My heart was beating in my throat as I approached the door to the old library. My task was an easy one: Go in, grab the book, and dash back out. Simple.
But nothing in my life was ever simple. The door protested again as I opened it. Such a complainer.
The air didn't feel cold this time. It was warm, like I'd walked into a sauna. The floor felt slippery, like it had been mopped with baby oil.
Of course. This wasn't going to be easy. But I was determined.
The book sat right where we'd left it, only now it was closed. I didn't want to think about who or what had closed it. I just wanted to grab it and get the hell out of this creepy-ass place.
For an empty room, it sure felt crowded. A strange sensation pushed against me from all sides, like the air getting heavier. The pressure grew stronger the closer I got to the book.
I finally reached it, groaning as I picked it up. It was like picking up a cinder block. I took a few steps back towards the door. Then, I heard it.
A low, gutteral voice behind me. "Mira," it called to me. It wanted me to turn around. It was daring me to.
I froze, my feet stuck to the floor, adrenaline coursing wildly through my veins. My arms trembled under the weight of the book I struggled to hold on to.
I tried to take a step, but my foot wouldn't budge. A thick, black liquid began pooling around me. The stench of raw sewage and something even nastier assaulted my nostrils.
That awful voice called out to me again, closer now. Right behind me. "Mira, put the book down and this can end."
Tempting. But I was not giving up that easily.
The shadows we had seen earlier came creeping out of the corners of the room again, like arms reaching for me. They began to coil around me, like a snake suffocating its prey. I tried with all my might, but my feet wouldn't move.
"Let me go," I tried to scream at it, but my voice came out sounding more like a whisper, every word like a breath of air being sucked from my lungs.
"Drop the book," it hissed, the sound coming from all around me. I could feel it breathing down my neck. So I did what any rational witch would do. I chanted a spell, one that was supposed to send a wave of positive energy through the room.
I was just winging it, and I didn't expect the spell to work. To my surprise, it did. The thing behind me hissed again as though it had been burned. The liquid receded, and the smell faded.
The shadows coiled around me no longer felt suffocating. They tickled, enough that I almost dropped the book, which no longer felt like a cinder block. Giggling, I broke free of the shadow tentacles, bolting for the door.
"You can't contain me forever, Mira, and you will be the first soul I claim," the voice screamed. "You have no idea what you've brought upon yourself!" It was pissed. Good. Well, probably not good, but I was a little peevish myselr.
"You can try, but be warned. The Chicken Chuckin' Champion bows to no one!" I screamed back. I flung the door open and stepped out, slamming the door shut behind me.
Thankfully, no one noticed me as I emerged from the depths of hell, panting like I'd just run a marathon. I steadied myself, leaning against the wall to catch my breath.
I scanned the crowd for Duncan, but he was nowhere to be found. I stopped by my locker, leaving the book inside, and headed for my last class of the day: Spellcasting.
I slipped quietly into a seat in the very back. This was not a class I wanted to be noticed in. What if the professor wanted me to demonstrate a spell? After what I'd just been through, I wasn't sure I had the strength left.
I glanced to my left, and was met by two green eyes, glaring at me with unbridled fury. Malcolm. The guy from the speech class incident.
"Hi, Malcolm," I said cheerfully, "how's it going?"
"It was going well until I realized you were in this class too," he snapped. He looked around, no doubt searching for another seat, but they were all full. "This is what I get for running late," he muttered.
I sighed. "Malcolm, I'm sorry about what happened, but you did ask for my help."
"I asked you to make my voice smoother, like you did for Andy. Not to replace every word with a meow." He crossed his arms in front of him and stared straight ahead. I admired his profile. He had dark, messy hair, and his features were chiselled, pretty, but in a masculine way.
"All I can say is I'm sorry, but if you don't want to forgive me, I guess I'll just stop apologizing." I felt bad about what happened. The whole class had laughed when he got up to make his speech, opened his mouth, and spoken his whole first sentence in a series of meows, sounding like a cat trying, and failing, to speak.
Then he'd stormed towards me, meowing ferociously, and I'd jumped up and run out of the room. To my credit, I didn't yell "let meowt of here," though it had crossed my mind.
He just couldn't see the humor in the situation. He got to redo his speech the next day, but kept being interrupted by meows from the other students.
It didn't help that my speech was praised as being inspirational. I knew he thought I did it on purpose, but I truly didn't. I was trying to help him have more confidence. He had no experience with spells at that point, having only just discovered his magic. He'd asked me to help.
I wasn't as aware of my chaos magic then as I was now. At the beginning of the first semester, I'd had a few spells go wrong, but nothing major, and it was written off as inexperience. An orange instead of an apple. A potato turned into a hamster.
Malcolm was my first big failure, and it seemed he would never forgive me for it. I sighed wearily, slumping down in my seat, trying to be invisible. I wish I knew how to cast that spell, but I hadn't learned it yet, as it was more advanced.
The professor cleared his throat, and the buzz of conversation died down quickly. "Today, we are going to learn how to move objects from place to place. We'll start with the basics." He set a pie down on the table in front of him.
His hands traced a pattern in the air, then raised his hand upward. The pie slowly rose from the table. He moved his hand, and the pie moved with it. He lowered it, setting the pie down gently, a few feet from where it had been.
He turned to the chalkboard, drawing the pattern, then faced the class again. "Who would like to give it a try?"
To my horror, my hand shot straight up in the air like it had a mind of its own. Malcolm smirked at me, and I realized he was responsible.
"Very a-meow-sing," I snapped, and the smirk disappeared.
Professor Durben looked at me nervously. "Mira, are you sure?" He looked around the room, no doubt hoping someone else would volunteer. No one did; apparently they were hungry for entertainment.
With a huff, I stood up and went to the front of the class. I studied the pattern on the chalkboard, and when I was satisfied I had committed it to memory, I took a deep breath and drew the pattern. I drew it perfectly. But when I raised my hand, the pie flew forward and then straighy up into the air. It stuck to the ceiling before falling down, landing with a splat on Malcolm's desk.
I almost wanted to take credit for that one, since I knew he would never believe it had been an accident. Surprisingly, he didn't seem angry. He stuck his finger in the mess, licking his finger. "French silk," he said, smiling. "My favorite."
Get meowt of here. I returned to my desk, grabbed my bag, and stomped out of the classroom, ignoring the snickering of my classmates and Professor Durben's voice as he exclaimed, "class isn't over yet!"
For me, class was over. I'd had enough.