Page 16 of A Touch of Madness

It must be a witch thing.

As the sun begins to set, casting golden light through the shop’s ivy-framed windows, Ravenna waves me off with a smile. “Go get some rest, dear. You’ll be back soon enough. Your next shift is on a slow day, so I thought we could practice some spellwork and study a bit more about the humanity curse.”

After bidding Ravenna a good night, I step out into the crisp evening air, clutching the bundle of herbs she so graciously gave me in my hand. The cobblestone streets of Blackthorne stretch ahead of me, but for the first time in what feels like weeks, the weight on my chest feels just a little lighter.

When I spot Lucian waiting at the corner, I shake my head despite the flicker of warmth that blooms in my chest. Of course he’s here. He wouldn’t let me wander the streets of Blackthorne alone, not after everything that’s happened. He’s predictable in that way—steady, watchful. It’s something I’ve come to count on, even if I’m not sure I should.

It strikes me, as I approach, how normal this moment feels. Too normal, considering how not-normal it all is. My hand still aches faintly from the way he sucked at my skin, but there’s no awkwardness between us, no strained silence to mark what happened. Lucian had fed on me—an act that should have left me reeling, terrified, something—but instead, we’d kissed like it was the most natural thing in the world. And now here he is, waiting for me on a quiet cobblestone street like none of it ever happened. Like we’re just... us. And he was able to restrain himself in a way he didn’t believe he could.

“Stalking me again?” I tease as I approach, but my voice softens at the edges, betraying the growing fondness I feel.

Lucian raises a brow, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “You make it sound sinister,” he replies, his tone low and smooth. “I prefer to think of it as keeping you alive.”

I roll my eyes, but the corners of my mouth twitch upward. “I think I’ve done a pretty good job keeping myself alive, Professor.”

I say the word just for theatrics, considering he isn’t my professor, but I can’t help the flicker of heat it sends surging inside of me.

His smirk fades slightly, replaced by something gentler. “That you have, love.”

The space between us evaporates, and I rise on my toes to kiss him—a quick, fleeting brush of lips meant to say hello. But Lucian surprises me. His hands come up to cradle my face, and he kisses me back, slow and deliberate, as though he’s trying to keep us both in this moment. It’s not rushed, not desperate, but it’s everything—soft, consuming, and impossibly steady.

When he finally pulls back, his lips curl into a faint smile, the kind that’s rare enough to make my heart ache. It’s not the smirk he wears like armor. It’s something real, something vulnerable—something undeniably human.

As we walk side by side into the gathering dusk, I let my fingers graze over my bandage. It’s healed more than it should have in the time that’s passed. Another not-normal detail in a string of not-normal days. And yet, walking next to Lucian, I feel... safe. Whole.

I glance at him, catching the faintest flicker of something in his expression before he smooths it away. He doesn’t speak about what happened earlier, and neither do I. Maybe we’re both pretending it didn’t matter, that it didn’t change something between us. But as his arm brushes mine, I wonder if we’re both lying to ourselves.

Because my feelings have been building by the day for this man—with each lingering stare, each sentiment oflovethat spills from his lips, each time he protects me in a way only he can. But after what happened in the kitchen, everything seems to have shifted once more.

And as we walk side by side into the evening shadows, I can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is a step in the right direction.

I push open the tall, arched door to Spellcraft Fundamentals, and immediately the fragrance of lavender and bergamot hits my senses—Professor Ambrose must be burning her signature blend of herbs again. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in streams of morning sunlight, painting stripes of gold across the worn wooden desks. There’s a low murmur of excitement among my classmates, all of us eager to see what our famously enigmatic professor has in store for us today.

Marisol spots me and waves from the middle row, where she’s already set up with her notebook and a colorful spread of pens. We’ve grown closer over the last couple of weeks—our partnership in spellwork starting to turn into real friendship. She has this magnetic optimism that makes me feel less alone navigating my new life as a budding witch.

“Hey,” I say, sliding into the seat next to her. “Ready for round two of magical boot camp?”

She flashes a grin. “Bring it on! My wrists are still sore from Monday’s shielding practice, though.”

I chuckle, shaking out my own stiff fingers. “Same. Pretty sure I dreamt about wards chasing me around the library that night.”

Before Marisol can reply, the door at the front of the room swings open, and Professor Ambrose sweeps in. She wears her hair pinned back, the silver streak framing her face with an air of effortless authority. Her long robes rustle as she makes her way to the lectern, the low chatter in the room subsiding to a hush.

“Good morning,” she begins, glancing around at all of us. “I trust you’ve been practicing your spellwork. Today, we’ll build on our continued foundation with a spell that offers more subtlety—specifically, concealment.”

A flicker of excitement passes through the class, including me. Concealment? That sounds immediately useful, especially with all the chaos in my life lately.

Professor Ambrose continues, her voice echoing lightly in the spacious chamber, “Unlike warding, which repels or guards, concealment distorts perception. It doesn’t render you truly invisible, but it can make you far more difficult to detect—whether by mundane eyes or certain forms of magical scrying.”

She gestures to a chalkboard where a neat incantation is already written in pale script.

Obscura meum conspectum, umbram dantis lumen.

“Repeat after me,” she instructs, pronouncing each word slowly. We all echo her in unison, stumbling over the unfamiliar wording. “Good. Now, watch the motion carefully. Think of gathering your internal energy like a veil you pull around yourself.”

She demonstrates, tracing a circle around her torso with one hand while clutching a short staff in the other. A soft shimmer emanates from her fingertips, enveloping her form. For a moment, the edges of her silhouette flicker like heat haze on a summer road.

Marisol and I exchange exhilarated glances. This is going to be so handy, I think, a thrill coursing through me.

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