The shadow-thing laughed like it hadn't heard anything that funny in centuries. Its thin legs kicked against the table, passing straight through crystal vessels and candles without resistance—through everything solid, as if those objects were made of air.
Raymond's initial terror had faded. The chip showed radiation levels dropping. The thing was fading, growing thinner, more transparent with each passing minute.
He managed a weak chuckle.
The laughter cut off instantly. The shadow sat up straight, its blank face somehow conveying offense. "Little liar! You don't even know how to use a wizard's book—and you expect me to believe you have a master?" It rose from the chair, contempt dripping from its voice. "With a teacher like that, you'd never become a wizard!"
Raymond blinked. How had it known?
His eyes flicked to the wall clock. Almost one in the morning. The shadow was barely visible now, translucent, ready to dissolve.
"Stop checking the time!" The voice came sharper now, almost desperate. "Two minutes and I'm gone. Listen—you're a guest of the Torrie family. You're the first person in ages who can actually read that book. Come back tomorrow night. Same time. I'll give you something good. Something really good."
Before Raymond could respond, the shadow collapsed. Melted like wax. Pooled on the floor. Then crawled—literally crawled—up the wall and vanished behind the clock.
Silence.
Raymond's heart hammered. His hand, still behind his back, found the door handle. He pulled.
Nothing.
He pulled again. Still locked.
Then—ding-ding-ding—the bell from outside. Footsteps. The maid's voice, tired but alert. The door swung open.
And there she stood. Pretty. Exhausted. Real.
Raymond didn't think. He grabbed her, lifted her, and ran for the spiral stairs.
Her scream echoed through the castle. His heavy footsteps pounded. The scream stopped. Moments later, a door slammed on the top floor.
The night guard outside looked up at the highest window. Faint sounds. Muffled. Then silence.
He smiled knowingly.
Morning.
Raymond's head ached. His arm was numb. He woke to sunlight and confusion.
Fragrance—subtle, floral, female—teased his nose.
His left arm: dead weight, pins and needles. His right hand: resting on something soft. Very soft. Warm. Smooth.
He opened his eyes.
Golden hair. On his face. In his mouth. Everywhere.
He jerked—then froze as the source of that warmth stirred against him.
A girl. Curled in his arms. Naked shoulders. Pale skin. And his right hand, tucked inside her clothing, cupping—
He remembered. Running up the stairs. The room. The bed. Collapsing.
Nothing else.
She woke. Blinked at him. Her eyes focused slowly—then widened. Her face flushed crimson. Her mouth opened to scream—
His hand clamped over her lips.
They stared at each other. Her shock faded to something else—embarrassment, maybe. She gently pushed his hand away.
"I—I need to work, my lord," she whispered, face burning.
She slipped from the bed. Turned away. Straightened her clothes. And fled.
Raymond lay there, staring at the empty doorway. His right hand still remembered the feel of her.
He looked down at himself. Still dressed in yesterday's clothes. Nothing had happened. He'd just... held her. All night.
The effect of that damned seafood had finally worn off. Everything was normal again.
He sat up, shook off the haze, and got to work.
"One," he commanded. "Play back last night's recordings. Full recall."
"Task initiated. Beginning retrieval..."
"Recall failed. Source data surrounded by anomalous energy field. Unable to record."
The playback appeared in his vision—but it was wrong. Everything involving the shadow was blank. Static. Even the audio: just his own voice, answering questions that weren't there.
He shivered.
"Analysis of recording failure," he ordered. "Run diagnostic."
"Task initiated. Estimated completion: seventy hours."
He dressed quickly and gathered the steward and the two guards. They descended to the basement together.
The book still lay open on the table where he'd left it. Everything else was exactly as the chip had last recorded—before the shadow, before the laughter, before the impossible.
The wall clock ticked. Steady. Normal. Innocent.
The steward watched Raymond's tense movements with growing concern. "Master Raymond? Has something happened?"
Raymond studied the room. The chip scanned—no anomalous energy. No trace of last night's visitor.
He made a decision.
"Prepare the carriage," he said. "I need to see Havinsson."