CHAPTER SIX
I wake dizzy and lightheaded, immediately reaching for the side of my neck, but there’s nothing there save for a small pinprick of pain.
I must have been knocked out good, because outside the plane is descending through heavy clouds. I spot thin threads of fog shifting past the window, dissolving into the air.
I suddenly realize what the hell is happening, survival instincts kicking into overdrive.
Why would someone dose me to get on a plane? I was quite happy to do that of my own free will.
I reach for my belt buckle. A large hand enters my line of sight from the left. It lands on top of mine.
I look up into the eyes of the driver, who’s smiling. “My apologies for that, Ms. Fairchild, but it’s imperative the location of the Academy remain a secret.”
“You drugged me?” I say, the words wooly and loose in my mouth.
“Yes, a necessary evil, and I apologize for the ruse,” he smiles, “but for now, enjoy the view. We’re almost there.”
His hand lifts.
We break through at the last second, revealing a thick blanket of fog shrouding rolling green hills. The plane slows, drifting over a dense forest and crumbling stone walls.
One thing’s for damn sure.
This ain’t New York.
A vast castle comes into view, its spires piercing the mist like gnarled fingers. My breath catches at the sight of the gargoyles and turrets silhouetted against the soupy sky beyond.
This has to be it.
Lumina.
My new home.
Or so I hope.
Dangerous word that, I warn myself.
The plane circles the castle once before landing on a narrow airstrip at the edge of the forest. When the doors open, a blast of chill air scented with moss and pine washes over me. But this is nothing like standing on the air strip back home. No, this air is seriously, seriously fucking cold.
I don’t even know if we’re in the US anymore and I doubt Lurch would tell me if we were.
At his insistence, I descend the stairs on shaky legs, clutching myself. A severe-looking woman in emerald robes waits at the bottom, hands clasped before her. She somehow manages to look both modern and dated at once—a pleasant contradiction.
She eyes me with suspicion, as if she’s not sure precisely what I’m doing here. I feel naked under her gaze. Maybe I am.
There’s a spell for that.
“Annabelle Fairchild?” Her voice is crisp and proper.
I nod, my head feeling like it wants to roll right off my shoulders.
The smile that follows is more of a crease. “I am Headmistress Isadora Lumina. Welcome to the Academy.”
The Headmistress? Talk about a welcome. Hell, I wasn’t sure I’d show up here at all.
I dip—who knows why. “Headmistress. It’s an honor?”
I don’t know where that inflection comes from, but the look of displeasure on her face is fleeting.
A flicker of a smile softens her angular features. “The honor is mine.”
I look back to the plane, the stairs already being pulled up. “Do all students get this kind of treatment?”
The Headmistress’s lips purse together. “It’s expected. Teleportation is so…primitive,” she finishes, “not to mention the nausea, the energy tax required. For yourself, those not of…means,” she smiles, and this time it’s wider. “I imagine it’s something of a novelty.”
I should kick her ass, but I smile back. “Yes.”
“I have high hopes for what you will achieve here, Ms. Fairchild. Professor Darkwood tells me you have a lot of promise. He paid your tuition personally, in fact.”
Professor Darkwood?
The Wolf?
He’s a goddamn professor?
“Oh?” It’s all I can offer.
“The Professor does enjoy his little excursions into the inanis.”
More Latin—‘the void,’ I believe, because these magical types, they love their superiority complex over the wider world. The whole holier-than-thou thing is why Gran decided to leave it all behind, to give it up. Magic bad. Plants good. Yadda yadda.
Technically, while you can use magic behind closed doors back in ‘The World,’ you can bet your ass is getting a serious whooping if you practice in public. People do, and it gets swept away or spun by the Powers That Be, and everyone is happy.
But here, wherever this may be, it’s magical open season.
It’s in the air. I can taste it.
I hold my tongue, inclining my head in thanks.
“Come.” The Headmistress turns on her heel, emerald robes billowing behind her. “Your classes begin today. We have much to discuss, and little time to do so.”
I hurry after her, casting one last glance at the jet’s engines winding up again.
We’re funneled into another black SUV, a short—and very silent—drive to the front of the castle while I do my best not to projectile vomit over the interior, I’m so damn nervous.
You’re here, I remind myself. You’re not fish food.
