Chapter 10: She Fell from the Void

Wait. Before, in the dean’s office, the only text on the page was READER BEWARE.

Paused, bewildered—I took a closer look at the page.

A thin, red wax seal embossed with the same symbol as the dedication page secured the flap of the envelope.

I don’t remember this fancy seal. Wasn’t the envelope open? The instructions basically said to break the seal to read.

I paused, turned off the app light, and sat in the dark, trying to visualize what I had seen.

When I leafed through the pages earlier, I was:

Highly paranoid.

Possibly drugged.

Full of curiosity.

Given all that, I decided I must have misremembered.

The text and seal had to have been there.

I brushed away the confusion and repositioned the cell light over the page.

Despite the gimmicky fun it promised, I had an odd feeling about it, so I ignored breaking the seal.

As written, the pages didn’t turn.

What gives? I know, one hundred percent, that I’ve looked past this point several times, and I even caught my friends flipping through it. Why can’t I turn the pages now?

I tried prying the book open again.

It didn’t work.

The pages felt stuck together.

I rotated the heavy volume several times, looking for clues—thin magnets, a device, something, anything to explain why it wouldn’t open.

Stumped, I caved and followed the damn instructions.

Besides, I wanted to see how the seal thing played out to reverse engineer it.

There has to be a button.

I set the book squarely back in my lap and hovered my thumb over the seal.

Ha. Let’s see what happens.

I pressed into the red seal.

The snap was audible.

“Ouch.”

I immediately jerked back. There was a sting.

Then blood.

It spread, dripping onto the envelope.

Damn, that stain’s not coming out.

I instinctively placed my thumb to my lips and lightly sucked the blood away.

The little mishap didn’t stop me. I continued.

I used my fingernail to brush away the crumbled bits of wax.

There wasn’t a button or a sign of whatever the hell had poked me.

No matter.

There were two more steps that I had to perform.

“Open the envelope.”

I lifted the flap. A white card was inside.

“Read the card.”

With a little hesitation, I pulled the card out, lifting it close to read the tiny, embossed words.

“‘One to open to the many, and many to open to the multitude.’—T’nio P. Evas”

I twisted my face, even more puzzled.

The quote was interesting, but strange.

What the hell does it mean?

There was no rhyme or reason to whatever the hell I had done, but I completed the steps.

The important part—Did it work?

I shoved the little card back in place and riffled the edge of the pages with my index finger.

As promised, I regained access to the interior pages again.

Admittedly, the little mechanism felt mystical—almost a mini ritual.

I wondered what other surprises the book had within its pages.

Snapping and crunching echoed in the distance.

I instinctively swiveled my cell’s light into the darkness and scoured the area. It sounded like someone was out there, walking in the woods.

“It better not be any of my friends,” popped into my thoughts.

Even though I wasn’t mad anymore, I hadn’t forgiven them.

I especially had no interest in talking to them yet.

“Who’s out there? If it’s any of my so-called friends, go away,” I icily shouted into the night.

No one responded, and my spotlight sweep yielded nothing other than branches flapping vigorously.

The leaves and twigs rustled too.

I smelled the scent of rain in the air and lifted my eyes toward the night sky. Dark clouds had rolled over—a storm was coming.

Maybe it was time to pack it in, head home, and sleep.

But I couldn’t—I still hadn’t worked out my sociology project topic. And besides, I wasn’t ready to go back.

So I decided to wait for the rain. Hell, maybe it wouldn’t come.

I turned my attention back to Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users, shining the light on it. But a strong wind pushed through, causing the pages to flip forward and flutter.

I slapped my hand down on the book to hold the pages still. After the gust faded, I lifted my hand.

“What’s this? ‘A Spellcaster’s Steadfast Companion.’”

I laughed so hard that it made my stomach hurt. I exiled myself to escape from my friends, and here I was, looking at a chapter on companions.

I couldn’t escape it.

At first, I began reading the text half-heartedly, but after getting through a page or so, I realized I was drinking the Kool-Aid of its narrative.

Companions were painted as having your back, being loyal, and being shields against loneliness or depression.

But the essential pillar of their existence was their support against adversaries and the world’s tribulations.

“The power of friendship,” I sarcastically whispered.

In The Lords of Omni, I chose a familiar over a companion.

Companions were risky.

They possessed free will, which could be troublesome and annoying, to say the least. Instead, my familiar served as a utility.

Get in, get out, and go away.

But then I visualized Myles and Gene, who played with companions. They were usually more jokey, spirited, and overall happier when their companions joined us on a quest.

