CHAPTER SEVEN
Post-dinner I was sitting with Lily in her room, a room that is far more…embellished than my own. There are family pictures, ticket stubs, a Palm Springs poster, which strikes me as kind of funny given we are in the complete antithesis of tropical paradise. The castle seems to be under a permanent veil of cloud, the temperature somewhere between tepid and ‘freeze your tits off.’
There is a decided lack of windows here at the Academy, and when you do stumble upon one, you almost never find sunshine outside. The whole place seems consumed outside by a perpetual, bathetic gloom.
I’m on Lily’s concrete-mattress bed (she was right), my back against the wall, Lily playing Solitaire on her laptop.
“So,” I begin, looking to get a better fix on exactly what is and isn’t kosher around here, “Shadowcraft is taught here, like it’s okay?”
A delicate laugh follows, Lily spinning around to face me. “Taught, yes. Practiced no, and I mean no. Not that it stops anyone. You’ll see students around with cutting marks, pain increasing the power, blah, blah, blah.”
“Cutting?”
She makes like she’s cutting her arm with a razor. “Real Thirteen Reasons shit.”
“Oh.”
“You can waltz into the library and grab a book on it, if you want.”
This strikes me as particularly curious. I intensify my stare. “You’re telling me there are books about Shadowcraft in the library, just out in the open?”
“A whole section of them.”
“And they’re not in a restricted area or guarded by a troll or protected by countless enchantments?”
“Nope,” she says, popping the ‘p.’
She turns completely, hands on her lap like she’s about to deliver the birds and the bees. “Look, things are pretty, how should I say it…loose, here at Lumina. People try Shadowcraft, usually in a sexual way because hey, that’s kind of where the power comes from. So you mix the pain and the pleasure, and woo-hoo, it’s magical heroin, but no one really dabbles in the truly dark stuff. You’d have to go to Darkwood for that, and even he wouldn’t be stupid enough to teach it. That stuff will ruin you.”
I think of the spirit I summoned, that shadowy darkness still swimming in my veins as I take in her words.
“Got it,” I smile, my thoughts shifting once more to the Professor.
*
Later, I decide to explore a little. I feel like I haven’t even scratched the surface of this place yet. Who knows what’s hiding in the bowels of this place, what’s yet to be revealed.
Kinky shit, by the sounds of it.
I pass a group of boys huddled around a laptop in someone’s room, a brief glimpse of a nudity on the screen. Others eye me warily as I pass. I’ve done my best to dress as innocuously as I can—jeans, waffle-knit shirt in boring-as-fuck gray, but still I see the suspicion in their eyes. It’s like I’ve got a big fat sign planted on my head that reads ‘Not Society! Without means! About to be evicted!’
‘Weak.’
But for all its gloom and sultry students, there is a certain kind of charm to the castle—a kind of gothic opulence.
I loop around the perimeter of the second floor, making my way to the central, spiral staircase and moving down past the first floor into what I imagine to be the subterranean levels where the Headmistress said the elementals hang out.
It’s quieter on this floor. Peaceful.
And that’s when I hear them.
Two girls, in a small anteroom off one of the side halls.
It’s the animation in their voices that draws me closer. They’re giddy.
I pull into an alcove, straining to hear the conversation.
I peer around the corner only to find a blonde and a brunette just a few feet down the hall.
"What a fucking rush," the blonde purrs, throwing her hair back, her blue eyes round as dinner plates in the half-light. She’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed over fairly ample cleavage. She kind of reminds me of Sab.
Sabrina. Fuck. She’ll have the whole city searching for me if I don’t get a message to her soon.
"Better than sex. Trust me," the blonde continues.
The brunette shivers, licking her scarlet lips. "Got to be better than fucking Johnathan Tate. He couldn’t get this limp dick inside me. Felt like he was trying to put toothpaste back into the tube.”
“You should try it,” the blonde enthuses.
“Shadowcraft?” the brunette whispers.
“It’s just ‘The Craft,’” the blonde laughs. “No one says, you know, anymore. It’s so…” her eyes roll around, “old.”
The mortal sin: to be old.
But there it is, nonetheless, spoken so openly. The so-called forbidden is being discussed here on Academy grounds. Just like Lily said.
“I don’t know,” the brunette continues, looking for an out.
“Why not?” says the blonde, moving closer.
Are these two about to fuck? I consider, my mind always heading into the gutter when confronted with even the slightest bit of sexuality.
“Ah, because it's forbidden. If Darkwood found out, any of the other professors…" says the brunette.
"They won't." A wicked smile comes over the blonde’s face. "As long as we're, you know, discreet."
A tingle races through me, body tensing.
