Chanyeol’s next class is in the same building as the library, so it’s as good a place as any to relax during the wait. He can watch movies he’s never heard of on VHS—some needing multiple tapes for a single movie—or page through books that look interesting and think what it would be like to be Flynn Carsen, imaging what secrets could be in the basement or deeper.

Probably just a bunch of dust and spiders, neither things he’s particularly a fan of, but one never really knows until they look.

As he peruses a column of hardcovers, soft conversation drifts through the rows. Seating areas are distributed throughout the library, as well as more sound-proofed viewing rooms and a couple of conference rooms for larger groups. The atmosphere is generally somber but comfortable, everyone congregating for their own purposes but common goals.

Chanyeol still prefers playing music from his phone, keeping one earbud on just in case alarms start blaring or someone drives through the front doors or something. Better to not be caught completely off-guard.

He flinches and squints at the spine of the book he’d unknowingly touched. It felt warm. Maybe someone just put it back.

The cover is strange but kinda pretty, dark fabric stitched together and stretched over the covers and spine with old-looking paper on the insides. There is no title; instead, an animal-like figure is molded beneath the fabric, pushing outward as though trying to escape. It reminds him of the Manual of Witchcraft and Alchemy, but he is positive the cover is not made of human flesh due to the obvious textile weave.

He’s still intrigued and takes it to an empty table he’s claimed.

Chanyeol winces as the book flops open with a spine-snapping crack. It lies with a disturbing dent in its spine, and he really hopes it isn’t a valuable book, although if it is, it shouldn’t just be on whatever shelf for all and sundry to get their mitts on.

Carefully pinching a yellowed page, he flips through until he finds a full page illustration. It’s faded, like the text. His best guess is it depicts some sort of ritual or fairy tale. Two people face one another, one sort of highlighted and the other in shadow. Good and evil, maybe a normal person facing a demon or someone being punished for their poor decisions.

He assumes the text, formatted like a recipe and on the page opposite the illustration is the relevant passage and squints to force the faded ink to darken to legibility.

It doesn’t work well.

Leaning closer and then further away, left and right, don’t help much, either, but he sounds out what he thinks he can read.

Pure gibberish. It makes about as much sense as Greek.

His eye twitches and burns; he sets his glasses on the table rubs his eye once, dragging the corner of it out with his finger. Sometimes an eyelash falls behind the eyelid and causes irritation.

The same sensation erupts in his other eye. He covers them with his hands, pressing the heels of his palms against the eyeballs as they threaten to burst from his skull. Tears escape and fall down his cheeks, off his chin. Blearily, he notices dark splotches on the table and book. His palms are red with dark blood that streams from his nose.

Panic shakes his brain, but his body is frozen. A nosebleed is one thing. His tears are black like ink but thickening and becoming sticky.

The puddles quiver and move, drawing together and pulling more from Chanyeol. He feels the viscous liquid crawl up his esophagus and gags.

It pools and shivers, growing and taking shape…

...until Chanyeol looks at a nightmare reflecting his own image. It smiles, dimples and a toothy grin and just like Chanyeol’s, but there is no humor behind it.

“What—?” Chanyeol croaks and clutches his throat with a belching cough. What are you?

“I am the best parts of you, and I won’t be hidden anymore.” Throwing its head back, it bellows, “Do you hear me? I won’t be hidden anymore!” Vicious hisses to be quiet! squeal from every corner of the library.

Evidently relishing the attention, all bad, it grins. Taking Chanyeol’s phone, it tosses the expensive device in its palm as though testing its size and weight. Then it tugs the earbuds from Chanyeol's ears and chucks the works at the window. It shatters, and the magical shadow clone whoops.

Chanyeol weakly reaches, willing the Force to bring back his phone, but his throat spasms with the continued coughs and choking; his ribs and back hurt. It feels like he’s going to spit up his diaphragm.

Which the voodoo replicate has no sympathy for. It grabs Chanyeol’s hair and forces their eyes to meet. “Thanks for inviting me. See you around.” With a toothy, manic smile, it throws his head down and saunters through the crowd of curious and bewildered students. They part like the Red Sea. Not even the librarian tries to stop it.

Chanyeol wakes up—When did he fall asleep?—to someone shaking his shoulder. His eyelids are too heavy to open right away and blink sluggishly.

“Hyung! Are you alright?” He knows that voice. It’s a nice voice.

He finally pushes himself up and rubs his eyes. Something dry, like paint, flakes off, and he touches his face to look at the flakes on his fingertips. “Black…?”

“Chanyeol hyung…” Jongin crouches beside him, concern drawing his eyebrows over his nose with a cute crease in the middle. Oh, he muses. His eyes are actually brown If Chanyeol were more awake, he might blush or stutter or both, but right now he’s just confused. Light-headed and tired are not usual for him.

Tired, sure, but that comes with being a student.

Finally looking at Jongin, he mumbles, “Hi, Jongin.”

“Hi. I saw you sleeping and thought you had class now.” He knows Chanyeol’s schedule? Since when? “But there’s blood. What happened?” His hands are warm and dry on Chanyeol’s face, turning it either way but seeing no wounds.

He glances at Chanyeol’s uncomfortable pillow—spotted with mixed fluids and possibly ruined—and frowns. “Why is this here?” he mutters. Louder, he asks, “Hyung, why are you reading this?”

“I didn’t know I was. It looked weird,” Chanyeol runs his tongue over his palate; his mouth tastes awful, “so I grabbed it while killing some time. Most of the text is gone, but I tried to guess what it said by sounding it out.” He fishes some wet tissues from his backpack and scrubs his face. The tissue is gray and pink when he finishes. Odd.

Jongin looks sick and passes his hand over the pages. “It’s not gone; it’s magic. And a different language.” As he speaks, the text and illustration darken to legibility, although Chanyeol still doesn’t recognize any words. The revealed image sends ice down the back of his shirt, however, revealing the human—a witch or wizard or whatever they’re called—shielding themselves with their arms as liquid pours from their eyes, nose, and mouth, connected to the shadowy figure looming oppressively opposite. “You summoned your own dark desires and habits and gave them a physical form.”

“Who would make a spell like that?”

“Someone bored or evil or both.” Sometimes, just like scientists, magic users simply want to know how far they can go. What their limits are. How far is too far.

“Can you stop it?”

“Yes, but not without killing you.”

“Oh.” Chanyeol coughs and wipes the spatter of blood on his thigh. “Is there any way to avoid that?”

Jongin leans over the book again, eyes moving back and forth as he reads. Chanyeol’s never seen him so close; he’s never been allowed. They’re casual acquaintances through Jongin’s older brother, who said in no uncertain terms that Chanyeol must look respectfully with his eyes and not his dirty, dirty hands.
Which wouldn’t usually stop him. Jongdae’s just looking out for his baby brother, and Chanyeol can respect that. There’s just a sense of something about the Kim family in general—some imperceivable barrier—that keeps Chanyeol from getting closer. He’s n