A monster lurks inside every soul.

Icy tendrils of wind snaked through the thick layers of Silas Rosewood's verdant robes, but it did not deter the young wizard. His shadows trailed his feet, watchful of any other that might cross their path, but he feared no wicked creatures would snatch him away in the night.

Behind dark storm clouds, the vibrant blood moon peeked out like a giant vampire iris in the sky. Festive strands of blue lights flickered and glistened like frosted crystals from the rafters of local shops and eateries. Some places even painted snowmen and snow deer on their window panes. Silas smiled as he remembered how he and his mother used to decorate their home for the Night of Frost. It was only a night away.

Silence consumed the snow-sodden streets, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Someone would eventually catch him lurking around in the night if he weren't careful, but deep down, he believed the holy spirits would look after him.

If only he'd stayed snuggled up in bed that night with the candlelight to warm his shivering soul.

Upon reaching the cemetery gates, Silas plucked his wand from his robe's pocket and chanted a soft spell underneath his breath. "Avictia."

Frosted green embers encased the lock and seeped into the mechanism until it gave way. With a soft pop, the lock snapped right off the metal bars. Silas yanked open the heavy gate, gently closing it behind him so nobody caught him trespassing. He'd mend the lock before leaving, like always.

Still holding his wand, magical embers guided him through the endless maze of headstones. Snow flurries alighted onto his honey brown hair and melted against his rosy cheeks as he ducked beneath the branches of trees that dangled with the weight of the winter elements.

Names that were long forgotten passed him by, dating back to times before he was even born. Silas crouched down on the icy ground of the Rosewood family plot and traced his fingers along the angels carved into the headstone.

Beloved wife and mother.

Taken from us too soon.

Heavenly scripture was carved into the marble stone. A lone angel statue guarded her grave, placed there by Silas the very day they buried her.

"Hey, mom."

It was a tradition for him to come when the moon rose. At first, he sneaked away every night, but over the past month he'd narrowed down his visits to every week.

From his robe's pocket, Silas produced a sack of summoning supplies. He placed tealight candles all around her grave then sprinkled some salt on the snowy ground to close the circle. With his lighter, he lit each individual candle and channeled his magic around each one to keep the wind from blowing them out.

To complete the ritual, he carefully cut his index finger with his silver dagger and dribbled his own blood into his summoning circle, allowing his magic to pulse around them.

The summoning spell rippled through his core and vibrated through his veins. His palms burned with the amount of magic he forced into the circle. Despite how many times he'd summoned her, it always siphoned his magic and strength.

Necromancy was a form of black magic that the Supernatural Council did not look kindly upon. He was grateful to his grandmother for teaching him how to summon the dead long ago, and he had promised to keep his gift a secret from his folks. She didn't wish for them to deem him wicked or plagued with madness. Not even his father knew he'd performed the spell on his mother countless times already.

Silas could never tell him. He wouldn't understand.

An acrid stench of black magic burned in the air, and Silas wrinkled his nose as the miasma of burnt cranberry pie and sulfur singed the inside of his nostrils. Wicked magic always left its mark, both on his body and mind.

Smoke floated around his mother's headstone, and it tangled with wisps of air to run the flow of magic and the chill of night over his body. Within all of it, his mother's familiar features materialized out of thin air.

"Silas, my sweet boy." She smiled.

"Sorry it's taken me so long to see you. I've been busy helping Dad with the shop." Silas wiped at his nose with his sleeve.

"Don't apologize for living your life." Even in death, her eyes sparkled like always. "How's he holding up? I know it must be painful with the holiday nearing."

Silas looked down at his insulated snow boots. "He's doing his best, I guess. We haven't talked about celebrating the Night of Frost this year. Neither of us have brought out the decorations either. It's just not the same without you."

"I wish I could be there with you both." Sorrow clouded her eyes. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough back then."

Silas shook his head. "You're the strongest person I know. You didn't deserve this."

An army of the dead had unleashed hell on their town during the Harvest Moon Carnival, and his mother was among many ravaged and left for death by their wrath.

"How are you doing, love? Be honest with me." Mom stepped precariously close to the edge of the barrier.

"I'm doing okay." Silas forced a smile for her sake. "I've been tending to our greenhouse. You'd love to see all the winter berries and witch hazels that sprouted up in the yard already."

Magic pulsed beneath his fingertips as he channeled viridescent embers into the icy ground, and the snow melted away to reveal the cemetery grasses. Pushing his magic further down, he coaxed the dormant seeds of poinsettias to wake in crimson blooms. The delight in his mother's eyes was worth every bit of magic exhaustion as she gazed upon her favorite flower.

"You remembered." His mom crouched down, barely touching the petal before it wilted at her touch. The dead could never touch the living amid a summoning circle.

Silas shivered before coughing into the crook of his arm. "I'd never forget."

"You're going to catch your death standing out in this cold. Why aren't you wearing a thicker coat? And where are your insulated gloves?" She scolded him as if he were still a child.

"Don't worry, Mom." He chuckled. "I'm perfectly fine. Next time, I'll bring my gloves, okay? It's harder to use my magic with them." That's why he rarely wore them.

"You better." His mother gazed up toward the sky at the blood moon casting a rosy glow around the cemetery. "How's Sera doing? I know her birthday's coming up, so you and your father better brush the cobwebs off your baking aprons."

Even the sweetest memories were tainted by melancholy, but Silas managed to keep a smile on his face when he said, "She's doing well. And don't you worry, me and dad already have plans to bake a cake in the shape of a shark for her."

That made her laugh. "That girl always wanted a shark familiar, you remember? Claimed she could build a nice pond in our backyard to keep it."

