Whispers from the wind drifted through the air, rumored to be unruly spirits roaming the streets at night. Behind him, the Vales’ home appeared uninviting and cold, yet he knew the secrets that lay within it. They were good folks. No matter what anyone else claimed or what the past suggested. Lucien had reached the mailbox before Castor burst out the front door and hurried down the driveway.

“Something wrong?” Lucien asked.

“Nah, my folks wanted me to walk you back. Just to make sure you get home safely,” Castor replied.

“I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry.”

“Humor them, please? I’ll never hear the end of it.” Castor glanced behind them.

Lucien noticed a shift in the living room curtain, failing to hide his grin. “Alright, come on.”

Moonlight guided them down the dark street. Most people had already ended their festivities for the night, knowing how dreadful tomorrow’s hangover would be.

Castor tugged his tailcoat jacket close and rested his hands in his pockets. “Thanks for doing this.”

“Doing what?” Lucien tilted his head, brows furrowed.

“Celebrating Harvest Fest with us. Mom loves it when you come over and Dad always cooks plenty for you,” Castor replied. “They act like it doesn’t bother them when most of the town shuns us, but it does. Like, I get how we shouldn’t forget the past and all that shit, but it’s ridiculous how they treat us. As if we’re plotting to murder them all.” He rolled his eyes.

“We’ve been friends since our first year in wizardry school,” Lucien said. “I think I’d know by now if you all planned a murder spree. But I guess the other families are just stuck in their ways, hung up on the past.”

“Most of the town thinks we’re planning to kill you.” Castor brushed his shoulder against his, letting warm breath trickle against his ear. “Right now would be the perfect opportunity. No witnesses to hear your screams.”

Heat bloomed in Lucien’s cheeks as he averted his friend’s gaze. “As if you’d have the guts.”

Shadows slithered around the neighborhood trees and shrubs like black snakes. Chills raked Lucien’s body. His breath remained visible in the air as he searched around, unable to shake an uncanny sensation of being watched.

Before he could move, the street lamp bulbs shattered around them. A shrill scream pierced the silent street, and Castor instinctively threw himself over Lucien to shield him from the lightbulb’s shards.

Lucien barely heard Castor’s voice over the thunderous beating of his own heart in his ears. His friend held him close, protective arms tightening around him as he gently tilted his face upward with his cold fingers to meet Castor’s concerned, darkened eyes.

“Are you okay?” Castor asked. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No,” Lucien choked out. “Are you?”

Castor shook his head. “We need to head back to my house.”

“But mine’s just around the corner,” Lucien pointed out. “Didn’t you hear that scream? I think someone’s hurt. Maybe they misused their magic or got too caught up in the festivities. Drunk people do stupid things.”

Lucien broke away from his grasp, but Castor seized his wrist. “You don’t understand. What we just felt was black magic.”

Lucien paled, horror washing over him as he reeled back. “No, it can’t be. You’re mistaken. Nobody’s cast any spells like that in years. Not since we were toddlers.”

“I know what black magic feels like.” Castor grit his teeth. “Don’t ask me why or how. Just let me take you back to my house.”

What the hell did he mean by that? None of them had ever experienced black magic before. It was forbidden. Parents couldn’t teach it, nor could their teachers. Did that mean his mom and dad broke the sacred laws by allowing him to use it? Were the rumors about them right?

Lucien gazed back toward his street, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry. I need to get home. My family’s waiting for me.”

Adrenaline coursed through Lucien’s body as he darted toward his house. Castor’s desperate pleas echoed in his head, but he disregarded them. Despite the horrific images his mind conjured of Castor practicing black magic, he tried to block them out. Castor would never do that. His childhood best friend wasn’t a ruthless killer like his ancestors.

Each pounding footstep resonated in sync with his heart. When Lucien turned the corner, a young woman sprawled out on the sidewalk caught his eye. Locks of snow-blonde hair spilled out beneath her head. As Lucien hurried over to her, blood drained from his face.

“Charlotte!” Lucien dropped to his knees on the pavement. Frantic, animalistic wails escaped his lungs as he begged for someone to help him.

Spiderwebs of black spread across her porcelain skin, her face registering unadulterated terror at whatever had attacked her. Her eyes fluttered, tears of blood trickling down her cheeks as she gaped up at Lucien, unable to form the words she desperately tried to tell him.

The atmosphere shifted into something sinister. It was like hell’s demons circled around them, and Lucien couldn’t dare escape it by abandoning his sister.

Charlotte inhaled a sharp breath before her eyes closed and her chest’s steady breaths ceased. With a trembling hand, he reached out to check her pulse. A cold sweat broke out all over Lucien’s skin as he desperately clung to her, hoping his magic could heal her injuries.

It burned him to touch her, to try forcing his healing magic into a dying soul. Despite the aches in his body, he kept fighting to keep her alive. Only when Castor wrenched him away did everything come crashing down. Lucien’s gaze traveled out across the road, where a dark figure emerged from behind a tree. Even in the dim light, Lucien made out their wand as they directed it right at them.

“Avasha!” Castor sent a potent gust of flames that took on the shape of a snake at the dark figure.

Castor’s instincts saved him with the counter-attack spell, and the shadow crashed into the brush line behind them. Embers lingered around them ready to heed Castor’s call, but their attacker stumbled and crashed through branches as it fled. Once the night fell to silence, Lucien tried to make sense of the scene around him, but it was hard to make anything out through the tears flooding his eyes.

“Lucien.” The delicate touch of Castor’s calloused fingers caressed the side of his face. “I’m so sorry. Charlotte’s gone.”

The commotion had alerted the neighbors, who crept out onto their porches to see what had happened. Lucien couldn’t speak or pull himself back to his feet to explain the situation as they gathered around like hungry vultures. Sobs raked his body as he buried his face against Castor’s black suit, staining it with his snot and tears.

All around them, whispers and panic-stricken screams erupted. But Castor just held him close and rubbed small circles along his back.