I winced. “It’s not supposed to be doing that.”
Twobble folded his arms.
“You don’t say.” Keegan looked back at me, something caught between disbelief and amusement settling across his face as he stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” he said slowly, “but is it safe?”
I glanced toward the kitchen.
“Mostly,” I said. “So, what’s up?”
“Gideon left the inn.”
Chapter Two
My heart sank. It shouldn’t have. After all, that was what Gideon did. He never stayed long enough to be found, to be vulnerable, or to finally settle down and make alliances. In hindsight, even the same could be said for when he was in Shadowick. Today, appeared to be no different.
I glanced at Keegan, and his eyes stayed on mine. “Did he give any hint where he might be going?”
“No, but his room was cleared out.”
I chuckled and rolled my eyes. “At least he's consistent.”
The shadow mark, as we termed it, itched slightly. I pressed my palm over it. Ever since the injury, it felt like some weird form of communication I wanted no part of. But it seemed like the scar was here to stay. Keegan's gaze followed my hand as I pressed it along the scar.
“Is it bothering you?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Just a little. Could be worse.”
He smiled and nodded. “You sound like me.”
“Hazard of staying in Stonewick.”
Twobble cleared his throat. “Not to break up this little lovefest. But we had one job to do. And that was to make mymother's famous lavender cream cheese pastries. That was it. And if you can all turn your attention to the kitchen, you can see that we have nothing but ash.”
I nodded, knowing the weight of Gideon's disappearance would have to wait for another time. There was a potluck for new witches at the Academy. And Stella had promised the kitchen sprites a day off.
I let out a slow breath and turned toward the kitchen, because Twobble wasn’t wrong, and the faint curl of smoke drifting from the counter didn’t exactly scream success.
“Well,” I said, stepping past Keegan and brushing my hand lightly along the edge of the table as I went. “At least my spell wasn’t explosive this time.”
“No, just flammable,” he teased.
“It finally pooped out,” Twobble informed us.
“Pardon?” I asked.
Twobble hopped up onto the kitchen counter and peered down at the sad little pile of ash.
“It was perfect,” he said, shaking his head. “It had structure. It had form. It had purpose. And then it just… gave up.”
“It caught on fire,” I corrected gently, reaching for a clean bowl and setting it on the counter with a soft clink. “That’s not the same thing as giving up.”
“It felt like it gave up,” he insisted, shaking his head.
I laughed as Keegan lingered in the doorway for a moment before stepping in.
“What do we need?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves.
