Shadows, Grimoires, and Apples by L. Johnson - 2026 Fantasy Writing Competition 2nd Place Winner

Shadows, Grimoires, and Apples

by L. Johnson

The window behind him rattles against the wind, and Raph spins around in his office chair, eagerly looking outside- only to be met with a wonderfully sunny day. He scowls at his own reflection, warped slightly by the glass.

“Uncle Raph?” Comes from behind him, and he spins back around, letting the chair creak as he spins a little too far. On the other side of his desk is his assistant (but, more importantly, his niece) Bella, who gives him a toothy grin as she drops herself on the plush chair, pulling her curly hair over her shoulder so it doesn’t get caught. “It’s a nice day out.”

This time, his scowl is directed at her, and she just laughs, right in his face, and settles even further into the chair. His eyes go over to the tray on his desk, with perfectly arranged bottles of scotch and boxes of cigars. He reaches a hand out, tracing his fingers across the wood. One day…

“You’re so old! Waiting for a rainy day, just to smoke and drink!” she complains, and gets to her feet, suddenly bored. She struggles slightly because of how deep the chair is. Despite himself, he can feel his expression soften, but he still shakes his head.

“Thin ice,” he warns, going for strict. If the way she gives him another toothy grin over her shoulder is anything to go by, it doesn’t work. He raises his voice as she walks out the room, waving a finger in faux anger. “You’re only here as a favour to your mother!”

The door slams behind her, and he sits back, tapping a pen against his knuckles. The rest of the day melts together, as Bella flits in and out of his office, and he tries not to fall asleep at his desk. 

He doesn’t even realise that he’s nodding off, lulled to sleep by boredom and white noise until there’s a sharp knock on his door, and he jerks his head up, glasses sliding down his nose.

The first thing that he hears is that it’s raining outside, and despite the obvious visitor, he scrambles for his tray. A glass clatters against the table when he moves too fast and drops it from a height, his cold hands feel stiff as he fumbles with the bottle, and yet-! When Bella opens the door to allow his visitor in, he’s sitting behind his dark wooden desk, leaning back with a (slightly overfilled) glass of scotch and a cigar. 

The person who enters is… confusing. The sight of them makes him drop his glass again- thankfully, not very far, letting it clatter back on to the desk. They stand behind Bella, half in the shadows that she casts. Their head is obscured, and even as they sway naturally the shadows seem to twist to keep it so. 

“You are an investigator,” They say in an accent he can’t place, and Bella turns ever so slightly- looking at them out of the corner of her eye, an edge of something in her posture. As Raph is trying to figure that out, the stranger speaks again. “You will go to an auction for me. I need an item to be… recovered.”

Raph waits, heart thundering in his chest. Primarily, his clients consist of missing people that just wondered a little too far, and couples that should really just be divorced without any need to get him involved. 

“It is a book,” they start, and then shift, a step echoing in the almost silent room. The shadows follow them, the lamp on Raph’s desk flickering once, twice, and then going out. Almost unconsciously, Raph leans back in his chair, hands braced on the arms and drink forgotten. “A grimoire of immense power, written by the first of us. It should not fall into the hands of those wishing harm. All in attendance wish harm, and I wish for them to be exposed. You wish for money.”

“And-” Raph tries, voice cracking slightly. Bella shoots him a wide eyed look, and he jerks his chin up, trying to tell her to leave the room. She stays rooted to her spot on the carpet. “And why can’t you go?”

“They will know me,” is the instant reply, and a hand comes up to gesture at their face. Raph has to squint to see anything other than the movement, the disruption in the air. “My face-”

“I noticed!” Raph interrupts, voice strangled, and he drags a hand over his own face. This person isn’t a soon to be divorcee, or concerned relative. They’re a fucking wacko.

The stranger nods, and from the shadows an envelope emerges, thrown onto the desk in front of him. It hits against the glass, scotch dropping from the side and onto it. Written on the envelope, there’s a date and time. Bella, with shaking hands, picks it up and shows him the contents. 

A stack of bills stare back at him.  

“Well, shit.” Raph says, and that seems to be that. 

—-

He tugs at his collar, face tugging into a frown under the ceramic mask that the stranger had given him. He hadn’t seen any eyeholes, but they must be cleverly disguised because his vision remains unobscured, even in the low light.

The hallway seems to stretch unnaturally under his feet, but he presses forward, undeterred. As he walks forward, eyebrows furrowed, someone practically glides by him, donning a similar mask and suit. They stop in front of him, and turn, head tilted.

“You’re going to the auction?” They ask, and before he can answer they put a hand on his elbow, and turn him to their direct left. A carved wooden door stands before them, looming, and he shakes his head. He must have missed it. “Here, friend. It is difficult to find, the first time.”

