Lady Limora stared at the empty space where the toad had been before following his trail.
“…Well,” she said finally. “That was dramatic.”
“You cannot,” I said through clenched teeth, “throw my ex-husband into a cauldron.”
“I wouldn’t throw him,” she protested mildly. “And it would be a fabulous reading.”
Celeste crossed her arms. “He’s not a tea leaf.”
“He’s absolutely a warning,” Lady Limora said, eyes gleaming again. “A transformation like this doesn’t happen without intent. Someone, or something, answered the call.”
Vivienne nodded slowly. “The timing aligns.”
“With what?” I asked.
“With a shift,” she replied. “Multiple, actually.”
The Academy hummed, deeper now, as if acknowledging the truth of it.
I looked at Celeste and realized that fate had noticed my daughter.
And fate, I was learning, rarely did so quietly.
Chapter Twelve
My dad made his entrance like a man, or bulldog, who’d absolutely earned the right to enjoy himself.
The dining hall doors swung open just enough to let in a low, satisfied grunt, followed by the unmistakablesnorf snorf snorfof an English bulldog deeply invested in a smell. Heads turned. Conversation stalled. Even the kitchen sprites paused mid-scurry.
Frank padded in on stout legs, his bulldog body solid and unmistakably pleased with the state of the world. His jowls hung loose in a way that suggested contentment bordering on smugness, and his tail, short, expressive, and impossible to ignore, pulsed.
“Oh,” I said softly, already grinning. “This is about to get better.”
Celeste leaned closer to me. “Is that Grandpa?”
“Yes,” I said. “And he’s in amood.”
My dad ignored everyone at first, as was his right. He took a slow circuit of the room, nails clicking faintly on stone, sniffingthe air like a connoisseur sampling a complicated vintage. He paused by the long table, accepted a pat from a delighted sprite, then continued on with purpose.
Straight toward the toad.
Alex, still damp, still offended, still trying to reclaim some sense of dignity, noticed him too late.
My dad stopped inches away.
The hall went quiet, and Frank lowered his massive head and inhaled.
Snort. Honk.
Alex froze.
My dad snorted again, louder this time, breath puffing warm and damp over the toad’s back.
Snorf. Hrrrk.
The toad let out a startled ribbit and attempted to hop backward.
Frank followed. He wasn’t aggressive or quick, just persistent.