In truth, I’m still in disbelief. The Wolf failed to mention who he was. But he selected me. I was handpicked. By him. Surely that’s got to bear some kind of weight. As to the why, I imagine we’ll get to that.
Inside, the headmistress leads us through a maze of stone corridors, our footsteps echoing off vaulted ceilings. Everything about Lumina Academy is imposing, from its spired towers to the gargoyles leering in from the shadows.
My nerves fade with each step as curiosity takes over. There’s history in New York, true, but nothing like this—nothing truly ancient.
We climb a winding staircase to the Headmistress’s study. Floor-to-ceiling shelves are crammed with ancient tomes and artifacts. A massive oaken desk commands the space, stacks of parchment strewn across its surface, but there’s a laptop there, modern speakers…it’s an odd mix of new and old much like the Headmistress herself.
Headmistress Lumina seats herself behind the desk, steepling her fingers. “Mmm,” she mumbles, rolling it around in her mouth, “you are raw, but I see it now.”
I’m so lost here. “See…what?”
Her eyes sharpen, a hawk sighting its prey. “But power alone is not enough. It will consume you whole if you don’t master it. You don’t practice, do you?”
Practice—such a complicated concept.
I shake my head, struck silent by her pronouncement. She has laid bare my deepest fears in a matter of seconds, clawing her way right inside my head.
“A clean slate then,” she smiles, but it’s as dead as the poor creature splayed across her wall.
She slides open a drawer, retrieving what I imagine to be a class schedule—laminated, funnily enough. “Here is your timetable. Classes begin at once, so I suggest you familiarize yourself with the layout of the castle. You may have noticed we are in a spire of sorts, the lower floors mostly related to elemental magic and moving up from there to the,” she pauses, “more complex. Shadowcraft, for example.”
And shit. There is it. She’s just blurted in on out like calling for more coffee.
I swallow hard. “Shadowcraft? I thought it was illegal.”
Another feigned smile. “We tend not to dwell in such concrete laws here at the Academy. Illegal to practice yes, but not to teach.” She shakes her head. “After all, one must know all facets of magic, wouldn’t you say? Dark, light, every shade between?”
I flash her a puzzled look, wondering how to phrase my next sentence.
A piercing scream rings out, the headmistress rising in a flurry of robes, timetable drifting to the floor. I stoop to pick it up.
Her lips tighten into a grim line. “To class, please, Ms. Fairchild.” She opens her hand in front of me where a worn key has materialized. “For your quarters. Your luggage, singular, has already been brought up, and I apologize again for the—” she reaches up to her neck in a stabbing motion “—you know, but it’s imperative we have our privacy here.”
Here—I swallow down the obvious question and take the key, pocketing it into my jeans and having not a single clue how to find where the fuck I’m supposed to be.
“How do I know where to go?” I ask the Headmistress.
She pauses beside me, nose lifted. “I’m sure you’re quite capable, Ms. Fairchild.” She extends her hand to the door, which I assume means we’re done.
I almost curtsy (again, why?), but manage to correct and kind of half-stagger-slash-waddle my way out.
The doors to the Headmistress’s office close of their own accord, and just like that, bing, bong, I’m alone.
Get it together, I tell myself. You’re here, aren’t you?
I study the timetable, run my finger down until a line glows.
‘History, The Black Arts — Professor Damien Darkwood’
Of course it would be him.
I head into a corridor, a few students milling about. Apart from the fashion sense, which seems to be some kind of vintage-cum-gothic Candyman crossover, everyone looks like a regular college student.
“Excuse me,” I ask the closest person I can find, a mousy girl with seafoam green highlights. “Do you know where this class is?”
She squints at the timetable. “Darkwood, hey? Sucks to be you. Third floor, that way, up the staircase, second door on the right. Has a wolf on the door, can’t miss it, but you better hurry up, you’re like, seriously late.”
“Thanks,” I mutter, stumbling my way down the hall sweaty and groggy from the flight (drugging), still unsure if this is a dream or what. I’m struggling to keep up.
But up the stairs, to the right I come to the second door and there it is, a pressed insignia of a wolf not unlike the mask he was wearing at the ball.
I take a deep breath and fold the timetable, pocketing it in the back of my jeans before pushing the door open and stepping inside.
The scarred man at the front of the class turns, and my breath catches—raven hair, a slash of scarlet across his lips.