This is the forbidden fruit I've always craved, dangling before me. Gran was always so cautious to keep it as something taboo and forbidden, never spoken of, which naturally only made me want to find out more. But it’s not like you can pull up Google and become an expert. Even the dark web, fun as it may be, is absent of actual practical advice when it comes to Shadowcraft. A skimming of history and the odd spell to give someone herpes, but no, in the magical world this kind of thing is passed down, shifted with spoken syllables and scratched into parchment. I don’t even know if you could digitize it if you tried.
But its power? That is no secret.
Or so everyone keeps saying, not that these two seem perturbed.
I remember Lily’s words.
But the temptation, much like Darkwood himself, is almost irresistible.
A chance to explore the depths of magic in a way I've only dreamed about.
Gran never overtly taught me how to practice magic, because bad, but she used it plenty when she thought I wasn’t looking. Washing up? Spell. Hangnail? Spell. So I paid attention and picked up what I could, filled in the rest from her books and the web. The innocuous stuff is there right out in the open, but you have to know what to do with it. Gran blabbed on plenty about all that. You could barely get her to shut up half the time about the finer elements of casting. ‘An art,’ she used to call it. But start up on Shadowcraft and those lips would stop flapping fast.
"Well?" The blonde arches a brow. "You in?"
The brunette hesitates, then nods. "Sure. Nothing better to do ’round this tomb."
A surge of longing nearly overwhelms me. I want in.
To my surprise, they seal this pact with a kiss, tongues dancing between parted lips. My sex clenches at the sight, which is weird, because something like this would have never turned me on before, but here at Lumina I’m finding myself caught in all kinds of strange thoughts, my once resolute sexuality oddly untethered here.
When they break apart, chests heaving, the brunette murmurs, "Okay. Let’s Nike.”
“Do it?”
“Yeah.”
Nike? Fuck me I’m way out of the loop on this kind of lingo.
The blonde looks uncertain now, eyeing her with caution. “You’re sure?”
“Just do it already,” the brunette nods.
I grip the wall in front of me. A short whisper from the blonde and they disappear into the darkness, just evaporate on the spot. I'm left alone with my hunger.
Ravenous, insatiable, screaming to be fed.
Rules be damned, I need to go deeper here.
And if I were to get caught, I consider, if Darkwood were to punish me, personally, perhaps that might not be so bad. Maybe it wouldn’t be punishment at all.
I wait until the dead of night when the halls are silent and empty. Slipping from my room, I move through the darkness toward the library—using Lily’s rather ineloquent directions. The hallways are lit only by small running lights. If I squint, I could be on a redeye flying anywhere in the world.
Every step increases the hammering of my heart, part fear of getting caught, part thrill of the forbidden. I haven’t done this kind of shit since high school. There’s a joy in it, in seeking out what you shouldn’t.
I arrive at the library. The heavy oak doors loom before me, an iron lock in the middle, either pane etched with symbols of protection and warning.
So much for Lily’s supposed ‘just waltz on in.’ Maybe that’s true during the daytime, but now, in the witching hour when you think people would be kind of, uh, witching, nothing.
I take a deep breath and place my hands on the wood, whispering a lockpicking spell—a little-known classic Gran taught me for ‘personal safety.’
Joy of joys, I exhale hard as the lock pings. I push, the doors creaking open.
Inside, moonlight filters through towering bookshelves, luminous shafts of white.
Actual windows. Nice.
The scent of aged paper and knowledge lingers in the air, but tonight I seek information of a different sort.
I make my way to the restricted section and find it cordoned off with a spell barrier, Lily’s intel again coming up short. After studying the shimmering ward for a moment, I recognize some of the magic used and undo the barrier with a counter-spell. Practice is proving easier than I thought—natural talent and all. I allow myself a little smile.
Okay, so Lily was kind of right. It shouldn’t be this simple, yet here I am, a venerable John Dillinger.
As far as creepy goes, though, it’s full marks. There are grimoires bound in what could well be human skin, ancient tomes written in long-dead languages, scrolls that I imagine would unfurl with a puff of dust. My heart’s racing away from me as I skim the titles, looking for anything related to ‘The Craft,’ as my loose-tongued friend called it.
A book catches my eye.
Shadow Arts: A Treatise on the Forbidden.
Hands trembling, I pull it from the shelf and pry it open. My jaw drops as page after page crackles with power, filled with spells and sigils and descriptions of rituals unlike anything I've seen before. I’ve pored over Gran’s grimoire, studied every syllable and symbol, but this is something completely different. I read her whole collection of books on everything from divination to draconomancy multiple times, but nothing like this.
A surge of longing and fear and pure wicked delight rushes through me. This is it. The door to desire and danger, ready to swallow me whole.
I know I should close this book and leave it behind. Slam it shut, run, and never look back.
But I can't.
I won't.
