Chapter twenty-three
Cassidy’shomesatnestledin a quiet alcove of trees just beyond the Rider School grounds. The scent of damp earth and pine mingled with the faint metallic tang of the melted gold simmering over the open flame. Inside, the single-room dwelling was practical, sparsely furnished except for the large wooden table at the center, currently strewn with ritual components. There were scraps of parchment inked with runes, a bowl of still-warm beeswax, a lock of Emmaline’s chestnut hair tied beside a man’s soft cream shirt, and a glass pot where the gold coins Caelith had given her slowly liquefied into molten brightness.
A faint, acrid odor rose from the beaker in front of Emmaline as she stirred a thick mixture of powdered stormvine resin, crushed emberwood bark, and the fine, silvery dust of ground selos quartz—ingredients Margo had spent the better part of the day acquiring, no doubt using her noble connections and disarming charm to secure them.
“So how is this supposed to work again?” Ursula leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “I’m well-versed in many ways to corrupt magic—among other things—and I’m intimately familiar with how enchantments can make things more… complicated for the Patrol.”
Cassidy let out a sharp snort, shaking her head as she adjusted the flame beneath the melting gold. “You’re the Vale’s greatest dark witch, Ursula. Let’s not sugarcoat it.”
Ursula bared her teeth. “As I was saying,” she continued, her voice silkier now, “if anyone would know how to manipulate a magical signature to evade law enforcement, it would be me. And our entire plan hinges on Emmaline’s ability to actually pull off this impossible feat.”
Emmaline tapped the stirring stick against the rim of the beaker. “I’m not actually altering anything,” she said, frowning at the solution as it thickened.
Ursula’s brow lifted. “I don’t understand. You said…”
“It’s just an illusion.” Emmaline dipped a wooden dowel into the beaker to test the consistency, only to yank it back with a hiss. “Yow! Too much frostbloom essence—” She cursed, flipping the sizzling residue from her fingertips.
Margo, who had been idly tracing patterns in a spilled line of selos dust, hummed in thought. “So you’re fooling those testing the residue,” she mused. “Changing how they perceive it rather than altering the substance itself.”
“Yes.” Emmaline grinned, unable to hide the satisfaction tugging at the edge of her lips. “That’s how illusions work, though this one is somewhat special.” She stirred the beaker, watching the mixture take on a deep, opalescent sheen.
Lara tilted her head, ears flicking forward. “But what if they see—or more likely, sense—through it? Corgis are usually able to sniff out even the strongest deceptions.”
“I’ve tested it on Corgis.” Emmaline shrugged, twirling the stirring stick between her fingers. “Once the spell is cast, it overlays a new version of reality on top of the old one. You can’t sniff through that.”
A hush fell over the room.
Ursula’s grip tightened on the edge of the table, her gaze snapping to Emmaline. “New version of reality?” She blinked, something sharp and calculating dancing behind her eyes before she let out a low, breathy exhale. “Goddess, Emmaline, that sounds an awful lot like dark magic. Though I’ve never even heard of it being used this way.”
Emmaline scoffed as she adjusted the mold where the molten gold would set. “It’s Grey,” she corrected. “Mostly light—basic illusion work with just a pinch of dark to convince reality that the illusion is true.”
Silence.
Four pairs of eyes stared at her, mouths slightly agape as if she had just announced she was the long-lost heir to some forgotten throne.
Margo was the first to recover, doubling over in laughter, practically wheezing as she braced her hands against the table. “What in the actual, literal fuck, Emmaline?” She straightened, wiping at her eyes. “If you can do that, you’re practically a Shadewright, and there hasn’t been one of those since long before the War. Why not tell us?”
“Didn’t see the need to share.” Emmaline carefully tilted the pot, pouring the shimmering gold into the diamond-shaped mold, watching as the metal settled. “I’m not strong enough to do much with it, and I definitely can’t afford the materials for anything, anyway. Besides, the moment people found out I could do something like this, it would lose its value. The Patrol would come up with a counter.”
Lara made a noise in the back of her throat. “You’re far more clever than you let on, Emmaline.”
“Maths and finance require a sharp mind.” Emmaline sniffed, lifting her chin as she tapped a finger against the cooling gold. “Not my fault the Vale disdains the practice despite the fact that nothing would run without it.”
“You’re not wrong there,” Margo conceded, pulling a strand of ruby-red hair behind her ear. “Especially now that we’ve started using more and more human-made inventions in our daily lives.”
“Exactly.” Emmaline swept her gaze over the table, double-checking the arrangement of ingredients. The lock of her hair, the borrowed shirt, the now-cooled golden charm, and the beaker of swirling magic. Everything was in place. She exhaled, centering herself. “All right. Give me some space.”
The others took a step back, though Cassidy hesitated, arms crossing as she glanced at the elements before them. “You sure about this?”
Emmaline ignored it. She lifted her hands, moving with practiced precision as she traced a complex sequence of gestures, each motion aligning with the energies she needed to manipulate.
There had been no books on dark magic at the School of Light. This was her own formula—magic reduced to pure mechanics, a structured sequence she had perfected during stolen moments in the lab, each weave calibrated with meticulous care.
She pulled threads of energy from the lock of her hair, guiding the warm, yellow light upward, coaxing it to unravel in delicate strands. At the same time, she reached for the signature embedded in Caelith’s shirt, teasing it free as a sickly green haze bled into theair. The two forces resisted one another at first, wavering in the space above the golden charm like oil and water refusing to mix.
“Everything okay?” Cassidy said, her weight shifting from foot to foot.
Adjusting her stance, Emmaline altered the weave. She layered the energy carefully, threading one through the other, forcing them to blend. The colors swirled faster, twisting together into a spiraling mass while the temperature in the room dropped and an unnatural wind swept through, rattling the scattered parchment on the desk.
