Elira nodded, eyes dark. “Power always sniffs out where it’s not welcome. She’s testing the Stone Ward. Again.”
“Can she get through?” Keegan asked.
“Not easily,” Elira said. “She can’tenterthis anchor. The Hollows still won’t let her. But she can batter at the edges. Distract. Frighten. Look for weaknesses.”
Outside, faint even through the thick earth and stone, came a sound like distant, grinding thunder.
Or maybe it was just the blood rushing in my ears.
The earlier warmth in my chest turned to ice. My earlier, foolish wish, to just make it to the circle, to hug my daughter, to deal with the priestess later, felt like something from another lifetime.
I met Elira’s gaze.
“She knows I found you,” I said.
“She knows you woke another power,” Elira replied quietly. “And she will not like sharing.”
A long, cold shiver went through the house. Through all of us.
For the first time since I’d stepped into the cellar, my joy and relief had to make room for something else:
The clear, sharp knowledge that whatever was coming…
had just taken a step closer.
Chapter Twenty-Four
On the list of things I never expected to be doing in midlife, “cramming for an apocalyptic circle exam in a secret book dungeon” ranked fairly high.
The books down there didn’t just whisper. They wailed. Every time I cracked a spine, it felt like the text was screaming its secrets straight into my bones. Whether it was old circle magic, hunger path diagrams, or the kind of curse theory that really should come with a therapist and three cookies.
For three days, I lived on tea, Keegan’s determined cooking, and the Academy’s cranky books. We mapped sigils until my fingers cramped. Nova argued with diagrams. My dad practiced breath exercises while his wolf twitched under his skin. Gideon remained eerily, aggressively silent.
No dreams.
No communication.
And Grandma Elira, in her new half-ghost, half-Ward form, hovered at the edges of my awareness, rooted in the cottage anchor and Stone Ward, unable to come walking into the Academy and shake me by the shoulders the way I knew she wanted to.
By the time the eve of the circle arrived, my head felt like one of Twobble’s snack drawers, overstuffed and questionably organized.
We’d done everything we could on paper. Charms were woven, roles assigned, contingencies sketched out. As confident as you can be about a magical procedure that had never been successfully completed in living memory, with a morally ambiguous antihero as one of your cornerstones and my grandmother in Shadowick watching from the wings.
So, naturally, my brain chose that moment to start imagining every possible way it could go wrong.
If we misdrew a line, would it backlash and bind the wrong thing?
If Gideon hesitated, could the circle implode?
If we succeeded—if—would it mute the high priestess… or just make her angrier?
Everyone else moved through their preparations with a kind of taut, practical focus. Nova checked the Wards until her eyes went distant. The Flame Ward, Maple Ward, Stone Ward, and Butterfly Ward were all carrying a strength that hadn’t been seen in decades.
Keegan wore his worry in the set of his shoulders but didn’t say much, as if speaking his fears aloud would give them more weight. My mom and dad anchored the cottage with Elira, weaving extra protections for Celeste’s impending arrival. Stella brewed enough tea to drown an army.
And me?
When my mind gets too loud, there’s only one place that quiets it.
