Page 3 of Wings of Shadow
The moment the shadow brushes the edge of my name, I jolt back into waking life, lungs straining, dragging in air like I’ve just surfaced from drowning.
Morning light spills through the tall, arched windows of the Deveraux library. Warm, golden. Safe. But its gentle illumination feels at odds with the lingering frost inside me. The chill of that vision clings to my skin, to the marrow of my bones.
This place used to be my sanctuary. A haven of ancient tomes, secret histories, and the soft lull of burning firewood. Now, even surrounded by velvet armchairs and the scent of parchment and leather, I feel suffocated. Haunted.
My fingers tremble as they trail along the spines of the books. Titles blur past—some familiar, some long-forgotten. None of them hold the answer I crave, but I keep looking. I must keep looking.
Ever since my eighteenth birthday, the visions have grown more vivid. More insistent. As if something ancient and powerful is trying to claw its way into my awareness, dragging its warnings with it. But they come in fragments. Fleeting images. They leave me with more questions than clarity.
I’ve been told they’ll strengthen as I approach my twenty-first birthday—the age of ascension for witches. The day I come into my full power. But that promise feels hollow when the darkness draws nearer with each passing night.
One thing is certain.
It’s coming.
A darkness not just of vision, but of fate. Something that threatens to unravel everything—the world I know, the lineage I carry, the fragile balance between light and shadow. And I, the youngest Draken and still fumbling through the boundaries of my gift, feel entirely unready to meet it.
“Clarissa, dear, are you all right?”
Juliette’s voice pierces the fog of my thoughts like sunlight through storm clouds. I turn. She stands at the doorway in a gown the color of twilight, her brow furrowed just enough to reveal concern behind her usual poise.
“I’m fine,” I lie, painting on a smile as brittle as glass. “Just... tired.”
Her emerald gaze softens with something like recognition. “I’m sure it’s quite challenging, dealing with your gift. Especially when it’s new.”
She glides across the marble floor, the hem of her skirts whispering secrets in her wake. “The visions will make sense eventually, when you come into your full power.”
“My twenty-first birthday is still three years away,” I murmur, a note of desperation creeping into my voice. “What if whatever’s coming can’t wait that long?”
Juliette’s expression softens with understanding. “The gift doesn’t sleep until then, darling. It stirs, it grows, it prepares you.” She reaches out to touch my arm gently. “But you mustn’t let the visions rule you, Clarissa. You must anchor yourself. Channel what power you do have now. Shape it before it shapes you.”
I rake a hand through my hair, frustration prickling at my scalp. “I’m trying. But they’re so disjointed. Like pieces from different puzzles jammed together. I can’t see the full picture.”
Juliette tilts her head, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “And that’s precisely why you have us. This library, these books, this legacy—it’s all meant to guide you. You’re not alone in this, ma chère.”
She gestures toward the towering shelves. “There’s power in these pages. Answers waiting for the right eyes to read them.”
“You’re right.” I nod, a flicker of hope igniting within me. “I just have to keep digging.”
I turn back to the shelves, fingers trailing until they land on a familiar volume. I draw it out gently, the leather worn smooth by generations of hands. De Occulta Philosophia Libri Tres. I clutch it to my chest, the weight of it grounding me in a way few things can.
Juliette gathers an antique clock from the mantle as she makes for the adjoining parlor, pausing in the doorway. “You will find your answers,” she says, without looking back. “You always do.”
Only two people know the truth of what I’ve seen—Nikolaas, my brother and confidant, and Juliette.
Juliette. I wouldn’t even begin to try to figure out the exact nature of our connection. Her life goes three centuries back, and the brambles of our family trees are so entangled that it would take a lifetime to unravel them.
But the bond between us feels deeper than mere blood.
She recognized my gift—before I could even understand it myself. She’s become my guide ever since, my teacher, my tether to a craft older than memory.
Even then, I’ve revealed to her the barest threads of my visions.
Nik knows everything about them. He’s my anchor when they drag me too deep. But even he can’t decipher what they mean.
I sigh, the burden of secrecy pressing on my ribs. With one arm wrapped around the tome, I reach for another—then another—until my arms are full, the stack wobbling dangerously.
That’s when I hear it.
