Page 91 of Shadows of Change

“He’s already in the restricted section of Malrik’s collection,” Aspen says dryly, clearly unaware of the shadows’ movements.

“Restricted section?” Torric raises an eyebrow. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing there.”

Finn waves a hand dismissively. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s shadow business.”

Torric groans. “Of course it is.”

As if on cue, a faint scraping sound echoes from behind the desk. Moments later, the shadow emerges triumphantly, dragging something behind him.

“What’s that noise?” Aspen asks, frowning as he glances toward the desk.

“Carl’s doing his thing,” Finn says, entirely too pleased.

“Carl?” I echo, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Carl.” Finn gestures dramatically at the shadow. “He looks like a Carl. You can’t tell me he doesn’t.”

Torric glances at Aspen, then back at Finn. “You’re naming him Carl, just like that?”

“Obviously.” Finn gestures dramatically at the floor, where the shadows are engaged in a full-fledged tug-of-war over the object Carl has unearthed.

To everyone except Finn, Malrik, and me, it looks like the item has mysteriously appeared from nowhere.

“What is that?” Aspen asks, his tone suspicious.

Carl finally drags his prize into the middle of the group and lets it drop with a flourish.

A long, sleek object gleams faintly in the candlelight.

“Is that a—” Torric starts, before abruptly choking on his words.

“Malrik!” Finn exclaims, his eyes widening with unholy glee. “Is that what I think it is?”

“It’s not—” Malrik’s voice rises, uncharacteristically flustered. He snatches the object, his face a perfect storm of annoyance and mortification. “It’s a weapon!”

“Sure it is, Your Darkness.” Finn collapses into laughter, clutching his stomach. “A very... personal weapon?”

Aspen, ever the diplomat, tries (and fails) to suppress a smirk. “I suppose that’s one way to disarm someone.”

Linda and Steve watch with what can only be described as rapt fascination, while Carl bounces happily on the spot, clearly proud of himself.

“Carl’s either going to save us all or kill us from secondhand embarrassment,” Torric mutters.

“Carl’s my new favorite,” Finn announces. “He’s an agent of chaos after my own heart.”

Malrik groans, his composure in tatters. “I’m banning all shadows from my room.”

“You’d miss them,” Finn says, grinning wickedly. “Especially Carl.”

Malrik looks like he’s debating whether the effort of arguing is worth it. “Get back to work.”

“Whatever you say, Prince of Pleasure,” Finn retorts, dodging a book Malrik hurls in his direction.

The group dissolves into laughter, the earlier tension forgotten—at least for the moment.

"So, evil ritual. New moon. Final trial. What do we do?"

"We could just not participate," Finn suggests from his pillow fort. "Call in dead. Take a romantic vacation. I hear Absentia is lovely this time of year."

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