I use a duplication spell to leave a mirror of the book in place. There’s some material shifting if you look at it from too high an angle, but it will hold.
Book in hand—or under shirt, rather—I make my way down to the yet lower levels of the castle.
It’s cooler down here. Frigid.
I search for a somewhere secluded, eventually finding an old storage room with cobwebs cloying to the corners and dust coating the shelves.
I sniff.
Cinnamon—burnt for purification, or useful for the odd erotic love spell. Pick your poison.
But smell aside, this is perfect.
With a wave of my hand, I clear the room and seal the door behind me. Now, in silence and solitude, I open the book again.
A spell for conjuring shadows grabs my attention. According to the instructions, I need only focus my magic and speak the incantation to summon ‘creaturae umbra et vespera,’ which I take to be ‘creatures of shade and dusk.’
Charming.
The fuck are you doing? my head cautions, but I’ve come too far now.
But there’s hesitation, too. I think back to what Lily said. Should I have brought a razor? A pin? Do I even want to increase the power? I don’t have any answers to these questions. I’m clueless, down here alone with a book and fuck-all else trying to do what? Please Darkwood? Make him proud of me?
I don’t know why I’m seeking his approval at all.
“Focus,” I whisper.
I remember what the Professor taught me about summoning the shadow spirit. There is some crossover here, but not a lot.
I take a deep breath and begin the ritual. At first, nothing happens. Then a flicker in the corner of my eye makes me turn. There, sliding across the floor, is a wisp of inky blackness. More follow, swirling and dancing through the air, coalescing into strange, crescent shapes. They’re different from the spirit I summoned with Darkwood. More present. More alive.
I stare at what I've summoned, alive and writhing before me. They seem almost intelligent, regarding me with what might be curiosity.
Or hunger.
And yeah, I’m starting to think a little impulse control would have come in handy.
One of the shadows brushes against my arm and a jolt of cold shoots through me so alarming I jerk back. Gasping, I lose control of the spell. The shadows vanish in an instant. Thank Christ.
Shaken, I sit down against the wall and bring my knees to my chest. I hug them tight, struggling to control my quickened breath.
They’re gone. It’s fine, I tell myself.
Peaches.
Right?
But beneath the fear is a heady rush of power. I've done it. I've performed an act of Shadowcraft on my own and the world didn’t implode, and I didn’t sprout a penis, and all is well.
A smile pulls at my lips.
And that’s when it hits me.
Lily was right. This is absolutely. Fucking. Intoxicating.
Maybe Ms. Clueless upstairs knew what she was on about. Maybe this is better than sex.
Like you’d know, I tell myself.
So facts, Darkwood fingered me, made me come, and suddenly I’m what? A sex kitten, a pro?
I yank myself from the self-criticism, closing the book and picking it up again.
But the shadows are calling. Louder now, a siren song.
The aftermath of the shadows cling to me as I make my way back to my room, wisps of black trailing in my wake. At first, I think this is some kind of mental illusion, a trick, but they’re there alright—as real as the hand in front of my face.
I rub my arms, trying to shake off the chill, but whatever it is, it’s seeped deep into my bones, become part of me.
It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing. It’s in your head.
But reassurance doesn’t seem to be working.
The feeling fades as I climb under the covers.
Sleep comes quickly.
*
My eyes snap open. I can’t tell if it’s been minutes or hours owing to the fact there are no windows in here. There’s light coming from the hallway under the door, though, enough to carve out a pool of deeper darkness in the corner of the room. I stare at it, heartbeat quickening, unable to look away.
The shadows stir and stretch, twisting into a humanoid shape.
There’s a voice, barely a whisper, but it’s there all the same. "You called, witchling?"
It comes as a raspy hiss, and though the creature has no visible mouth, I see an ivory flash of teeth in the shadows. I scramble back against the headboard, clutching the blanket around me, but where am I going to go? This thing is moving between the door and my position, cutting off any escape.
"What do you want?" My voice quivers, betraying me.
It shifts closer, easing over the bed. Finally, it slides past my legs and my midsection, teeth much closer this time.
A cold, dark tendril strokes my cheek. "Your power. Your flesh."
I try to push it away, but my limbs are heavy. A strange lassitude steals over me, terror fading into a haze of desire.
The creature slides onto the bed, its shadowy form pressing me harder into the headboard. It starts to claim my mouth with vigor, icy tendrils working their way up my thighs.
A sharp rap at the door startles me. I jolt upwards. The shadows are gone, but the taste of cold ash lingers on my tongue.
Was it a dream?
Sure as fuck didn’t feel like a dream.
I get out of bed, feet shuffling across the floor. “"Just a moment," I call out, hastily combing my fingers through my hair. I take a deep breath to steady my nerves before opening the door.