How could he ever forget? Seraphina's parents, like many others in Briarwood, had forbidden her from owning a familiar. It was why she'd escape from Mandrake Manor and hide out at his house when they were kids.

With the nights dropping to subzero temperatures, Silas struggled to stay out as long as he'd like, and he hated how he had to cut his visit so short. His mother had to return to the underworld that she didn't belong in, and he gathered up his summoning supplies in preparation for the dreaded act.

"Be careful getting home tonight." She reached a ghostly hand out toward him, narrowly missing his cheek.

"Don't worry, I will." Silas nodded.

"If you hear anything otherworldly, don't you dare look back. You run straight home to your father," she warned. "Barricade the doors. Cast your wards to ensure nothing breaks inside."

It wasn't unusual for his mother to be on tenterhooks about their safety, especially when he wandered out into the night to see her. But she'd never gotten so specific with her warnings before.

"Otherworldly?" Silas frowned.

"Something very wicked's out there." His mom cast a fretful glance toward the cemetery's wrought iron gates. "Please, be cautious of your surroundings and stick to the light."

"I will, I promise."

After releasing her spirit, Silas cleaned away his summoning circle and left no trace of it behind but a whiff of black magic that would fade. He crossed through the graveyard and locked the gate back behind him. As if he was never there.

The blood moon glistened in the dark sky, but sunlight would grace the lands before long. That meant he would only get a few hours of sleep that night. It was a price well worth paying to see his mother without notice. He didn't care what anyone said about summoning the dead being a soul-damning ritual only wicked witches and devil worshipers used. If it meant he could see his mother again, he'd go to her grave as many nights as he could.

Wind roared in his ears as he neared Golden Leaf Avenue, but just as he reached the stop sign, a shrill scream penetrated the silent night.

Silas froze. Goosebumps rose on his arms as he turned back toward the sound of the scream, remembering his mother's warning.

"Don't look back. Run home."

That wasn't something otherworldly. It sounded like a young woman, and she was in danger or injured. Perhaps it was mere instinct or curiosity that bested him, but Silas changed course and hurried back down the road.

An anchor of dread sunk into his chest as he reached the town, and he spun to search the festively decorated buildings around him for trouble. That desperate plea for help came again, far more frightened and higher pitched.

Potent magic vibrated through him as he followed the screams like a siren's song. What if it was a trap? Silas only thought about the safety of some innocent wizard, not considering something sinister could mimic the voice of a young woman in distress until now. It reminded him too much of his own mother's and how he couldn't save her back when the rotters had attacked. Silas bristled at the memories of bloodshed.

Dark shadows slithered along the surrounding shops. Silas gripped his wand tight to his chest, looking through every crevice and corner for something wicked. When he turned the corner, fear paralyzed him in place as her harrowing screams ripped through him.

Terror seized Silas by the throat. Words escaped him as he forced his leaden legs to carry him down the street where a behemoth of a wolf pinned a young wizard against the brick wall of a closed pizzeria. Pink curls caught his eye. It was Seraphina! As he raised his wand, he channeled his magic through his veins before cursing the beast.

Thick verdant mist coiled at his feet like snakes as he commanded it to strike the wolf in the back of the head. Instead of even rendering it unconscious, the wolf turned its head and snarled at him.

"Crystal balls," Silas hissed under his breath, wand shaky in his trembling hand.

The creature let out a gut-wrenching howl, its slanted beady red eyes fixed on him. Silas opened his mouth to curse the creature again just as the wolf pounced. It raced toward him in a blur and slammed him down onto the ground. The impact sent a jolt through his body that tossed his wand from his hand, and his head collided with the pavement as he fell.

As the wolf let out another bone-chilling howl, the stench of decay filled the air and its saliva dripped onto Silas's face. Razor sharp teeth sunk deep into his flesh, and the wolf shook his mouth as if he intended to maul him to death right in the streets.

Screams tore through his throat as the wolf burrowed its bloody jowls into his chest. Pain clawed through him with each desperate thrash against the beast. All Silas could think about was Seraphina in his place, and one comfort he had through all of the pain was that she was safe. Hopefully, she had fled and sought help.

"Silas!" Seraphina wailed.

Magic pulsed in weakened beats around him. He wanted to yell at her to run, but his voice had gone hoarse from screaming too much already. Silas gaped up at the taunting blood moon, wondering helplessly if this was how his mother had felt when the rotters reached her. The beast slurped at his blood greedily, savoring every bit of its meal.

Sinister magic floated above him as he felt the wolf's weight lift from his body. It yanked away so fast that it took chunks of him with it. Silas caught sight of Seraphina just as she drove a silver dagger past its wet fur and deep into its neck. Blood sprinkled the snow like the petals of poinsettias as she pulled the blade back and severed its throat.

Seraphina crouched beside him, gently peeling up his robe to inspect the damage. "Gods." She clamped a hand over her mouth and dropped the dagger beside them. Panic filled her beautiful cerulean eyes that glistened with tears. "Why did you do that? Why are you even out so late?"

Silas parted his lips to respond, yet nothing came out. Agonizing pain coursed through his abdomen, and no amount of his healing magic helped him. He couldn't die there and leave his father all alone. Not yet. Not now.

"I'll get you to a doctor. You'll be okay, I promise." She kept repeating that to him like a mantra, as if it would magically come true if she said it enough.

Silas needed to inspect the damage for himself and tilted his head down just to see how bad it was. A mess of red filled his vision, followed by a familiar rancid stench of gore as blood leaked from the bite wound. Just like that gods-forsaken day the dead wreaked havoc on their lands.

A dizzy spell hit him like a sudden tornado, rolling his head on his shoulders with the spin, and he reached for her in his last moments like she could hold his world up.