Page 17 of A Touch of Madness

“All right,” Professor Ambrose says, dropping the spell. “Pair up with your usual partners and spread out. You’ll need space to move. Remember: your partner is your observer. They’ll help you gauge how effective your concealment is.”

The clatter of desks and low chatter fills the room as students shuffle into open areas. Marisol and I find a corner by a tall window, where the sunlight illuminates swirling dust particles and warms the air around us. We set down our bags and face each other, adrenaline buzzing in my veins.

“You first?” I ask, offering a playful raise of my eyebrow.

Marisol squares her shoulders. “Sure. Let’s see if all my late-night energy channeling paid off.”

She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, then speaks the incantation in a clear voice. I watch a faint ripple pass along her arms, but the effect fizzles out before it reaches her shoulders.

“Ugh,” she groans. “I felt something, but it didn’t hold.”

“Try again,” I urge, resting a comforting hand on her forearm. “Remember how you pictured your protective ward? Except now, it’s not about pushing others away—it’s about hiding you.”

Her eyes flash with determination. She whispers the words again:

“Obscura meum conspectum, umbram dantis lumen…”

This time, a gauzy shimmer wraps around her like a second skin. She doesn’t vanish, not exactly, but the edges of her form blur, like I’m looking at her through frosted glass.

“That’s it!” I exclaim, voice hushed. “I can see you, but it’s… fuzzy.”

Marisol releases the spell with a giddy laugh. “Okay, your turn, Miss Ward Master.”

I smile as I set my shoulders, recalling the steady calm I’ve used for our other spells. The chant is slightly different, but the principle feels the same—gather energy, shape it with intent. I speak the incantation in a measured tone:

“Obscura meum conspectum, umbram dantis lumen.”

Warmth spreads through my chest and flows down my arms. I feel the air shift around me, and suddenly Marisol’s gaze goes a bit distant.

“Whoa,” she whispers. “I can still see your silhouette, but it’s distorted. Do a little spin.”

I turn in place, and she tracks me with difficulty, her eyes widening in delight.

“You’re basically a wobbly mirror image. That’s… so cool,” she breathes.

A glow of pride surges in me. This is exactly the kind of magic I need—quiet, subversive, effective. Something that will help me slip under the radar if I need to face the Solstice Society again.

Professor Ambrose glides over, nodding in approval when she sees the shimmering aura around me. “Well done, Sylvie. Your focus is impressive. Keep practicing duration and stability—distraction can break the effect prematurely.”

I drop the spell, feeling my pulse thrum with excitement. Next to me, Marisol claps a hand on my shoulder, and I grin back at her. There’s a comfortable camaraderie between us now—like we’re more than just classmates. We’re allies in the art of witchcraft. I still need to introduce her to Rebecca and Nicole, too. I’ve been meaning to, but life has been a bit…hectic.

The rest of our class whips by in a blur of trial and error, laughter and exasperated groans whenever someone loses concentration and the concealment snaps. By the end, we’ve both managed to hold the distortion effect for a solid minute each. My head buzzes from the magical exertion, but it’s a satisfying buzz—like a runner’s high after a marathon.

* * *

I slipout of the classroom, still giddy from the lesson. But a knot of nerves tightens in my stomach as I head for the administrative wing.Just get it over with, Sylvie, I tell myself. Mr. Fallon will understand.

The hallway leading to the guidance offices is quieter than the other wings of the school. A few students linger by the bulletin board, scanning club flyers. The overhead lights hum softly, reflecting off polished marble floors. The contrast from the vibrant energy of Spellcraft Fundamentals makes me feel like I’m stepping into a library.

Taking a steadying breath, I knock on Mr. Fallon’s half-open door.

“Come in,” chimes his warm, familiar voice.

I step into the office, which is lined with file cabinets, shelves of reference books, and a large window that overlooks Blackthorne’s front courtyard. Mr. Fallon sits behind his cluttered desk, a kindly expression on his face. He gestures for me to have a seat in one of the padded chairs.

“Sylvie, good to see you. How’s everything? How’s your sister now that she’s been found safe and sound?”

Mr. Fallon is aware that Lara is no longer missing, I told him as much. But to my knowledge, he doesn’t know any of the details behind her disappearance or resurgence.

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