They glide forward again, pushing the seemingly heavy door open with little effort. Raph follows, stumbling slightly as the carpet under his feet changes to wood with no warning. He manages to straighten himself up before his guide notices, and takes in everything before him. The hall is massive. The building must be bigger than it looks, because this is a giant ballroom. There are chairs set up in rows, facing a large set of red curtains lined with gold, and he turns around on his heel to see the whole place. It is practically gilded, wood and gold and ivory in abundance and a deep brown hardwood parquet floor. 

There are hundreds of people here. They’re dressed in a mish-mash of styles from all eras- someone in what seems to be medieval dress casually conversing with another who looks like they had just stepped out of Meiji era Japan. Raph had chosen a comparatively plain white suit, and he adjusts it self-consciously.

After he’s sure he’s not being watched, he makes his way over to the plush seats, settling down in one and folding his legs in to keep them still. In, and out. Get the book, and leave without pissing off a bunch of freaks that think they’re special somehow. 

By the time that everyone else has sat down, he’s shaking his leg out of impatience so much that his chair shakes. He grins sheepishly at his neighbours, even if they can’t see his face.

What does still his leg is the curtains swinging open suddenly, and the absolute quiet that falls over the room. He leans forward as two people walk on stage. They’re the same as his stranger in his office, with twisting shadows following them and obscuring each and every feature. If asked, casually, he would have told anyone that he knew what they looked like, but, if pressed for details- he would have nothing other than the vague idea that one seemed just a little bigger than the other, that one was more authoritative while the other followed. But the colour of their hair, their skin, the shape of their features? There would be nothing.

“Welcome all,” says the taller, and reaches out toward the crowd, who hold their own hands out in return, hundreds of yards of fabric shifting at the same time. Raph copies just a beat behind, hands outstretched. 

“Let us all eat together!” shouts the smaller, and kneels, pressing something to the ground. Vaguely, he can hear words being muttered by them, but is too distracted by what happens a moment after. 

Where the person had pressed their hands to the floor there is a sprout- and then a sapling, and then a young tree, and as it grows into something hundreds of years old, into something that bears fruit, Raph is frozen in his seat. There’s an actual, red apple hovering above his outstretched hands, and he takes it, mechanically. Beside him, people are gratefully biting into their own apples, and the smell of sickly sweet fruit fills the air. 

Magic. Actual magic. He turns the apple over in his hands. It’s solid under his fingers, and he holds it in his lap. The shorter shadow stands, and the three recoils in on itself. Returning to a much more reasonable sapling that they stand on either side of, rather than a tree big enough to crowd an entire ballroom. 

There’s a ringing in his ears as they start to speak. He watches, eyes almost glazed over, as they drag out exhibit after exhibit after exhibit and auction them off- he can see people’s mouths moving, hands going up, but he’s still sitting, one hand on the apple, stunned. 

He isn’t sure how much time passes before the ringing in his ears subsides, just in time for the end of a bidding. Some sort of key has just been sold, and he tries to refocus.

“And, finally,“ says the taller shadow, gesturing in a way that Raph cannot fully comprehend. “A grimoire, by an early mage.”

Raph tries not to sit up in his seat too quickly. This is it. This is the grimoire.

Instantly, there are numbers yelled all around him- his head spins with some of the voices. In any other world, he would have know what to do, but one of spellbooks and magic and fucking trees growing out of the floor he has no idea what to do other than just thrust his hand into the air. 

Everything goes still again, and Raph realises belatedly that it’s the hand still holding the apple. It’s a striking pose, and he stands fully, trying to build the confidence to actually say something, anything, but before he can, the taller shadow moves, fast, squirming through the air until Raph stands eye to eye with them.

“Sold,” it hisses, quietly twisting as if it is looking at him, “To the man in the white suit.”

He breathes out slowly, and the shadow holds out one hand. Raph drops the apple to it like it’s burning him, and he gets a heavy, leather grimoire deposited in his arms.

“Good luck, Raphael,” It hisses again, and he nods dumbly as he turns toward the crowd, who are all now standing. Between themselves, they mutter behind hands and fans and he weaves his way through them, trying to pretend that that thing knowing his real name doesn’t make his skin crawl.

There’s no disruption on his travel home, but he jumps at every noise and flash of light in the corner of his eye as he keeps the book clutched to his chest.

His shady client is waiting outside his office for him, and when they step forward the shadows do not follow this time. Despite this, he still cannot describe their face. They take the book, gingerly, and it disappears into the folds of their clothes. Another envelope takes its place, and Raph knows that it is heavy enough that he will not worry about money for years.

“Why?” he asks, as they twist away into the night. The wind behind them does not answer.