The Price For Power

"Blood is boring," the entity said, waving Sarah's hand dismissively at the crimson patterns still swirling in the air. "Life force? Please. Those are beginner's wages." It leaned in close, frost spreading where Sarah's feet touched the floor. "We deal in something far more... precious."

Kieran tried to swallow but his throat was too dry. "What do you want?"

"Want? No, no. It's about what you want." The thing wearing Sarah traced patterns on his chest, each touch burning cold through his shirt. "You opened the grimoire seeking power. Knowledge. Control." Its smile widened. "But here's the funny thing about wanting – it never really stops, does it?"

'Something's wrong,' Kieran thought as a strange emptiness began spreading through his chest. Not pain, but... absence.

The entity pressed Sarah's palm flat against his heart. "Every spell, every secret comes with a price. Your wants, your dreams, everything you care about – gone, one by one."

"I don't understand," Kieran gasped, though part of him already did.

"You're feeling it already." The entity's eyes gleamed. "Tell me, what did you want to be when you were little?"

Kieran opened his mouth to answer, then stopped. There had been something... hadn't there? But trying to remember it was like grasping at smoke.

"It's gone," he whispered.

'Wait,' Kieran thought, an idea forming. 'Contracts have loopholes. Always.' He forced himself to appear defeated, watching through half-closed eyes as the entity gloated.

"Look at him break," it said through Sarah's lips. "They always do, in the—"

"Actually," Kieran cut in, his voice quiet but steady, "I'd like to propose something different."

The entity paused. "Oh?"

"Instead of my wants and dreams... what if I offered you something more substantial?" Kieran met its gaze. "My life force, freely given, but only when I choose to draw on your power."

The thing wearing Sarah's skin went very still. "Explain."

"A partnership. When I need to cast something beyond my abilities, I can borrow your essence. Each time, I pay with a fraction of my life force." Kieran's heart raced, but his voice remained steady. "You get fed, I get power, and I keep my memories intact."

'Got you,' he thought as the entity's borrowed face showed a flicker of interest.

"And why would I agree to such terms?"

"Because sustained feeding is better than a single feast," Kieran said. "Think of it as... investment banking. Small, regular payments instead of one big withdrawal."

The entity circled him slowly, considering. "Clever boy. But there must be... safeguards."

"Of course. Each time I draw on your power, it leaves a visible mark." Kieran gestured to his hair. "A streak of white – permanent proof of our arrangement."

"And if you try to break our contract?"

"Then you get everything – memories, dreams, life force. All of it."

The entity's borrowed lips curved into a smile. "Done."

The grimoire's pages began to glow as the contract wrote itself in blood. Kieran felt the bond settle into place – not chains, but a careful balance of power and price.

'Perfect,' he thought. He could use his own magic for smaller spells, saving the entity's power for when he truly needed it. And someday, when he was strong enough, he might not need it at all.

But first, there was Sarah to deal with.

She slumped against the wall as the entity retreated into the grimoire. Her eyes fluttered open. "Kieran? What happened? I remember..."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, raising his hand. 'Can't leave any loose ends.' "Really, I am."

The spell was quick and clean. Sarah didn't even have time to scream.****

Later, in his hidden room beneath the marketplace, Kieran examined his reflection in a broken mirror. No white streaks yet – he'd used his own power for Sarah. But soon enough, when he needed it...

'Some prices are worth paying,' he thought, running his fingers over the grimoire's leather binding. The Academy's entrance exam would be his first real test. He'd need to appear average – talented enough to justify his place, but not enough to draw attention.

He pulled out the crumpled Academy brochure. At twelve, he'd seen more darkness than most adults, but that's what made him perfect for this. The streets had taught him patience, cunning, and the value of playing the long game.****

When the day came, Kieran stood before the Academy gates, counting his blood money with steady hands. The registrar looked down at him through her gold-rimmed spectacles, clearly unimpressed by his shabby appearance.

"Name?"

"Kieran Webb," he replied, the fake surname familiar now.

The testing crystal came next. Kieran felt the entity stir in the grimoire hidden in his pack. 'Just a touch,' he thought as he drew on its power. A small price for the perfect deception.

He felt it immediately – a sharp drain of vitality, followed by a strange tingling at his temple. Later, he'd find the first white streak in his hair, thin as spider silk.

The crystal glowed with carefully measured mediocrity. The registrar made her notes, and just like that, he was in.

'The best tricks,' Kieran thought as he followed a prefect to the dormitories, 'are the ones no one realizes are tricks at all.'

The entity pulsed contentedly in his pack, their bargain sealed in blood and white hair. Let them think him ordinary. Let them see what they expected to see.

After all, true power lies in knowing when to show it – and when to hide it behind a careful mask of mediocrity.