Fire floods my cheeks. I know those lips and I now know the scar that mars his angular face, surely a relic of magic gone awry. Has to be.
“Ms. Fairchild.” His voice is once more dark velvet, stroking along my senses. “We've been expecting you.”
Humiliation wars with the thrill coursing through my veins. It doesn’t help the whole class has turned to watch me. Their judgement is a physical thing, pressing me in. It’s like I’m back in high school, and I fucking hated that place with its endless social climbers and constant bullshit.
Luckily, I’m too caught up in the Professor, too busy studying the lines on his face to pay attention to any nosey students staring my way.
I imagine him catching me unawares, pressing me into the shadows and claiming my mouth with savage hunger.
Snap the fuck out of it, I tell myself.
“You're late.” He glides closer and grasps my chin, tilting my face to meet his. The physical contact is unexpected. “Such a pity. I'd planned to properly welcome you.” He lets go and walks to the front of the room. “Approach,” he commands, fingers hooking in the air.
I walk to the front of the class.
A whimper lodges in my throat. Up close, he's even more striking, the scent of leather and spice teasing my nostrils.
“Be on time tomorrow, Ms. Fairchild,” he says. “We wouldn’t want any unnecessary consequences now, would we?”
Consequences. The word bounces off the walls of my brain as he strides away and begins speaking. “There were two factions when the Arcane Convergence erupted. The Luminescent Order, practitioners of benevolent magic, believed in using their powers to bring prosperity, harmony, and enlightenment to all. Led by the wise Archmage Seraphina, they were known for their radiant spells, healing abilities, and the creation of certain enchanted sanctuaries that still stand today, including this very institution.”
He lifts a hand. “On the opposing side, the Umbral Brotherhood, followers of dark and forbidden arts, the Black Arts, sought to twist their powers for more…nefarious purposes. Masters of Shadowcraft, necromancy, illusions that struck fear into the hearts of those who dared to oppose them.”
I take a seat at a spare desk at the back of the class and do my best to follow along, but the Professor moves fast. I pick up bits and pieces, but this Black Arts shit is something Gran stayed well clear of, preferring to fuss over her plants.
I consider going to the Professor after class, but he busies himself at his desk behind a laptop when the bell rings (yes, an actual bell), those dark eyes suddenly made opalescent by the screen’s glow.
So yeah, that will have to wait.
I stand in the hallway outside wondering where the hell my supposed quarters are to be.
It’s a strange place, the Academy. It’s old, no doubt, but there’s also modernity—brushed steel and cameras. It’s like a castle fucked a tech firm and this is the baby.
“You’re new, right?”
I spin to find a five-foot-nothing girl with bubblegum pink hair standing before me. She’s clutching a book to her chest and smiling, which is more than I can say for most of these other ghouls.
“Ah, yeah.”
“I’m Lily. Lily Evergreen.” She extends her hand and I take it. Again, the physical contact is strange. Maybe this is just the effect Lumina has on me.
“Annabelle.”
“This way,” she says, darting off down the hall. “I’ll show you where your quarters are.”
The castle’s sprawling, a maze of corridors and alcoves I have no idea how I’m ever going to work out, but Lily navigates it with ease, whipping left and right until we come to a hallway of doors.
She pauses in front of a door with the number thirteen on it in bold, brass letters. “How interesting,” she says.
Thirteen—the number of witches in a coven, skipped in elevators worldwide, number of lunar (read: menstrual) cycles in a year…but I won’t read too much into it other than the fact it’s a one and a three.
“Go on,” Lily enthuses, “you’ve got the key, don’t you?”
I draw out the key, almost surprised to find it opens the door in front of me.
The door swings wide and voila, home sweet home.
I step in, Lily standing beside me.
“Welcome to your very own six-by-eight. Not much, is it?”
A jail cell is a pretty appropriate analogy, but there’s a utilitarian, steel desk and a similarly minimalist bed, a small sink in the corner and mirror on the wall that looks direct from Ikea.
Lily sees my eyes go to the laptop. “There’s no Wi-Fi,” she says, walking around the room. “But you can Solitaire to your heart’s content.”
I run my finger across the desk. “Joy.”
Lily sits on my bed, bouncing up and down. “It’s softer than mine. I’ve basically got a concrete slab for a mattress.”
She springs upright. “Anywho,” she says, which only reminds me of Sabrina, “how was your trip in? How was the,” she makes the same stabbing motion at her neck the Headmistress did.