I open it expecting to find Lily or Ava, maybe my neighbor who I swear has smuggled in a bong.
But no. It’s Darkwood.
Shit.
Before I can utter a word, questions pop up in my head.
Does he know what I've done?
Is he here for the book?
There’s a moment of heated panic where I wonder what I’ve done with it until I realize it’s safely stashed under the mattress.
The Professor’s gaze sharpens as he looks me over. He’s as immaculately presented as always, a dark vest over a darker shirt. "You seem…distressed, Ms. Fairchild. Is everything alright?"
"Just a bad dream," I lie—I think. I can't meet his eyes, afraid he'll see the truth in mine. "What can I do for you, Professor?"
"May I come in?"
He sounds almost pleasant.
My mouth goes dry.
He knows alright.
But I’ve already invited darkness in—what harm can there be in inviting in the Wolf as well?
"Of course," I say, stepping aside. "Please."
Is anyone seeing this, seeing him entering my room at this hour? That’s got to be a no-no.
Even if they did, something tells me they’d keep their mouth shut. Darkwood doesn’t seem like someone you’d want to tattle on.
The door closes behind him with a soft click. I stand motionless, watching as he faces me, his expression unreadable.
"You lacked focus today, Ana." His voice is low, almost gentle. “Can I call you Ana?”
Ana. Lamb. Fuckdoll. Whatever you want, I think. “Sure.”
His hands go behind his back. Well, Ana, I must say I am concerned."
He’s looking me over, the predator hungry for its meal but happy to wait, slowly biding its time.
I swallow hard, warmth flooding my cheeks. "I apologize, Professor. I’ll try better.”
"Mm." He takes a step toward me, and I have to fight the urge to step back. His eyes glint in the dim light. "You’ve been dabbling in Shadowcraft, haven't you, little lamb? And all alone, too."
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
So he does know.
It’s no surprise, really. He seems to have an innate power to be inside my head at any given moment.
And why is it he has such power over me? To reduce me to naught but desire?
I mean, this can hardly be appropriate practice, a professor entering the room of a student in the middle of the night.
I open my mouth, but no words come out. He knows. Denying it will only make things worse.
"I warned you of the dangers," he continues, shaking his head in disapproval. "Shadowcraft is not a game for amateurs, regardless of what horny students summoning a shadowy fuckbuddy might think. It can consume you if you are not properly trained, it will split you limb from limb, even breed within you. I’ve seen such horrors in these halls, perhaps even in this very room.”
"I'm sorry," I whisper, feeling like a child again. I wrap my arms around myself, small under the weight of his disapproval. "I was curious. I thought I could handle it, but—"
"But you were wrong." Another step closer. The heat radiating from his body is palpable, the intensity of his gaze undoing me fast. Once more, I feel naked in front of him. "Shadowcraft is not something to trifle with. If you continue down this path, it may change you in ways you cannot imagine. Are you ready for that?"
"What do you mean?" I ask nervously.
He looks pensive. "Some who delve too deeply into Shadowcraft lose themselves," he says. "Their minds become warped by dark magic and power. They become cruel, violent...insatiable in their desires."
My shoulders clip back at his words. Insatiable. The memory of my dream, whatever it was, comes rushing back in lurid detail. I squeeze my eyes shut.
"I don't want that," I whisper.
“Yet you want the power it will bring.”
“Yes,” I confess, my mouth once more moving of its own accord.
"Then you must stop this foolish exploration." His hands close over my shoulders, hot even through the fabric of my nightdress. "Promise me.”
I nod, blinking back tears. "I promise."
“I promise, what?”
“I promise, sir,” I add meekly.
His smile grows, crooked and uneven. “Ah, but it has already attached itself to you.”
I go cold, a chill flushing through me completely. I’m all but a standing corpse.
For a long moment he is silent. When he speaks again, his voice is rough, gusseted with emotion. "But we can use this…under my personal tutelage, of course. It can be an asset.”
I nod again, relief flooding through me even as I tremble in his grasp. "Thank you, Professor.”
"Mm," he murmurs again, a whole range of ‘hms’ and ‘mms’ that seem to convey every imaginable emotion. But his eyes gleam with something more than reassurance, something dark and hungry that makes my pulse race. "You are mine to guide, little lamb. And I will lead you into pleasures and power beyond your wildest dreams, but to do so, I need you alive, and well. You’ll need all your strength for what is to come."
The way he says that final word, lets it fall from his lips, that single syllable lingering… It’s too much.
“Are you ready to begin your real training?”
I cross my eyes in confusion. “What? Now?”
His smile grows, crooked and wanton. “As they say inanis, there’s no better time than the present.”
He whispers a rapid-fire spell, fingers lifting and swiveling as if opening a door.
And then, simple as that, everything slides into oblivion.