“But she’s your—” Bella started, fox ears flat, then stopped herself.
My grandmother.
The word felt strange in my mouth, attached to that woman. Grandmothers were supposed to smell like cookies, lemon oil, and occasionally roses.
This one smelled, at least from here, like old iron and cold.
“Maeve Una Bellemore,” she called again, softer this time, but the windows still shuddered, the crack in the corner widening a hair’s breadth. “Come out, child. We have much to discuss.”
The town held its breath.
So did I.
The stakes, which had already been high, climbed like reckless teenagers up the side of a cliff.
The circle had failed.
Gideon was missing.
The hunger path was still open.
And the high priestess of Shadowick had skipped the subtle games and come to my doorstep, calling my full name like a summons.
I stood in Stella’s tea shop, surrounded by wolves and witches and fae and goblins and one very offended vampire, my heart punching my ribs, my magic humming like a frightened hive.
For a split second, all I could think was stupidly, wildly mundane:
This is really not how I wanted to meet my grandmother.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The priestess’s voice slid through the glass again, softer this time, and somehow that made it worse.
“Maeve Una Bellemore.”
The windowpane shivered. The little crack in the corner spidered another millimeter.
Behind me, half the room spoke at once.
“Don’t move,” Keegan said.
“Absolutely not,” Stella snapped.
“You’re not going out there,” my mom hissed.
The Silver Wolf growled, low and continuous, like distant thunder.
Nova lifted her staff a fraction.
“We stall,” she said. “We regroup. We donotanswer on her terms.”
I heard them all and agreed with… nearly all of them.
But every instinct in me that wasn’t currently screaming was whispering a different truth.
I couldn’t hide from the priestess of Shadowick forever.
If I didn’t step out on my own feet now, she would find another way to drag me where she wanted me. Through mirrors. Through Wards. Through my daughter.