I notice my duffel has been placed carefully next to the bed. “Do they really drug everyone?”
Lily nods. “Yup. Thought I was going to wake up ripe for the rape-age, you know?” She spreads her hands. “But here we are. You had Darkwood first?”
I tense at his name. “We’ve met before.”
This seems to pique Lily’s interest. “Outside of the Academy, inanis?”
I open the laptop and close it again.
“Ah, yeah, he’s kind of, ah…” I search for the right word.
“Crazy hot.”
I give a small laugh as is the expected response. “Something like that.”
“Just be careful, okay,” she says, which marks the second time I’ve been warned about the dear professor. “He’s got a bit of a reputation.”
Now I turn, curious. “What do you mean?”
“Let’s just say you don’t get to be a master of the Black Arts by making balloon animals and practicing humility. And there are the rumors.”
I tense further, that spring inside me coiling until it’s trigger tight. “Rumors?”
She does a little flourish with her hand. “That he practices Shadowcraft on young, pretty students in his sex dungeon. The usual.”
I laugh again, and again, as is the expected response. “Practicing Shadowcraft is illegal.” But I see her expression. “Isn’t it?”
“Mmm,” Lily lifts her left and right shoulder in turn, “a lot of things around here aren’t exactly kosher in the larger magical world.”
I lean against the desk with my arms folded, the steel cold against my ass. “And where is here, exactly?”
She shrugs. “No one knows, but the general consensus is Greenland.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Greenland?”
“Yeah, owing to all the, you know, green, and land. Either that or some kind of pocket dimension.”
I want to correct her that Greenland is largely an ice block, but that wouldn’t be conducive to making friends.
“I should be going,” Lily says, making for the door, “but I’m just down the hall, lucky number seven, and dinner’s at six, but don’t be expecting a grand feast. It’s a bit like a casino buffet—no clocks, no way out, and a bunch of dickheads stacking up their plate like it’s their last meal. See you there.”
She whisks away without another word.
I close the door and allow myself a moment to breathe, trying not to let the panic overcome me. I’ve gone from a decent, albeit about to be reclaimed, apartment to this. Just the thought of a communal bathroom makes me want to puke.
But what did you expect? I ask myself. The Hilton? The fucking red carpet? For what? You’re nothing. You don’t have ‘means.’
That’s the way I felt when he spoke to me today. Maybe I am just another student.
Another victim, my head cautions.
*
‘Casino buffet’ was spot-on, not that I’m complaining given my meals lately have consisted largely of Graham crackers and whatever I can dredge from the dark void of the fridge.
No, this is okay. Better than okay.
Lily insists I sit with her and her friend Ava Nightshade. Unlike Lily, Ava seems more guarded. Lily tells me her skills in divination and scrying are unmatched at the Academy, that she has a fascination with the unknown.
I’d rather hear it from Ava herself, but any time the poor girl speaks it’s like she does so in riddles, every sentence a puzzle. ‘Wow, the chicken tonight is overcooked’ becomes ‘a crimson moon whispers secrets to silent waves, echoes at the shore.’
I like that shit. It’s mysterious.
Lily, on the other hand, seems like the creative type, all energy and pop. She seems loyal enough, even if I do detect a whiff of self-doubt. There’s something about establishing her identity outside of her family’s legacy, but I’m still tired from being fucking drugged and dragged to ‘Greenland.’
I excuse myself and take a shower, the bathroom mercifully empty and towels in good supply, which is a plus.
I head back to my room and start unpacking my luggage into the tight wardrobe next to the door.
But when I’m finished there’s something that’s noticeably absent, something that’s missing I’m positive, absolutely certain I packed but is now either gone or taken.
My underwear.
*
It’s a rush to get to class the following morning. I have my cell and charger, but there’s no reception or Wi-Fi, as Lily warned. We may as well be in Narnia, which also poo-poos any chance of sending a message out to Sabrina. But I’ll find a way.
I search again for my underwear, but it’s nowhere to be found, so commando it is with a mental sidenote to keep my legs well closed today.
Herbology is a bore, even if it was Gran’s strong suit, the following Alchemy class surprisingly interesting, but it’s the Black Arts I’m most looking forward to.
The Professor’s threat of consequences for being late lingers as I scurry to make class on time.
