"Yeah," I breathed. "She really did."
The relief was so strong I had to sit down. Fifi had already found a chair near the window, her hands hidden, her breathing back to normal. And then, because even the universe has a sense of humor, Lola leapt from the landing and landed straight into Fifi's lap.
The Persian had been avoiding me, and Chance had mentioned she never tolerated newcomers. She'd barely let the girls pet her before. But now, she nuzzled into Fifi's arms, purring like a champion, the weirdest gesture of truce I'd seen since moving to Laurel Gap.
Fifi stroked the cat, her touch soft as air, the old panic brushed away by every rumble of contentment.
Beth got up to wrangle a juice box for Ollie, while Gerty roasted Maeve about whether her cookies could erase sibling rivalry.
Mere, still awestruck, catalogued every spell and shimmer she'd witnessed.
Chance caught my eye across the room, eyebrows raised, question loaded. I gave him the world's tiniest nod. Handled.
And when I glanced at Maeve, she caught my gratitude and tossed it right back. Not with exactly a smile, but with a knowing, "don't ever underestimate witches" squint.
My shoulders relaxed.
It was an hour later, maybe two, before I let myself exhale for real. The kids, dragons and humans alike, had invented a new game that involved the entire dining room and about four hundred scraps of tinsel. Beth and Gerty were drafted to referee the game.
Livia watched the scene with the satisfaction of a general whose city had survived the siege.
I hung back. I watched, I listened, but mostly I kept myself ready for the next crisis.
Mere paused next to me and whispered, "I want to try a protection charm for Fifi, to help her with accidental shifts."
"We'll talk to Maeve later," I murmured back.
At the window, Fifi barely moved, slipping her new necklace through her fingers, eyes on the blowing snow, Huey curled like a question mark next to her, every so often letting out a yip that made the younger kids giggle.
Nothing looked out of the ordinary.
Chance joined me at the counter. "That went well."
"Thanks to Maeve," I replied.
He grunted. "Not too bad, really. That's why you're staying here. Imagine that at school."
I nodded, agreeing without reservation.
From the fort, Oliver howled, "More cookies, please!"
Maeve swept through, tray in hand, and somehow managed to avoid the minefield of lost shoes and Lego pieces littering the floor. She handed out cookies, patted heads, and never once did a cross word slip out. If anyone deserved a Christmas MVP, it was Maeve Spicer.
Gerty flagged me, waving a fork. "Who made the upside-down cake? It's criminal. I want three for my birthday."
Maeve curtsied. "Only if you promise not to eat them all at once, darling."
Beth snorted. "That's not a promise anyone here can make."
They cackled, the sort of laughter that made the windows rattle.
When the sun started to slide behind the mountains, the day wound down like the last verse of a songyou never wanted to end. Kids sprawled on the furniture and floor, everyone half-asleep except Gerty, who insisted on organizing the leftovers for "late night snacking emergencies." Livia boxed up the last of her lemon bars, and Beth poured a round of cider for the adults. Sparkling, sweet, perfect for toasting the fact that everyone still had their eyebrows and nobody had exposed magical beings to the humans.
I sidled over to the window and watched the miracle snow deepen. Laurel Gap glowed, every porch light and Christmas bulb reflected on the drifts.
Chance drifted behind me, not touching, but close enough that I could sense the strength in him. "You good?"
"Yeah," I said. "We're good."
