your own fire. Do not take any of it at face value. And do not believe the shadows when they whisper.”
I swallowed hard as the echoes of their hiss still in my ears.
Nova reached across the table, covering my hands with hers. “You are not alone, Maeve. But the choice you carry, it will not be easy. There will be sacrifice.”
Her words hung heavy, but they were steadier than the silence that followed.
The cards gleamed faintly in the candlelight, their painted figures watching, waiting, as though they knew more than either of us dared say aloud.
And outside the chamber, I swore I heard the shadows laugh.
“Come with me.” She motioned for me to follow her.
The Academy’s stones still rumbled with the aftershock of the shadows as we moved through the halls and stepped into the courtyard.
The night air pressed heavily, and the bruised skies roiled, but walking beside Nova steadied me. She didn’t rush. She rarely rushed.
Her staff clicked against the cobblestones with the certainty of someone who knew exactly how many steps it took to cross from fear into resolve.
We cut through the Butterfly Ward and through the narrow alley and into the square, past shuttered bakeries and lamplit windows.
The tourists had long gone to their rented beds, leaving Stonewick eerily quiet. The shadows above prowled and coiled, but Nova walked as though they wouldn’t dare come closer with her in sight.
Her shop came into view, and its window glowed faintly, displaying crystals that winked like sleepy stars and dried herbs strung up in bunches that swayed through the air, though the air was still. The wooden sign overhead creaked once.
She unlocked the door and gestured for me to go inside. The familiar smell of lavender, beeswax, and something that reminded me faintly of rain-soaked stone wrapped around me.
Cozy, grounding. I wished I could just curl up here for the duration.
Nova turned around and locked us in with a subtle click, followed by the sliding of a bolt. The shop, so often bustling with charm-seekers and students, suddenly felt private. Sacred.
“Why lock it?” I asked, my voice a hushed echo.
“Because some things aren’t meant to be interrupted,” she said simply, pulling the beaded curtain aside and disappearing into the back room.
The beads clinked like rain on glass, then stilled, leaving me alone with the faint glow of the lanterns and the hum of the crystals lining the shelves.
Minutes ticked by. I traced my fingers along a shelf of jars with glimmering powders, dried flowers, and tiny vials of liquid that pulsed faintly with their own light.
My nerves prickled while I waited, and I no longer felt the reassurance I had before.
Finally, the beads clattered again. Nova emerged, carrying a book that looked as though it had been pulled straight out of the roots of the earth. Its leather cover was blackened, edges frayed, the clasp tarnished but still strong.
She carried it as if it were alive.
I stiffened. “What is that?”
She set it carefully on the counter, her green eyes meeting mine with grave steadiness. “This is why I brought you here. A record of dark workings. A compendium of the forbidden. It’s old, older than Stonewick…older than the Academy.”
I took a step back instinctively. The book radiated something. It wasn’t heat nor cold, but a tingling energy that raised the fine hairs on my arms. “Why… why do youhavethat?”
“Because someone must.” Nova brushed her hand lightly across the cover, the way one might soothe a restless animal. “And because the skies don’t lie. Malore, or whoever puppets the storm, is drawing from this kind of magic.”
