Skonk flew backward into Keegan’s arms with a crash and Keegan exhaled.
“Why am I always catching goblins?”
“Because you’re shaped like a heroic safety net,” Skonk wheezed.
“It’s the broad shoulders,” Twobble added.
Nova waved her hand and muttered a spell, and the lock clicked like a tired old librarian saying,finally.
The door creaked open and my dad barreled in.
“Frank—!” Nova called out.
Too late. He planted himself in the center of the shop, chest puffed, eyes narrowed. Detective mode: engaged.
We followed him in.
Lavender wool. Cedar shelves. The faintest trace of citrus oil. Familiar and comforting, yet wrong.
The lights flickered awake. Skeins leaned at odd angles. Knitting needles lay scattered like they’d tried to defend themselves and lost.
Bella inhaled sharply. “She was here. A few days ago.”
“But they’ve been missing for weeks,” I muttered, looking at the shelves.
Stella pressed a finger to a dented shelf. “Someone tugged hard.”
Twobble inspected the sample basket. “No pastries. Highly suspicious.”
“Focus,” I warned.
Then we all stopped.
A shimmer wound along the polished wooden floor with thin threads of silver, blue, and gold weaving like spilled moonlight.
“New,” I murmured.
Ardetia knelt, touching a raven’s feather. “Luna’s magic and something darker threaded through it.”
“Gideon?” Keegan asked.
Nova shook her head. “Not quite. Shadows, possibly.”
We followed.
The enchanted knitting needles all pointed toward the hallway like they were tattling on someone.
“Oh, that’s foreboding,” Stella muttered.
“Should we run?” Twobble whispered.
“No,” I said. “We follow.”
“Of course,” Skonk groaned. “Explosions. Yarn avalanches. Disaster. My brand.”
We entered the back room.
Frank marched straight under a table and sat. Barked once.
