Page 27 of Every Shade of Shadow

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.

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