I woke to the sound of the front door opening and closing—my parents were home. The power was still off, so I fumbled around in my desk until I found a flashlight that worked.
"Mom? Dad?" I ran down the stairs, nearly tripping over the blanket wrapped around me. Malcolm followed closely behind.
My parents were in the kitchen by the time I reached the bottom step, brushing snow off their coats.
"Mira, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost!" my mother exclaimed. She noticed Malcolm, and her eyes lit up. "And who is this handsome young man?"
Malcolm stepped forward, extending his hand. "I'm Malcolm. Mira and I have spell-casting class together. I gave her a ride home from the university today."
Both my parents shook hands with him, looking pleased.
I sighed. "It was kind of an eventful day."
I told them everything—starting with the confrontation with Duncan, his brief stint as a piglet, the strange presence in the library. I told them I'd gone back for the book, wanting to see if I could figure out what we had discovered.
"You opened the book, didn't you?" my mother asked, her voice suddenly sharp. "Did you open it here?"
"I—yes," I admitted. "There's something in it. Something that moved. It came off the page. I don't know if it escaped, but it got really cold after that. The wind felt like it was coming through the windows."
My father dropped his travel bag. "Tell us everything. Now."
We sat in the living room. The fireplace roared to life, but the chill remained in the corners—like something didn't want to leave.
As I described the storm, the shadows, the stain lifting off the page, my parents' faces grew grim.
"It wasn't sealed properly," my mother said to my father.
"It was supposed to fade over time," he muttered. "We underestimated how much it would feed."
"Feed?" I echoed. "On what?"
"Emotion," my mother said softly. "Fear. Anger. Grief. Anything dark. It's an ancient parasitic entity—formless, for the most part. It hides in shadows, in old ink, in the corners of places that are supposed to be quiet."
My father added, "The old library is perfect. Nobody goes in there, so it could remain hidden. Slowly feeding off the angst of students—just enough that no one noticed. Then you went in there today, and it recognized your Chaos Magic—something it can also feed on."
Malcolm leaned forward. "So Mira shows up with Chaos Magic and blows the whole thing wide open."
"It was already growing stronger," my mother said. "She didn't cause it. But she woke it."
I hugged myself, suddenly freezing again.
"How did it get into the book?" I asked. "It seemed to come out of the corners and bleed into it."
"The book was meant to contain it," she said. "But it must have grown strong enough to reach outside. The book holds its 'heart'—its core essence. It was summoned accidentally by a group of students messing around in the library. It fed off their fear… off whatever led them to summon something like that in the first place. When Thom arrived and trapped it in the book, two of the students had to be taken to a psychiatric hospital. They refused to speak. That was twenty years ago. They're still there."
My heart sank. What had it done to them?
"It's not trapped anymore," my mother said. "It's conscious. It's awake."
I could still feel it. Watching.
"Is it bound to the book?"
"No," she said. "The book was supposed to contain it. It used to be weak. Now it can move."
"If it can move, why hasn't it attacked?" Malcolm asked.
"It doesn't want to kill," my father said. "Not yet. It wants to feed. It gets high on pain, sadness, loneliness, anger. And it likes to toy with its prey."
A horrible thought occurred to me. "So everyone at the school… they've been feeding it for years?"
They didn't answer. They didn't have to.
I stood up, angry now. "We're at the best magic academy in the world. Why hasn't anyone noticed? Why didn't anyone stop it?"
"Because it was clever," my mother said, tiredly. "It took just enough. A student with nightmares. A failed exam. A magical accident. Jealousy. Breakups."
She rubbed her temple like a headache was forming. "You both should try to sleep. We need to check on your brother and sister. They need to keep their emotions under control."
"No way I'm sleeping," I said quickly. "Not with that thing still here." I thought of Micah's video game tantrum. "Tell Micah not to get so worked up over stupid video games."
"If you're hungry, grab something. We need to get started on this." My mother turned and headed upstairs. "I'll get the book from your room, Mira. It may not be in there anymore, but I need to examine it."
My father gave a sharp nod, already heading toward the hallway that led to his study. "Stay here. There's something I want to show you."
He returned a few minutes later carrying a long velvet-wrapped bundle. When he unwrapped it, the firelight caught on dark metal and a deep crimson gemstone mounted in the head of the staff.
I sat forward, staring. The staff shimmered faintly, like it was humming with sealed energy.
