The home was exactly as I had expected inside. It was worn down, unkempt, and filled to the brim withthings. Brooms, books, dishes. There were trinkets on every available surface.

“Come,” Cirilla ordered, ascending a creaky staircase that was missing a few steps entirely.

I had to stretch my legs to make it to the next step and not fall through the gap to the floor below.

“You brought her?” I heard an unfamiliar voice say from around the corner.

“Indeed. The little witch is here. Come, come, Donika. Let us not make Persephone wait.”

The stranger, Persephone, was much younger than Cirilla. She had to be about thirty years of age, twenty or so years my senior. She had a deep, ocean gaze. Her mousy brunette hair was pulled back in a plait down her back. The apron she wore across her tattered dress was stained with all sorts of substances.

She ushered me into the room, a long table stretching across the space. It took me a moment to realize that a body lay across the table. It was an older man, his arms crossed over his chest, his skin devoid of all pallor.

He was chalky white.

I reached out with a tentative finger and poked him. “Is he dead?”

Both women turned to me at the same time, answering, “Yes,” in unison.

I shrugged, unfazed. I plopped my book bag down on the ground, the floor groaning beneath the weight of it.

Cirilla moved toward the table at the center of the room and lay the Grishina grimoire atop it, hastily thumbing through the pages until her muttered “aha!” indicated she had found what she was looking for. She ran her finger across the page, murmuring the spell under her breath.

Why were we here? And who was this dead man?

He had to be as old as Cirilla, if not a little older. It had only been five years since I had met her, but she appeared to have aged at least fifteen in that short period.

My brow furrowed as it occurred to me that it might be the magic. The Grishina grimoire.

Was that why she was aging rapidly? Was that why her demeanor had…changed? She was much more…brusque than she had once been. Much less affectionate.

Our lessons had taken on a darker nature, but I had surmised that was because I was older now. Coming into my magic more. I had already proven to be quite powerful, and if I wanted to be the most powerful Shade in the realm, I needed to take my studies seriously.

“That fucking Stormshade will pay for this,” Cirilla muttered.

My head snapped up. I had never heard her swear before, and her language had taken me by surprise.

“I’m ready,” she finally said, running her hands down her skirt to wipe the sweat from her palms.

“Good,” Persephone answered, crossing to stand on the other side of the table.

“Donika?” Her voice was a question.

“Yes?”

“Please move to the head of the table,” Persephone replied.

There was no introduction between us, it appeared we were getting straight to work.

I moved to the head of the table, where the white hair of the man before us was cascading over the edge. His lips were so white they almost looked…blue. I stood there, waiting for instruction.

“Place your hand on his forehead,” Persephone instructed.

Cirilla continued to murmur an incantation under her breath, rocking forward and back, her eyes pressed closed in concentration.

I did as I was told, pressing down the instinct to recoil when my palm met his cold, dry skin.

“Now give me your other hand,” she instructed next.