When I enter the dimly lit classroom, he pins me with a stare. "On time today, Ms. Fairchild. Good girl."
This condescending tone goes unnoticed by the rest of the students, who are already seated, so either they’ve heard it all before or they’re too scared to speak out.
Still, it smarts.
"Find a seat," he commands. "We have a lot to cover this term and you’re at a significant disadvantage."
I slide into a chair in the front row. As he begins to lecture in that sinful voice, explaining the deeper history of Shadowcraft, I struggle to focus on his words. All I can think about is having those lips, that body, pressed to mine as he—
"Am I boring you, Ms. Fairchild?"
I snap upright, my cheeks a bright, cherry red in the blink of an eye. He's looking right at me, scarlet lips curled into a knowing smirk.
"N-no, Professor,” I stammer. “My apologies."
He looks away. "See me after class,” he trills.
The class passes slowly, everything way over my head, because Gran wasn’t big on the darker side of magic, always kept me well-shielded from this kind of stuff. I’ve always wondered what was on those pages she tore out of her grimoire. It might very well be what I’m learning now.
The class finishes and the rest of the students start to funnel out until I’m alone with the Professor.
He raises his hand, the door to the classroom closing by itself. It’s toddler-level magic, but the way he does it, the smooth twist of his fingers…there’s a certain style there, a je nas sais quoi, if you will.
I begin to wonder what else those fingers are capable of.
“Stand,” he orders.
I get up, standing to the side of the desk and bringing my hands together in front of myself.
“Hands by your sides.”
I comply, starting to wonder what the hell he has in store for me.
He slowly walks forward, forcing me backwards. He doesn’t stop, walking until I’m pushed all the way to the wall at the back of the classroom, the stone cold against my back as the space closes and there’s barely an inch between us.
I stare up at him, heart hammering wildly. This is highly inappropriate. His green eyes are intense, studying my features slowly. They shoot back up to mine, causing my core to clench with anticipation.
Without thought, my tongue darts out to brush my upper lips, his eyes darkening in response.
“Yes,” he whispers, voice shifting silken and honey-sweet, “I think you’ll learn best through more practical means.”
He breathes me in. “You’re in heat, aren’t you, little lamb?”
Fuck.
There’s that name again.
I gasp as his hands slide under my skirt, grasping my thighs. He hitches me up with ease, pressing me harder against the wall. A rush of heady desire surges through me. He lifts me up to his level, my legs dangling beside his hips.
And then his mouth is on mine.
Firm.
Decisive.
Sinfully hot.
No one has ever kissed me like this before. Touched me like this. Made me feel so deliciously wanted.
He growls, low and rough, as I grind against the hard ridge straining against his trousers. He lets off a brief laugh. "So eager for your lesson, my pet." His lips trail down my neck, nipping and sucking, as he rucks up my skirt further. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."
Just the thought makes me dizzy with need. I sensed there was something dark and dangerous lurking beneath his controlled exterior. Now it's been unleashed, and I want nothing more than to drown in the depths of his depravity.
"Please," I whimper, not caring how wanton I sound.
"Please what?" He slides one hand between my legs, cupping my sex. I’m slick already.
“No panties today?” He gives a low laugh. “How scandalous.”
I blush hard, unravelling. I have my suspicions they may be in his possession, but I can’t seem to speak under this sensory assault.
"Tell me what you want, Annabelle. Tell me what you want, and I’ll help you achieve it," he whispers into the coral cornucopia of my ear.
I echo the Headmistress’s words. “Power.”
That’s the last thing I expected to come out of my mouth.
It’s like I’m not even in my body, not here but floating somewhere else, an apparition.
I don’t know why I’m being so honest with him, why I, in fact, feel powerless, but I can’t help it.
His lips brush the side of my neck. “And?”
I squirm under his touch, desperate for more. "I want you to touch me. Teach me everything."
A low chuckle. "Everything? My, such an eager student." He slides two fingers into the wet mouth of my sex.
“I’m going to take great pleasure being your first.” He breathes deeper, savoring my scent while his two fingers join and seesaw in my folds. "You're already so wet. Have you been thinking of me fucking you? Have you been thinking of the Wolf, fucking you senseless, taking this tight little hole while you squirm and beg for me to stop?"
I cry out at the intrusion, inner walls clenching around his fingers. Fuck, this is so wrong. My hands spread out on the wall, clawing for purchase as he slides the fingers up to the pearly bud of my clit, sensation roiling through me.