"This," my father said, "is the Staff of Binding. It's been in our family for generations—meant only to be used in extreme cases. The gemstone is a reservoir. Each facet contains a sealed spell, crafted over decades. No spell in here is harmless."
Malcolm leaned closer. "That thing could destroy the entity?"
"If it doesn't," my father said, "nothing else will. The problem is, these spells are extremely dangerous."
He held the staff out for us to see but didn't let go. The gemstone at the tip flickered, then flared—bright red, with streaks of purple coiling through it like smoke.
"It senses dark magic nearby," he said grimly. "It only does that when an unbound force is close. That thing isn't gone. It's still in this house."
The windows rattled again, louder this time. Something scratched faintly behind the wall, and I flinched.
"Snow's thick enough now that Malcolm's not going anywhere," Dad said, glancing outside. "You'll both stay in Mira's room tonight. We'll ward the door."
Malcolm looked more relieved than embarrassed.
As Dad headed upstairs, he paused and looked back. "Mira?"
"Yeah?"
"That thing's watching you for a reason. Be careful what emotions you give it."
He didn't need to explain. I already knew.
Back in my room, the fire had gone out. That unnatural chill had returned, wrapping around my ankles like fog.
Malcolm shut the door and locked it. I pressed the button to relight the fire, but nothing happened. An icy current snaked through the room, and I shivered.
"Did you feel that?" I whispered.
He nodded. "It knows your dad has the staff."
I turned and saw the book still resting on the floor. It hadn't moved, but I felt its pull—a whisper behind my eyes, a humming inside my skull. I picked it up and placed it outside my bedroom door for my parents. I locked the door again, hoping it might follow the book out. But I knew it was still in here.
Malcolm reached for my hand and squeezed it. "Try not to be scared," he murmured. "You said it feeds on that, right?"
"Right. But that's like telling someone to ignore an axe murderer behind the curtain."
He smirked, but tension still lingered in his eyes. "Then we fake it. Act like we're not afraid."
We curled up under the covers again. This time, we didn't speak. We didn't need to.
The room was quiet—but not still. The fire wouldn't light. The shadows didn't stretch right.
And in the corner, where the wall met the ceiling, the shadows were darker than they should've been. Watching. Waiting.
I closed my eyes. And in the dark behind my eyelids, I saw it. Red eyes. No face. Just hunger. Malcolm shifted slightly beside me. "Hey," he whispered. "Still awake?"
"Yeah. Too many thoughts. I can feel it watching us."
"Same." A pause. "Can I ask you something weird?"
"After everything today? Go for it."
"What did you feel, when the thunder laughed?"
I hesitated. "It sounded like mockery. Like it knew something I didn't. Like I was… small."
"Yeah," he said, voice barely above a breath. "Me too."
I turned to face him in the dark, moonlight cutting through the curtains. He looked nervous. We moved closer together, warming each other.
"Are you scared of it?" I asked.
"Of course. But not as much when I'm with you like this." He pulled me closer, and my heart beat faster for an entirely different reason. "You know what's weird? When we were downstairs talking to your parents… I felt the way the shadows watched us. But the closer I get to you, the weaker that feeling gets."
Then he kissed me. Just a gentle kiss, but enough to send warmth radiating through my whole body. I kissed him back. When we pulled apart, we were both smiling.
He was right. The pressure had eased. The chill no longer pressed against the windows. The fire flickered back to life on its own, as if whatever had smothered it had given up.
And in the corner, where the dark mass had lingered, there was nothing. No pulse of dread. No unnatural shadow. Just a regular room, dim and quiet.
I sat up slowly. "It's gone."
"I think," he said cautiously, "it can't stay near us like this. Like… our emotions pushed it out."
I reached for his hand. "So you're saying our connection is actual anti-evil magic?"
He gave me a lopsided grin. "Yeah. Cheesy, right? But if it works…"
It wasn't cheesy. It was profound. All day, the entity had fed on my fear, uncertainty, and guilt. But with Malcolm, I didn't feel any of those things. I felt joy. Connection.
"Eat that, you creepy bastard," I said, and we both laughed.
Downstairs, the wards on the house shimmered like something had passed through them. The gemstone in the staff pulsed once in its velvet wrap, then settled.
Outside, the snow still fell, but slower now. No more thunder. The wind had died down.
The question remained:
Where would it go next?