Page 53 of A Touch of Darkness

She extends a hand, and I shake it, trying not to look as nervous as I feel. Professor Ambrose clears her throat to gather our attention.

“For those just joining us,” she calls, “we’re practicing what’s called a basic protective ward. A ward is essentially a magical barrier you create to shield yourself—or others—from negative energies, physical threats, or even emotional manipulation. Think of it like a magical ‘bubble’ that can guard you in dangerous situations or simply keep unwanted influences at bay.”

She demonstrates a sweeping motion with her arms, murmuring a short chant under her breath. A faint shimmer flares around her, like a thin, translucent barrier.

“Focus on drawing energy from your core. Visualize it extending past your physical form. The incantation is in your textbooks, page fourteen, but I’ll pronounce it slowly for you.”

She proceeds to slowly pronounce the spell as Marisol flips open her spell book, pointing to a line of text in elegant script. I trace the words with my fingertip: “Aetheris protego, lumen meum extendo.”

“That’s it,” she says with a smile, her eyes lighting up. “Say it like you mean it—and picture a sphere of light, or a barrier—whatever resonates with you.”

I take a shaky breath, close my eyes, and try to follow Professor Ambrose’s instructions. My heart beats a little faster with each syllable. “Aetheris protego, lumen meum extendo.”

At first, I feel nothing. Then, there’s a faint flicker in my mind—like a glowing ember of warmth deep in my chest. I concentrate on it, imagining it fanning out around me. My pulse thrums, and for a brief moment, I think I sense a whisper of energy swirling along my arms. I open my eyes to see… well, not much. Maybe a slight haze in the air?

Marisol beams, nodding encouragingly. “That’s so good. Keep going. Sometimes, it’s super subtle at first.”

She tries the incantation herself, and I watch in awe as a soft glow pulses at her hands, expanding into a bubble-like shimmer around her. Encouraged, I close my eyes again and repeat the words. This time, I picture an orb of pale blue light radiating from my heart, spreading outward until it envelops me head to toe. I catch a brief, tingling rush—like cold air on my skin—when I whisper the final syllable. My eyes snap open, and I’m rewarded by a faint glimmer dancing along my arms. It flickers out in less than a second, but it’s enough to send a thrill through me.

We spend the next half hour fine-tuning our technique, chanting and visualizing. Professor Ambrose glides between pairs, offering tips: “Relax your shoulders, Miss Rosenthal… Ease into the incantation… Speak with complete conviction.” Each time I attempt the spell, I feel a little more warmthgathering in my chest, more tingling in my fingertips, as though I’m coaxing something from deep within. Eventually, Marisol and I try testing each other’s wards. She pushes gently against the air near my shoulder, and for a heartbeat, her hand meets mild resistance—like two magnets repelling. Even though it’s faint, I can’t help but grin.

“Nice,” Marisol murmurs, eyes shining. “You’re definitely getting the hang of it.”

By the time class ends, my head spins with new possibilities, and my muscles hum as if I’ve had a light workout. Despite the lingering nerves—knowing I’m behind everyone else—I’m thrilled. This is a whole new world of knowledge, one that makes me feel more prepared to face whatever lies ahead. And if I can manage to form a simple shield on my first day, maybe there’s hope that I really do have some ancient magic inside of me just waiting to be brought out.

I slip my phone back into my pocket, feeling the flutter of nerves in my stomach. I texted Isabel a half hour ago and asked if she could meet me in the cafeteria at Blackthorne. She agreed immediately, no questions asked, which both relieves me and sets me on edge. Every conversation with her has been deeply unsettling, and I don’t expect this one to be any different.

I scan the rows of tables, bustling with students laughing, scrolling through phones, comparing notes. It’s easy to forget that Blackthorne is anything but normal when you see kids in hoodies sipping sodas or complaining about professors. But Nicole and Rebecca are seated at a table against the far wall, their postures rigid, eyes darting around. They’re more on guard than anyone else in this room.

I weave my way through the crowd and join them. They lean in, voices low enough that no one else can overhear.

“Well?” Nicole asks. “She’s coming?”

I nod. “Yeah. We have like”—I check my phone for the time—“five minutes or so and she should be here.”

Rebecca drums her fingers on the table. “You’re sure you want to do this here? In front of everyone?

“One hundred percent sure,” I reply with a nod. “I don’t want to meet with her anywhere secluded. I don’t want to chance it.”

Rebecca glances at the clock on the wall. “You’re right. The plan stays as is. We’ll stay a few tables away, but close enough to listen in… psychically.”

We met up earlier and decided we have to keep trying to figure out what Solstice is planning. Maybe I shouldn’t be going into their actual space, but that doesn’t mean we can’t use their own people against them. Nicole and Rebecca think they can listen in on her thoughts while I chat with her. Maybe we can figure out more about where Lara is, or what they are planning.

Nicole arches an eyebrow. “You’re okay with us listening in, right, Sylvie? We might catch bits of your thoughts, too.”

“I know,” I say, swallowing hard. “But we need answers. If we can figure out her motives, maybe we can figure out Solstice’s next move.”

Nicole nods, a resolute glint in her eyes. “All right. We’ll tune in gently. Just don’t be startled if you hear us in your head. Try to keep calm so we don’t pick up on all your panicky vibes.”

I attempt a smile. “I’ll do my best.” I give them a mock salute and head back to my table, in the area I told Isabelle would be, and not long after, maybe just a few moments, I spot her walking in. She weaves through the tables, her gaze scanning the crowd. She’s dressed casually—jeans, a fitted jacket—but her posture is so upright and confident it feels more formal than any uniform could. Our eyes meet, and she offers a slight nod in greeting.

I stand up and wave her over, glancing at the girls out the corner of my eye.

“Thanks for meeting me,” I say, gesturing to the empty chair across from me.

She sits, folding her hands neatly in her lap. “You’re the one who reached out. Figured you had something on your mind. Maybe I can help.”

I take a breath, searching Isabel’s face, her dark and mysterious eyes. There’s tension that wasn’t there during our first couple of interactions. “I do,” I begin carefully. “But first… can I ask about you? I realized I don’t really know anything about you. Do you go to Blackthorne, or…?”

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