I’m shaking, thighs jittering.
"Answer me." His eyes gleam with sinful promise. "Have you dreamt of your professor taking your sweet little cunt?"
What the hell is happening to me? I should be screaming, running for the Headmistress, but I’m paralyzed, my mouth moving of its own accord, an automaton.
"Yes," I gasp out.
"Good girl." He crooks his fingers, rubbing that tender spot just inside my pussy. Dazzling pleasure erupts through my veins, building and building, but he knows when to draw away to prolong the agony. "You're mine now, little lamb. And I'm going to take you hard and fast, again and again, until you never forget it. But not today. No, I want you thinking about it, to let it consume every moment until you come to me on your knees, until you beg for my cock with that dirty slut mouth of yours.”
I'm breathless with need, rocking my hips to meet his sawing fingers. The coil of heat in my belly winds tighter and tighter, pleasure and shame twisting into something decadent. I sense the delicious pressure in my core, my ass bumping into the wall behind me over and over as his fingers continues to send waves of pleasure throughout my body.
I don’t do this. It’s not me at all, but the shame is giving way to something greater, more primal.
There’s no fumbling here. No, this is a practiced touch.
This is a professional seductor.
The Professor watches my reactions hawk-like, memorizing every gasp and moan. "You’re going to come for me, little lamb. You’re going to come for me right now and then you’re going to lick these fingers clean.”
His command and the intensity of his gaze pushes me over the edge. I cry out as the coil snaps, waves of bliss radiating through my core.
It’s happening. There’s no mistaking it.
This is it.
This is an orgasm.
It’s different to what I expected—an implosion rather than an explosion, a shattering of self that defies words. Sensation blasts through my system with more force than I could ever imagine, pinning me against the wall.
He works me through my first climax until I'm trembling and oversensitive. He withdraws his fingers slowly, sticky with my release.
He brings them up between us. “Open your mouth.”
My lips part and I wait, breathless.
A knock sounds at the door.
Darkwood steps away from me, composure once more in place as he calls, "Enter."
I’m still tingling, pulsing between my thighs. My feet make contact with the floor, my lips sealing to hide my labored breath.
The door opens to reveal Lily.
Lily’s eyes light on me, widening at my disheveled state. "Oh, hi. We were just looking for you.”
Humiliation floods me, hot on the heels of my first climax.
I struggle to right myself as another girl appears in the doorway. It’s Ava, her pale features sharp and assessing.
"And you are?" Professor Darkwood prompts.
"Ava Nightshade, sir." Her tone is cool and aloof, perhaps a touch irritated he doesn’t know her by name.
“Ah, Ava, yes.” His smile is polite but doesn't reach his eyes. "I'll leave you three to it. Ms. Fairchild, you will see me after class tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, sir,” I correct.
His voice makes me shiver, gooseflesh rising on my skin. By the time I meet his eyes again, he's already swept from the room, leaving me alone with the remnants of his touch burning between my legs.
The awkwardness lingers, thick and cloying. Lily smiles at me, clearly trying to ease the tension. "Don't worry about the Professor. He has that effect on everyone."
Ava arches a brow, gaze settling to my undoubtedly flushed cheeks. "Does he now?"
I fidget beneath their stares, heat filling my face. How mortifying, so obviously fresh from a good old-fashioned finger fucking. "I didn't—we weren't—it isn't what it looked like," I ramble, desperate to deflect.
"We don't judge here." Lily shrugs, wandering over to Professor’s desk. "Everyone has their secrets. Yours just happen to involve our most intimidating of faculty."
"He isn't—" I break off with a groan, raking my hands through my tangled hair. "Can we talk about something else?"
Ava speaks. "The upcoming Samhain celebrations, perhaps? I hear they hold a traditional witches' ball."
"Fuck yeah," Lily exclaims, continuing to snoop around the Professor’s desk. "Do you have a gown selected, Ana?"
A gown? I don’t even have underwear.
I shake my head. "Left my ball gown at home, sorry.”
This sarcasm goes completely unnoticed by Lily. "Then we shall take a trip to the village this weekend," she declares. "Every witch needs at least one spectacular ball gown. Consider it a welcome gift, to help you feel at home here at the Academy."
