The Shadow Between Us

Chapter Three: The Book of Shadows

I didn’t go straight home after my conversation with Kael. His words followed me like ghosts, circling my thoughts and twisting into questions I couldn’t ignore. The Circle of Thirteen. My family’s connection to the blood moon. And the chilling certainty in his voice when he said I was at the center of it all.

Instead of heading to my grandmother’s house, I took a detour to the Blackthorn Library. It wasn’t the first time I’d looked for answers here, but tonight felt different. Urgent. Like the air itself was heavy with expectation.

The library was nearly empty when I arrived, the smell of old paper and wood polish wrapping around me like a blanket. Mrs. Delaney, the librarian, sat behind the counter flipping through a romance novel, barely looking up as I slipped past her toward the archives.

The archives were tucked in the farthest corner of the library, a cramped, dimly lit room lined with shelves of old newspapers, maps, and books about local history. Most of it was boring—land disputes, forgotten scandals, the occasional ghost story. But if there was any truth to Kael’s warning, I had a feeling the answers would be here.

I ran my fingers along the spines of the books, scanning the titles for anything that stood out: Legends of Blackthorn Hollow, The Forgotten Families, Curses of the Old World. I pulled a few from the shelves and spread them out on the nearest table, flipping through the pages as quickly as I could.

Hours passed. The sun dipped lower and lower until the room was bathed in the golden haze of twilight. My pile of discarded books grew taller, but I’d found nothing. No mention of the Circle of Thirteen. No connection to my family. Just the same tired superstitions I’d heard my whole life.

Frustrated, I pushed back from the table and rubbed my temples. Maybe Kael was wrong. Or maybe I was chasing shadows, desperate for answers that didn’t exist.

“Looking for something?”

I jumped, spinning toward the voice. Mrs. Delaney stood in the doorway, her gray cardigan hanging loosely over her thin frame. She had that knowing look in her eyes, the one that always made me feel like she could see straight through me.

“Just researching,” I said, trying to sound casual.

She nodded slowly, her gaze drifting to the pile of books on the table. “Family history, is it?”

I stiffened. “Something like that.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, just stared at me like she was weighing some invisible decision. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small key.

“You might want to check the restricted section,” she said, handing it to me.

“Restricted section?”

“It’s where we keep the more…sensitive materials.” Her eyes glinted with something I couldn’t place. “Your family name shows up in quite a few of them.”

I hesitated, my fingers curling around the key. “Why are you helping me?”

She smiled faintly. “Because you remind me of your mother. Always asking questions. Always looking for answers, even when they scared her.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the chest. “You knew her?”

“For a little while.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “The library closes in twenty minutes. Use your time wisely.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, leaving me standing there with a key and a hundred more questions.

The restricted section was hidden behind an unmarked door near the back of the archives. The key fit perfectly, and the lock clicked open with an unsettling ease. I stepped inside, flipping the light switch, and froze.

The room was small, barely larger than a closet, but its contents were anything but ordinary. Shelves lined the walls, filled with ancient tomes, dusty scrolls, and faded photographs. The air smelled faintly of mildew and something metallic, like blood.

I scanned the shelves, my heart racing. Most of the books were too fragile to touch, their spines cracked and their pages yellowed with age. But one caught my attention: a thick, leather-bound volume with a single word etched into the cover.

Umbra.

I pulled it off the shelf, the weight of it nearly tipping me off balance, and carried it to a nearby desk. The leather felt warm under my fingertips, as though it were alive, and the faint scent of smoke wafted from its pages.

When I opened it, my breath caught in my throat.

The book wasn’t written in English—or any language I recognized. Strange symbols filled the pages, spiraling across the parchment in intricate patterns. But as I stared at them, they began to shift, rearranging themselves into something I could read.

To the keeper of shadows:

Beware the cost of what you seek.

The blood moon rises, and the veil thins. The Circle watches. They wait.

My hands trembled as I turned the page. Diagrams of rituals filled the next few sections, each one more disturbing than the last. Symbols drawn in blood. Candles arranged in circles. Offerings placed on stone altars.

And then, halfway through the book, I found it.

A drawing of the blood moon, surrounded by dark, twisting shapes that looked like shadowy figures. The text beside it read:

When the moon is bathed in blood, the boundaries between realms shall break, and the Keeper shall rise.

The Keeper.

Something shifted in my chest, like the weight of the word pressed against my ribcage.

Before I could make sense of it, a cold breeze swept through the room, snuffing out the light.

I froze, my eyes darting toward the door. It was open, just a crack, and the hallway beyond was dark.

“Hello?” I called, my voice barely above a whisper.

No answer.

The air grew colder, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones and made your breath cloud in front of you. My instincts screamed at me to leave, to run, but I couldn’t move.

And then I saw it.

A shadow, darker than the darkness around it, moved in the corner of the room. It was tall and thin, its edges blurred as though it were melting into the air.

My heart pounded as it turned, its empty eyes locking onto mine.

“Seraphina,” it whispered, the voice like dry leaves on a grave.

I bolted.

I didn’t stop running until I was halfway home, the cold night air burning my lungs. The book was still clutched in my hands, its leather cover warm despite the chill.

When I finally reached my grandmother’s house, I locked the door behind me and leaned against it, trying to catch my breath. The house was dark, except for the faint glow of the fire in the living room.

“Seraphina,” my grandmother’s voice called from the shadows.

I jumped, my grip tightening on the book. She was sitting in her armchair, her knitting abandoned on the floor.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, her tone sharper than I’d ever heard it.

“The library,” I said, my voice shaking.

Her eyes fell on the book in my hands, and her expression darkened.

“You shouldn’t have taken that.”

“How do you know what it is?”

She stood, her movements slow and deliberate. “Because I told them to lock it away. To keep it from you.”

“Why?”

“Because that book will destroy you, just like it destroyed your mother.”

The air seemed to leave the room, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. “What are you talking about?”

Her gaze softened, but the fear remained. “It’s time you knew the truth, Seraphina. About your mother. About the shadows. About what you are.”

I gripped the book tighter, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Tell me.”

She hesitated, then sighed. “You’re not just a Vale. You’re a Keeper. And the Circle will do whatever it takes to claim you.”

The weight of her words settled over me like a storm, and for the first time in my life, I realized there was no escaping the darkness. It had been waiting for me all along.