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like my skin would explode.
    Oh, how powerful and alive I felt at that moment. How joyous a return to the man I had denied I truly was. My friend, my lover, my drug of choice back in my system after such a long hiatus. I'd been mad to deny myself this; I wasn't whole without it.
    Streamers of magic shot from my fingers as I tried and failed to control the flow sufficiently, but my guard was up and in place, so if anyone was watching I'd just look like I'd lost the plot a little and was waving my arms like a loon. But as the shuddery lines of suppressive energy—making me feel like a Ghostbuster, and now the damn song was in my head—caught the tattered remnants of a ghost deranged with loneliness, I controlled myself, lowered the intensity and dragged it back down to ground level.
    "Who you gonna call?" I sang, then shook my head and focused. Damn, but I was enjoying myself, and that's always a dangerous state to be in. It makes you sloppy.
    The creature coalesced, scattered fragments of itself forming into the shape of a lost soul, a prisoner in the abandoned mine. A knocker, that's what it was.
    I'd heard of them, knew they could be good or bad, a spirit faery of sorts, yet not quite real, if that makes sense? These were beings formed of superstition, yet never quite made it from man's mind to be truly individual beings in their own right, more an amalgamation of fears of the unknown. The half-formed creatures would 'knock' on the walls of the tunnels, warning the miners of danger, and over time the sounds miners heard formed into these almost-creatures.
    Now the mine was empty and this roaming, lost, semi-soul was alone, unable to do what it had been brought almost into being to do. It wasn't malevolent, just afraid and scared and not even truly sentient, more the echoes of the minds of the men that toiled underground. Fear made ephemeral.
    I caught Mithnite's movement out of the corner of my eye, and shouted, "No, it won't hurt us. It's just confused, okay?" He lowered his hands, the magic that shone along the length of his arm, tattoos proud and full of vitality receding as he returned magic to the Empty.
    He was good, had progressed well by the looks of it, and I was proud of him for keeping his cool. I was also scared for him, but this was his path and his choice—I knew he'd never turn away from the life, whatever I said to him.
    Focus back on the task at hand, I drew the knocker toward me, tightening my grip, making it compact and as much of a true thing as I could. It fought, not understanding, but I sucked deep, huge lungfuls of air tinged with coal dust and preternatural energy that wasn't a soul, just something on the verge that would now never get the chance to be whole.
    In it came, down into my body, the essence of it inside, pure magic that was fragmented, directionless. And as the air cleared and the creature became naught but magic, I coughed it back up in thick lumps of white haze that shot up and away then drifted like fluffy clouds in the otherwise clear, blue sky. With a final spasm, the essence of an almost-thing popped out of existence.
    Sweating, breathing torturous, I spat the last of it up and waited for the payback for using magic, stealing from the Empty.
    Hands braced on knees, adrenaline pumping hard, body hyped and me joyous even as I anticipated the searing pain, I waited, and waited.
    A jolt ran through my body, like an electric shock, and then I was back to being just me.
    I'd wondered if this would be the case, and my musings had been correct. Once before, I'd battled and beat the magical comedown, a switch flipping in my head that told me I could master it if I only had the will. Now I was partially true Hidden, had magic of an immortal giant inside me, and five years of abstinence, my return to the Hidden world one of true acceptance. I was a different kind of wizard.
    A dark magic enforcer the likes of which my world had never known before.
    Life was about to get