I try to wrap my head around her last sentence. I’m not used to people being, well, kind to me, and she wants to buy me a goddamn ball gown?
But this is a Society institution, which only makes me even more of an outsider.
I fiddle with the cuff of my sleeve. I can still feel the aftershocks of the orgasm, the subtle pulse of it between my legs. "I wouldn't want to impose."
"Nonsense." Lily waves a hand, dismissing my protests. “My family’s fucking loaded—meme stocks, hey?”
A smile pulls at my lips, lips that were only moments ago being claimed.
Being taken by a seasoned manipulator.
“Okay then,” I tell her.
“Okay,” Lily smiles back, “and now onward, to the fine dining.”
*
The following day is even more of a whirlwind. Lily and Ava prove invaluable, if only because I don’t have the slightest fucking fuck what I’m doing. They let me know more about classes and teachers alike. Every professor has their own quirks, which I must learn if I have any hope of surviving Lumina, apparently.
But with each class, each second, I know I’m drawing closer to my time with Darkwood.
I don’t know what this power he has over me is—if it’s magical, physical or something intangible and unknown. But it’s there. Palpable.
And it’s dangerous.
Very, very, very fucking dangerous.
I think back to his praise yesterday, such a reward, each word of approval setting me aflame.
He singles me out during class, shifting around me to adjust my stance and the position of my wand (a generic given I didn’t bring my own). Again, this proximity goes largely unnoticed by my classmates, many of whom receive the same treatment—a hot flare of jealousy burning within me.
He stalks between us. “Sanctum Wardrius creates a protective barrier around the caster or a designated area, guarding against dark magic, curses, and general negative energy. The spell draws upon the caster's positive intentions and inner strength to create a shield that repels and dissipates harmful magic. You speak the incantation Ardor Custos and focus those intentions, tracing the warding symbol with your wand. But remember purity of purpose. That is essential.”
Shame wars with longing whenever those thoughts arise, yet I cannot deny their truth. My attraction to him is juvenile, childish, but I know that if I lean into it, I will be swallowed whole.
And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe I want to be eaten, to be devoured.
The best I can manage is a shimmering glow from the tip of my wand, but looking around the classroom, this is more than most.
Training wand, my ass, I think, smiling to myself.
The class finishes and students begin filing out, but I wait, near thrumming with need and nerves.
The door closes, muffling out the larger world.
We’re alone once more.
The Professor takes his time, busying himself with his laptop and papers, paying me not a shred of attention.
I wait there, silent, for ten minutes before he finally turns to me.
"You seem distracted today, little lamb," Darkwood comments, rising and pacing toward me. It’s only when he’s close enough for physical contact that I turn to stone. I blush under the scrutiny of his gaze, wondering if he can sense the scandalous direction of my thoughts.
"Is there something on your mind?" he queries.
I swallow hard, avoiding his gaze. "My apologies, Professor. I will try to focus."
He studies me a moment longer before nodding. "See that you do. What I will teach you today is a complex spell—a test, if you will. But know any misstep could have unfortunate consequences. Is that understood?
I nod.
“Follow me.”
I follow the Professor to the back of the room. He lifts his hand and the stone separates, a darker, smaller room beyond lit only by candlelight.
The fuck.
The bricks are mottled and worn with age, hinting at a far more ancient part of the castle. There is a small library to the left, the scent of books mixing with the smell of molten wax. Four candlesticks along the far wall provide the only illumination to the secret room beyond.
We move into it and the stone closes behind us again, the room sealed completely.
I do my best to listen as the Professor paces, a diagram beginning to glow from the floor. This isn’t some cotton candy beginner spell. No, this is something else.
“Focus,” he commands.
I return my attention to the intricate diagram sketched on the floor.
“Have you ever summoned something from the Nether, my pet?”
I shake my head.
“And yet you know how it is performed?”
“I…think,” I offer, but it’s weak. Summoning spells seem universal, as far as I can ascertain. But the Nether? I recall Gran saying it was a dimension parallel to our own, home only to dark entities shrouded in perpetual twilight. You could harness this power, but it came at a price, corrupting those who delve too deeply and turning them into dark reflections of their former selves. But sure, let’s summon something from it.
My chest tightens with nerves and determination, anxious to prove myself worthy of this challenge. Infantile as it is, I want the Professor’s admiration. I’ve been seeking it ever since I stepped foot into his classroom.
