Page 1 of Magic in My Bones

1

Welcome to Blackstone

Ren

I tripped on myway out of the cab and made a graceful entrance face-first into the cobblestone. Two seconds on campus, and I was already earning a gold star in the art of awkwardness. Truly, my talents knew no bounds.

I sighed, dusting off my faded jeans and checking my phone. 10:47 AM. At least I wasn't late. The orientation packet had said new students could arrive anytime before four. Plenty of time to get settled before the welcome dinner at six. I caught my reflection in a nearby window. Dark hair fell into eyes that my mom always said were the color of storm clouds, a slim build that made me look more like a dancer than a necromancer. The old hoodie I wore probably wasn't helping my case, its sleeve frayed where I constantly worried the hem. But hey, at least I'd remembered to put on my single "nice" shirt underneath. Black, of course, because I did have some standards to maintain as a future master of death magic.

I grabbed my battered suitcase, handed the cabbie a tip that probably didn't cover the damage I’d done to my dignity, and took a moment to appreciate the view.

Blackstone Academy loomed ahead like every gothic cathedral's evil twin had a growth spurt. The black stone seemed to eat what little sunlight made it through the clouds, and gargoyles sneered down at me from above like they were judging my secondhand robes.

The other students definitely didn't shop at thrift stores like I did. They glided around in everything from jewel-toned traditional robes to modern blazers with actual moving sigils. I caught snippets of their conversations as I passed. Something about summoning circles and summers in places I couldn't even find on a map. Great.

I hefted my suitcase and made my way up the steps, trying not to get distracted by the swirling pit of dread in my stomach. The door swung open with a dramatic creak. The air inside held that peculiar mix of scents: old books, hints of herbs and incense, and underneath it all, the metallic tang of raw magic. The stone walls seemed to hum with contained power, making my teeth buzz slightly. A wave of cold air washed over me that smelled like mint and ozone instead of normal air conditioning. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the low, melodious hum of protective wards, like a thousand whispered secrets all at once.

My crumpled orientation letter looked like it had been written in code. I checked it for the hundredth time and tried to decipher the spider-scratch handwriting that directed me to the Moonvale wing, third floor. I lifted my suitcase, wincing as it banged against the steps, no doubt leaving scuff marks on the polished marble.

The corridors were a sensory overload: the click-clack of dress shoes on marble competing with the whoosh of levitation spells,someone's failed potion sending up clouds of sparkly smoke that smelled like burning sugar and regret, and the constant background tingles of so much magic in the air my fingertips felt numb. A nearby portrait sneezed, scattering painted dust that disappeared before it hit the floor.

After getting lost twice, I finally found the room I was looking for. The door had a brass nameplate that read “Wickens & Bramblewood.”

I raised my hand to knock, then hesitated. What if my roommate hated me already? What if he was a legacy magic prodigy with a flair for dramatic entrances, and I was just the embarrassing kid who tripped over his own feet?

I took a deep breath, knocked, and waited for... nothing. I knocked again.Crickets.

I pushed open the door with an appropriately ominous creak. “Hello?” My voice echoed through the room, sounding way smaller than I intended.

I stepped into the room and blinked, trying to adjust to the dim lighting. Heavy velvet curtains blocked out most of the sunlight, casting everything in a purplish gloom. The air was thick with the smell of earth and green things, like stepping into a greenhouse after rain. Something rustled in the corner. It was probably just a plant, but with magic schools, you never knew. The floorboards creaked under my feet, but it was a friendly sort of creak, like they were saying hello. Somewhere, a clock ticked with an oddly musical chime, and I swore I could hear the plants growing, a soft whisper of leaves unfurling in the purple-tinted darkness. The walls were painted a deep, midnight blue, and were covered in an eclectic mix of folk music band posters and intricate tapestries depicting various magical sigils.

One side of the room was still bare, like a blank canvas waiting for me to make my mark. But the other side? Well, it looked like I’d stumbled into a jungle. Vines hung from the ceiling likesomething out of a nature documentary. They snaked around the bedposts and bookshelves like they were trying to stage a coup. Potted plants of every shape and size crowded the desk and windowsill. Some of them even had that unearthly glow that made me wonder if they were secretly magic.

The bed, meanwhile, was buried under a mountain of plush pillows in every shade of green you could imagine, topped off with a patchwork quilt that looked like it had been sewn together from the remnants of the forest floor. I half-expected a squirrel to pop out and give me a welcoming hug.

It was like stepping into a hidden glade, a cozy little woodland escape in the middle of a gothic nightmare. I felt a flicker of excitement stir in my chest. Whoever my roommate was, they clearly had an unshakable bond with nature, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief. It was a welcome contrast to the sterile, utilitarian room I’d been half-expecting.

I was so lost in absorbing the greenery around me that I didn’t hear the door creak open behind me.

“Oh!”

I spun around, only to find a guy frozen in the doorway, fern in hand, looking like he’d just walked in on me doing something embarrassing. His eyes were wide with surprise, and the fern he was carrying brushed against his chin like it had a mind of its own.

For a moment, we just stared at each other like a couple of confused deer in headlights.

I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing. The guy standing in front of me had sun-kissed skin and a wiry build. But it wasn’t his physique that caught my attention. It was the pair of elegant, tawny horns sprouting from his forehead, nestled among a mess of dark curls, some of which were decorated with little flowers and vines. It was like someone had taken a forest and turned it into a person.

He shifted the fern to his hip and gave me a shy smile that looked like it had been hand-crafted by a woodland sprite. “You must be Ren,” he said, his voice soft and melodic, with an accent I couldn’t quite place. “I’m Luca. Luca Bramblewood.”

I blinked again, still processing the wholepart faunsituation. “Uh… yeah, that’s me," I stammered, still trying to wrap my head around it. “Nice to meet you.”

Luca ducked his head, and I swore I saw his cheeks flush a little. “Sorry for sneaking up on you,” he said, glancing at the fern like it was his precious baby. “I was in the greenhouse, picking up this beauty. Isn’t she glorious?”

I couldn’t help but smile at the sheer enthusiasm in his voice. “Uh… yeah,” I said, stepping aside so he could squeeze past me. “You must have quite the green thumb.”

Luca beamed, his eyes practically twinkling. “It’s a gift,” he said, gently caressing one of the fern’s fronds. “Plants have always spoken to me, even when people couldn’t.”

His voice held a note of wistfulness that hit me somewhere deep. I didn’t even need to ask to know what he meant. The world of people could be tricky, but at least plants didn’t judge.

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