The team finally gathered around, forming a loose semicircle in front of me. Karrick’s massive frame towered over most of the others, his dark fur still damp from the showers. Daisuke hung back, arms crossed over his chest, his expression carefully neutral. I needed to win him over, and soon.
“Alright, listen up,” I said, projecting my voice the way my father’s advisors had taught me years ago. Command respect without demanding it. “Moonhaven’s defense has three major weaknesses we can exploit...”
I walked them through the plays Coach Flannery and I had worked out, using the whiteboard to diagram formations and movements. This time I wasn’t hungover though, so it was much easier to concentrate on what I was doing.
“Any questions?” I asked after running through the final play.
“Yeah,” piped up Trent, a sophomore kraken with more enthusiasm than skill. “Are you going to the next stoplight party? I wondered if that dryad was available.”
I rolled my eyes. “Focus on the plays, not your sex life. And for your information, I’m not going to the next party. But he’s got taste, so good luck.”
That earned a few chuckles from the team, which was better than the tension I’d felt at the start of the meeting. Even Daisuke’s mouth twitched slightly.
“If there are no actual questions about football,” I continued, “then we’re done for today. Practice tomorrow morning at seven. Coach’s orders, not mine, so don’t give me that look, Jackson. And I expect everyone to be on time and ready to run these plays.”
The team dispersed, grabbing bags and heading for the exit. Karrick clapped me on the shoulder as he passed. “Good job, Captain. Almost sounded like you knew what you were talking about.”
“Fuck off,” I laughed, shoving him playfully.
As the last of them filed out, I stayed behind to clean up the whiteboard and organize my notes. The responsibility of being captain weighed on me more than I’d expected. These guys werelooking to me now, not just for plays but for leadership. It was oddly similar to the princely duties I’d been shirking for years.
The locker room door creaked open behind me, and I turned, expecting to see a teammate who’d forgotten something.
Instead, there he was, the shadow witch I’d met last week. Ash. His dark hair fell across his forehead in that way that still made me itch to brush it away. His sapphire eyes widened in surprise when he saw me, and a faint blush immediately crept across his cheeks.
“Oh,” he said, clutching his cleaning supplies like a shield. “I didn’t realize anyone was still here. I can come back later.”
“No need,” I replied, capping my marker and setting it down. “I’m just finishing up.”
I watched as he hesitated in the doorway, those blue eyes darting around the room as if assessing how much work he had ahead of him. There was something about him that drew my attention in a way I couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the way shadows seemed to cling to him even in the brightly lit locker room, or maybe it was just that adorable nervous energy that radiated from him.
“How’s the toilet situation?” I asked, unable to resist. “Still holding up with the... creative repair?”
His blush deepened to a beautiful crimson. “Coach Flannery helped me fix it the mundane way. Apparently, there’s no spell specifically for porcelain repair in Martha Stewart’s book.”
“Martha Stewart?” I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. “They gave you her cleaning grimoire? That’s just cruel.”
“Tell me about it,” Ash sighed, finally stepping fully into the room. “But I’ve got a better resource now. Professor Blackwood lent me a shadow magic book that’s actually useful.”
“Shadow magic for cleaning?” I raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious. “How does that work?”
“It’s about banishing what doesn’t belong,” he explained, setting down his bucket. As he spoke, his voice grew more confident, and I found myself captivated by the way his eyes lit up. “Shadows can identify impurities and extract them without damaging the underlying structure. At least, that’s the theory.”
“That sounds far more interesting than Martha’s methods,” I said, leaning against the whiteboard. “Show me?”
Ash looked startled by my request. “You... want to see my magic?”
“Why not? I’ve got time.” And I wanted an excuse to keep talking to him.
He hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Okay. I’m still practicing, though, so don’t expect anything spectacular.”
I watched as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to stir, like they were waking up. They stretched toward him, eager and attentive. It was beautiful to watch—like witnessing a silent conversation between old friends.
Ash raised his hand, and the shadows gathered around a particularly grimy spot on one of the benches. They swirled and darkened, then seemed to seep into the wood itself. When he pulled his hand back, the shadows retreated, bringing with them a cloud of dirt and sweat and gods knew what else that had accumulated there.
“That’s incredible,” I said, genuinely impressed. “And it didn’t even damage the?—”
There was a loud crack, and a chunk of wood broke off the bench and clattered to the floor. Ash’s hands fell to his sides and the shadows retreated.