Gran would be rolling in her grave right now if she knew what I was about to do. This is exactly what she warned me about. Didn’t stop me dialing up the dark web and researching, though. Everything’s there if you can get past the edgelords and kiddy porn.
Well, almost everything.
The Professor senses my hesitation. “It is power you want, is it not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you must take it, Annabelle. Seize it. It won’t be taken any other way but by force.” The firmness in his tone showcases his conviction.
I nod.
The Professor discusses the intricacies of the spell, the correct intention, the physical manipulation of my fingers…
“Begin when you are ready," he says, folding his arms over his chest as he leans against a bookshelf to observe my efforts.
I take a steadying breath and lift my wand, magic surging through my veins like fire. I’m surprised by how familiar it has become in such a short space of time. The spell tumbles from my lips in a language ancient and powerful, filling the air around us with energy. The diagram begins to glow as I weave the enchantment, intricate lines of power connecting and forming a doorway into the darkness beyond.
It's different, actually doing this for real, but it’s also natural in a funny way, too, as if I’ve been doing this my entire life.
Delight mingles with apprehension, maybe awe, too—I’m not sure. Magic has always come naturally to me, basic magic, at least, but this is unlike anything I have experienced before. This isn’t heating up the bath or perking up a plant. This is practice. This is real.
This is Shadowcraft, I think to myself.
I hadn’t even considered this, but it’s so obvious now.
Why teach me this when it’s outlawed, so dangerous?
The Arcane Oversight Bureau would have a field day with this. It’s their job to investigate magical disturbances, enforce magical contracts, and maintain a delicate balance between the magical and non-magical realms. This is their bread and butter.
But the last thing I’m going to do is argue.
Fuck it. I didn’t come here to daydream.
The air ripples and shifts, a shadow detaching itself from the ether. I falter for a breath, stunned by my own success, before redoubling my efforts. This is the most critical point, where the magic is at its most fragile.
At last, a spirit hovers before us, an eerie chill seeping into the room. I release the final words of the spell with a cry, a rush of power flowing through me as the summoning is completed.
Breathless, I stare at the creature I have called forth. Its form is hazy and ever-shifting, hinting at a malevolent sentience beneath. A strange mix of dread and triumph wars within me, pride in my accomplishment tempered by the knowledge of what I have unleashed. I doubt anyone else in class could have pulled this off.
"Well done," the Professor says, a glint of approval in his eyes as he surveys my handiwork. That praise runs like an arrowhead right to the hot space between my legs. "I think you are ready for the Twelve.”
The Twelve?
I have no idea what that is, never came across it reading through Gran’s grimoire or online, but I don’t want to show my ignorance either.
There’s still that light burn in my veins from the magic, but it’s tempered now, opposed by something cooler and more intoxicating.
Darkwood approaches, the shadow spirit swirling around him, drawn to the immense power contained within. His eyes gleam with dangerous purpose as they meet mine, as if he can sense the hunger I hold for him, for this. The two of us, alone, accompanied by a magical creature, a creature I helped unleash from the Nether.
"There is great potential in you, little lamb," he murmurs, the sound nearly a purr as he examines the spirit. "But we have so, so much we have yet to explore."
A shiver runs down my spine at the implication in his tone. My breaths come swift and shallow, heart thumping like a trapped bird against my ribcage as he draws closer still. I am acutely aware of the spirit's presence hovering around us, a witness to this dance I know cannot end in anything but ruin.
Yet when the Professor reaches out to brush a lock of hair from my face, I cannot find it within myself to pull away.
I want to be ruined.
I want him to hold the knife.
"So much darkness," he says softly, "waiting to be awakened." His nostrils flare. “You’re open, ready.”
He reaches up, thumb gliding over my cheek. His touch ignites my skin, magic and desire intertwining until they become one and the same.
I want him to press me against the wall again, take me with his fingers, his cock…anything to drive off this desire.
“But first, restraint,” he smiles.
He pulls back and the moment is lost, the shadow spirit evaporating and the stone wall opening once more. He gestures back towards the classroom. “Until tomorrow.”
Disappointment unfurls in my chest. I had hoped for more. More attention. More praise. More magic, literal or physical.
But no. I make my way out of the classroom, the door closing more firmly than it should behind me, into the hallway empty, which seems kind of appropriate.
Until tomorrow—what a fucking joke.