Chapter 3

The dorm room smelled of burnt lavender and regret, the faint char of their last spell still clinging to the air. Mia sat cross-legged on her bed, the ancient grimoire open in her lap, its pages yellowed and curling like the edges of a bad decision. Her dark hair fell in a curtain over her shoulder as she traced a finger along the spidery Latin, muttering to herself. Across the room, Lila sprawled on the beanbag, her neon-pink nails tapping an impatient rhythm on her phone, though her eyes kept darting to the book. And then there was Harper, perched on the windowsill, her wiry frame tense as a coiled spring, staring out at the campus quad as if the answer to their latest mess might stroll by with a frappuccino.

“Alright, so we’re agreed,” Mia said, not looking up. “No more spells until we figure out the cost of the last one. I mean, I’m pretty sure I forgot my middle name for a hot minute this morning, and that’s not normal.”

Lila snorted, tossing her phone aside. “Babe, you forgetting stuff is the least of our problems. I tried to flirt with Jake from bio today, and I swear I couldn’t remember how to smile. Like, my face just… froze. What if I paid for that stupid luck spell with my charm? I’m basically a robot now.”

Harper turned, her sharp green eyes narrowing. “You’re not a robot, Lila. You’re just dramatic. But yeah, something’s off. I keep getting flashes of stuff I don’t think I’ve lived—like I’m borrowing someone else’s memories. Last night, I dreamed I was riding a horse through a field of wheat. I’ve never even touched a horse.”

Mia’s finger stilled on the page. “That’s… weird. The book warned us every spell has a price, but it didn’t say we’d start swapping bits of ourselves. We need to figure out what we’ve lost—and what we’ve gained—before we touch another incantation.”

“Too late for that,” Lila muttered, sitting up. “We’ve already done, what, three spells? First the ‘find my keys’ one, then the ‘ace that exam’ cheat, and now the ‘make me lucky’ disaster. We’re in deep, and I’m not loving the vibe of ‘oops, I sold my soul for a B-plus.’”

Harper slid off the windowsill, her boots thudding on the floor. “Then we find a way to undo it. There’s got to be a reversal spell in there somewhere. Mia, you’re the brainy one—dig.”

Mia’s jaw tightened, but she nodded, flipping through the grimoire with a little more force than necessary. The leather binding creaked, and a faint shimmer of violet light pulsed from the pages, as if the book itself were alive and annoyed at being manhandled. “It’s not a recipe book, Harper. These spells are layered with traps. Half the words are in languages I can’t even pronounce, and the other half come with fine print like ‘beware the toll of thine essence.’ I’m not casting anything until I know what it’ll take.”

The room fell quiet, save for the distant thump of bass from a frat party down the hall. The grimoire sat heavy in Mia’s hands, a silent dare. They’d found it two weeks ago, hidden behind a loose panel in their dorm wall, its cover etched with symbols that seemed to writhe if you stared too long. The first spell had been a lark—Lila’s lost keys turning up under her bed after a quick chant. But the high of that tiny magic had hooked them, and now they were tangled in something bigger, darker, and far less forgiving.

Lila broke the silence, her voice softer than usual. “Do you guys ever think… maybe we’re not supposed to have this? Like, what if we’re messing with stuff we can’t control? My abuela always said magic isn’t a toy—it’s a debt.”

Harper crossed her arms, her usual smirk gone. “Your abuela also said eating pineapple upside-down cake would make me grow taller, so I’m taking her wisdom with a grain of salt. But yeah, I get it. This book—it’s like it wants us to keep going. I feel it pulling, don’t you?”

Mia looked up, her brown eyes wide. “All the time. It’s like a whisper in the back of my head, telling me to read more, try more. I thought I was just sleep-deprived, but… maybe it’s the grimoire. Maybe it’s binding us tighter every time we use it.”

The thought hung in the air, heavy and sour. They’d already bound themselves to the book by accident, the first spell sealing their trio to its will with a flash of heat and a prick of blood from nowhere. Now, every spell seemed to weave the threads tighter, and none of them knew how to cut free.

Before anyone could reply, the dorm door burst open, slamming against the wall. A lanky figure stumbled in, all elbows and wild auburn hair—Ethan, Harper’s on-again, off-again fling from the art department. His paint-splattered hoodie was askew, and his eyes were too wide, too bright, like he’d seen something he couldn’t unsee.

“Harper,” he gasped, clutching the doorframe. “You’ve gotta come with me. There’s—there’s something outside. In the quad. It’s… it’s not right.”

Harper was on her feet in an instant, her hand instinctively reaching for the grimoire before Mia slapped it away. “No magic,” Mia hissed. “Not until we know what’s going on.”

“Fine,” Harper snapped, grabbing her jacket instead. “But if Ethan’s freaking out over a raccoon again, I’m leaving him out there.”

Lila was already slipping on her sneakers. “I’m coming too. If it’s not a raccoon, I’m not missing the drama.”

Mia hesitated, the grimoire still open in her lap. She didn’t want to leave it unguarded, not when it felt like a living thing with a grudge. But the urgency in Ethan’s voice—and the unspoken fear in Harper’s quick steps—pulled her up. She snapped the book shut, tucking it under her arm. “Let’s go.”

The quad was a mess of shadows under the flickering streetlights, the late autumn wind biting at their skin. Ethan led them to the far edge, near the old oak that everyone swore was haunted. At first, there was nothing—just the rustle of leaves and the distant laughter from the frat party. Then Mia saw it: a shimmer in the air, like heat rising off pavement, but wrong, violet and pulsing. It hung low to the ground, no bigger than a soccer ball, but it thrummed with a soundless energy that made her teeth ache.

“What the hell is that?” Lila whispered, stepping back.

Harper moved closer, squinting. “It looks like… the light from the grimoire. When we cast a spell. You think it’s—”

“Residual magic,” Mia finished, her voice tight. “It’s a tear, maybe. A leftover from one of our spells. But it shouldn’t be visible. It shouldn’t be… growing.”

And it was growing, the shimmer stretching wider, the violet deepening to a bruised purple. A faint scent of burnt lavender wafted from it, and Mia’s stomach dropped. This was their fault. Their magic, their mess.

Ethan grabbed Harper’s arm. “I saw it earlier, and it was smaller. Then I heard a voice—inside my head—telling me to come closer. I didn’t, but… Harper, it knew your name.”

Harper’s face paled, her usual bravado crumbling. “My name? Why me?”

Mia clutched the grimoire tighter, her mind racing. The book had bound them, yes, but was it calling to others now? Was it using their magic to reach beyond them, to pull in more? The tear pulsed again, and for a split second, she swore she saw a shape within it—a shadow of something with too many limbs, watching.

“We need to close it,” Mia said, her voice steadier than she felt. “Now. Before it gets bigger—or before whatever’s on the other side comes through.”

Lila’s laugh was shaky. “Close it? With what, good vibes? We don’t even know how to—”

“With the grimoire,” Harper cut in, her eyes locked on the tear. “It’s the only way. Mia, find a spell. Lila, distract Ethan so he doesn’t freak out more. I’ll… I’ll stand guard.”

Mia’s hands trembled as she opened the book, the pages flipping on their own to a passage she hadn’t seen before. The title read *Claudere Portam*—Close the Gate. But beneath it, in smaller script, was the price: *A memory shared, a bond undone.*

She swallowed hard, looking at her friends. To close this tear, they’d have to sacrifice something that tied them together—a piece of their friendship. And after that, what would be left of them?