Personally, I found their companions a nuisance, but there was no denying the joy it added to my friends’ game.

Maybe I should make a companion.

Using The Awakening to create a companion was noted as one of the most accessible spells in the guidebook.

The key to that simplicity read, “All people, even more so for magic users, were born with a dormant but ceaseless desire for companionship. That craving, if tapped into properly, makes manifesting the most compatible companion simple.”

“Manifesting Your Companion” was the following paragraph’s header.

It delved into what I had summed up as the character creation process.

Pen and paper typically worked for me, but trying this method, conjuring a companion from my imagination seemed more fun than writing text.

Getting into it—I started reading aloud.

I liked hearing the words.

It intensified the experience.

First in a whisper, then naturally rising to a soft and soothing tone.

“‘Close your eyes. Let your mind flow. It will be chaotic. But be patient. Wait until it fades away and there is stillness. Once you feel a floating sensation, you will know you are in the Void. It’s okay to recognize your feelings, but don’t stay with them. Let them wash away. After a short period, the shape of your companion will form from the Void. Once you identify the form, say, ‘I am awakening,’ and open your eyes.’”

At a later point, I could write down the conjured traits of my new companion.

The process sounded easy and very much like meditation.

That was one of the advantages of having a New Age mother; she taught me the value of meditation—mental training—and yoga—physical training—at an early age.

First, I placed my cell in the book as a weight in case of the wind.

Then I relaxed my eyes.

After that, I sat in darkness, aware of the wind touching my skin and the sounds of fluttering leaves, but as forewarned, my thoughts made a maddening dash through me.

My messy day, the silliness of what I was doing, and the woes of just being myself thrashed my nerves, but I ignored them.

I allowed them to exist, but I didn’t interact with them.

After a while, I neither felt nor heard any signs of the physical world, and my mind was calm and quiet.

Is this stillness?

I didn’t wait long for the answer.

Soon, I felt weightless, like hovering over another plane of existence. I knew this was what the book described.

Excitement welled in me, but I let it fade.

I can’t describe how long I just existed there; it seemed like I had faded away.

It wasn’t until the shapes started forming in the Void that I had a thought.

Nightshade and Shellie Allaire.

For some reason, when I reconnected with my body, the stillness weighed me down.

It felt heavy to lift my lips apart.

When I finally spoke, the words tumbled out in slow motion: “I am Awakening.”

Opening my eyes was like a snap.

All five senses flared as if they’d been dialed to the max.

I jumped off the rock, gasping.

My arms and legs spasmed.

Everything vibrated.

Then, suddenly, I settled.

I dropped my hands to my knees, winded and aching.

I looked over at the sitting stones, and Rules of the Black Arts for Advanced Users was lying on its edge, slumped against the rock.

What the hell? I’ve been meditating for years and have never experienced anything like that.

Before I could catch my breath, the rain started to pour.

I quickly snatched my book off the ground and secured the latches. Then I huddled down, pulling it under my hoodie to protect it from getting wet.

A burning headache overwhelmed me, but I bolted through the woods to escape the torrential weather.

As I raced home, I heard something ripping through the trees, and it sounded like it was closing in on me.

The snapping of large branches overhead, one after another, jolted me and made me stop.

From the sounds of the accompanying debris, I knew something heavy and fast was about to come crashing down.

A booming thud hit the ground just short of me—by inches.

What lay at my feet made me gasp and seemed utterly insane.

A naked woman had fallen from the trees.

Her body lay twisted and still among scattered branches, as though she was dead.

Rain pelted her skin and her long, raven-black hair that completely swallowed her face. Yet, miraculously, her body had no visible wounds or bruises from the impact.

To lessen the effects of the rain, I tucked my book under a shrub and knelt at her side.

Less concerned with why, I was more worried that she might not be alive.

I took her limp wrist and tried to check for a pulse, but the downpour made the task difficult.

I paused, then gently parted her massive, voluminous hair to check for breathing—any signs of life.

When I saw her face, I froze.

I knew this woman.

Seeing her defied reality.

She died when I was a child, but there she was, unconscious and looking exactly the way I remembered her.

This couldn’t be her, could it?

“Shellie?”

Almost as if she heard me say her name, the woman opened her eyes. They glowed, fixed on me.

She rose, cloaked in the shadows.

Her appearance melded innocence and evil.

Hyperventilating, I fell back onto the drenched ground and kicked away from her, digging my heels and hands into the mud.

Shock held my breath captive.