Keegan crouched beside me. “Maeve. Look at me.”
I did.
“You said last night you thought the circle could weaken her.”
“It should,” I said. “If all our magic binds and if we close the path she’s been trying to widen, it might shut her out.”
“It might not be enough,” he said quietly. “Not if she wants you as the anchor to reopen it later or start something new.”
My breath stopped.
“I don’t…I don’t want to be a key to anything,” I whispered.
“You’re not,” Keegan said. “Not to her. You’re the door she’s desperate to pry open.”
Dad leaned forward. “Which means closing the circle is the best move we have.”
“And finding out what Gideon isn’t telling us,” Mom added.
“And panicking,” Twobble said helpfully.
“No panicking,” Skonk corrected. “Strategized alarm.”
I laughed, weak but real.
Keegan’s hand slid into mine under the table.
“You’re not doing this alone,” he said.
And I believed him.
But as the cottage hummed around us, alive, awake, fierce with my mother’s new wards, my butterfly mark gave a soft, icy pulse.
A warning.
Somewhere in the Academy, one of the cracked mirrors stirred.
Somewhere beyond Stonewick, the priestess lifted her head.
Somewhere between us all, Gideon smiled and waited.
Something was coming.
And it wasn’t going to wait for the circle.
Chapter Twenty-One
It started small.
A spoon rattled in an empty mug.
The kind of thing you’d blame on a draft.
Then the kettle, which had been groaning contentedly on the stove, gave a sharp, offended shriek and cut itself off mid-boil. Steam curled back down instead of up, spiraling against the enamel like someone had pressed a hand over its mouth.
Miora’s knitting needles paused mid-click.
“What was that?” my mother asked, looking up from the charm pattern she was re-copying.
