"You really think we can pull this off?" Zayn's voice was thin, vibrating with a nervousness he couldn't hide.
I didn't look up from the floor. "Bro, what do you think I've been doing all week? Jerking off?"
"Probably. I know for a fact you're a world-class 'Master Bater,'" Zach chipped in, letting out a jagged chuckle to mask his own shaking hands.
"Hahaha, hilarious. Truly," I muttered, my focus remaining on the floor.
We were huddled in my family's derelict barn. It hadn't seen a tractor or a bale of hay in a decade. The air smelled of dry rot, old dust, and the acidic scent of bat droppings.
Every time a rat scurried in the rafters, the two of us jumped like we'd been shot. It was 23:49. Eleven minutes until the world changed.
"Time?" I snapped.
Zayn checked his watch, the glow of the screen illuminating his pale face. "Ten minutes to go. We're cutting it close."
"Okay perfect." I pulled a hunk of charred wood from my pocket and began scraping a heavy, jagged square onto the floorboards. "Next step, Zayn. Read it."
He fumbled with the book—a heavy, leather-bound volume I'd basically liberated from the restricted archives of the college library.
"Draw a circle," Zayn whispered. "In the dead center of the square. It has to be perfect."
I drew it, the charcoal screeching against the wood.
"Candles?" I asked.
"Yeah. The four corners. Represents the pillars of the physical world or some shit," Zayn said.
He was snapping at me now, his fear turning into irritability. He didn't want to be here. He was only here because his ego was too big to be called a pussy, but the bravado was wearing thin.
I didn't blame him. I was terrified, too. But the curiosity was a hunger. I'd had girls—plenty of them. Every shape, every size, every personality. But they were all human. They were predictable. I wanted something written in the stars and forged in the dark. I wanted a big titted goddess, an Aphrodite. I wanted a Succubus.
I lit the candles. The flames were weak, flickering in the drafty room. "What's next?"
"Pace the square four times, counter-clockwise," Zayn read, his voice dropping an octave. "Then step inside. Once you're in, you don't leave until it's over. If you break the line, God help you."
I did it. One lap. Two. Three. Four. I stepped into the center, my boots thudding on the wood. The air inside the square felt... thicker and static-charged.
Zayn stepped forward, his face a mask of dread. He handed me a small, silver folding knife. "This is it. Last chance to back out."
I looked at the blade, then at him. I didn't say a word. I flicked the knife open and dragged the edge across my palm. The sting was sharp and electric. I squeezed my fist, watching the dark, heavy droplets of blood splatter into the charcoal circle.
"Hand me the book," I commanded.
Zayn shoved the volume into my hands and scrambled back, keeping a wide berth. "Good luck, man. Seriously."
I didn't answer. I found the page. The French was archaic, a mouthful of vowels and harsh consonants written by a guy named W. Weinberg who was either a genius or a lunatic.
The clock hit 24:00.
I began the chant. My voice sounded foreign to my own ears, echoing off the high, dark beams of the barn. I said it once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth, my voice cracked, a desperate plea to the void.
Silence.
The dust motes drifted in the candlelight. Somewhere outside, an owl hooted.
"I told you," Zayn exhaled, a massive sigh of relief. He looked like he'd just avoided a car wreck. "Total bullshit. Some old drunk wrote this for a laugh. Come on, let's get out of here before we get tetanus."
"Fuck," I hissed, looking at my bleeding hand. "All that for a goddamn papercut?"
"Yeah, well, at least you know you're not a wizard. Let's go." Zayn moved toward the square to kick over the candles.
Then the air died.
It didn't just get windy but the oxygen seemed to get sucked out of the barn in one giant gasp. A low, vibrating hum started in the floorboards, so deep I felt it in my molars.
"You feel that?" Zayn's voice was a terrified whimper.
"Zayn, stay back," I warned, but my own voice was shaking.
The wind returned, hitting us with the force of a physical blow. It was hot, smelling of jasmine and burnt ozone. Then, the charcoal lines on the floor began to pulse.
They bled a deep, rhythmic red, turning the barn into a slaughterhouse of red light.
"It worked..." I breathed, the hair on my arms standing straight up.
I looked at Zayn, but he wasn't looking at the circle. He was looking at the shadows behind me, his eyes wide and white with pure, unadulterated terror. He didn't say a word. He just turned and bolted, his boots drumming a frantic rhythm against the dirt as he disappeared into the night.
"Zayn! You coward! Get back here!" I screamed, but my voice was drowned out by a sound like a thousand silken sheets tearing at once.
I turned back to the circle.
But the barn was already fading. The crimson light from the charcoal lines had ignited. The square on the floor wasn't wood anymore; it was a hungry, vibrating rift of pure energy. The vibration climbed up my legs, turning my bones to tuning forks. I tried to step out, to break the line like the book said, but my boots were glued to the floorboards.
The blood I'd spilled in the center began to hiss, boiling into a thick, sweet-smelling mist.
"Oh, shit," I whispered, the realization hitting me too late. This wasn't a summoning. It was a bridge.
The red light pulsed one last time—a heartbeat so powerful it knocked the air from my lungs. Then, the floor consumed me. The wooden boards dissolved into a viscous, scarlet liquid, and I felt myself falling.
I didn't fall down. I fell inward.
The screams of the wind cut out instantly. The smell of the old barn, the sight of the flickering candles, the silhouette of the retreating Zayn—everything was blinked out of existence.
Gravity vanished. I was suspended in a void so absolute it felt heavy against my skin.
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A\N: Thank you for reading the first chapter. Please kindly add into your Library.