Page 101 of Magic in My Bones

“I know, Dean, and I—”

“I'm afraid I'll have to reassign you, Professor Crowe,” she said, her stern expression softening slightly. “However, I believewe can find a more... appropriate position for someone of your talents. Perhaps as caretaker of the necropolis and guest lecturer?”

I stared at her, my mind reeling as I struggled to process this sudden turn of events. “I... I beg your pardon?”

Dean Blackwood chuckled, a rich, melodious sound that seemed to fill the candlelit space. “Oh, come now, Dorian. You didn't really think I'd let someone of your caliber slip away so easily, did you? Your skills, your knowledge, your devotion to the craft are far too valuable to lose. And while I can't have you teaching regular classes anymore, that doesn't mean your talents will go to waste. You will always have a place here.”

Relief washed over me like a cleansing tide, mingling with a profound sense of gratitude. “I... I don't know what to say, Dean. Thank you. Thank you for this opportunity, for your faith in me.”

She waved a hand dismissively, but there was a glimmer of warmth in her eyes. “Think nothing of it, Dorian. Blackstone Academy is lucky to have you in whatever capacity you choose to serve. And as for your relationship with Ren...” She glanced between us. “I see no reason why it should impede either of your paths forward. Love, after all, is its own kind of magic, one that transcends the boundaries of convention and expectation. It has the power to transform lives, to bring light to the darkest of places. And in a world so often shadowed by grief and sorrow, that is a gift beyond measure.”

Ren's hand tightened in mine, and I felt a surge of emotion so powerful it nearly brought tears to my eyes. To have our love acknowledged, validated, by someone I respected as deeply as Dean Blackwood… It was a moment I knew I would cherish for the rest of my days.

“Thank you, Dean,” Ren said softly, his voice thick with feeling. “Your understanding and support mean more than we can say.”

She smiled, reaching out to rest a hand on each of our shoulders. “You two have a rare and precious thing. Cherish it. Nurture it. Let it be a guiding light in the work that lies ahead. For there is still much to be done, much to learn and teach and discover, in this strange and wondrous craft of ours.”

With those words, she gave our shoulders a final, affectionate squeeze, then turned to go, her robes swishing softly in the candlelit hush.

As the sound of Dean Blackwood’s retreating footsteps faded, I turned to Ren, my chest still tight with the mix of emotions that had roiled through the night. Relief, gratitude, and the ever-present ache of uncertainty all vied for space in my heart.

“Are you okay?” Ren asked, his voice low, his concern evident.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and gave him a small, wry smile. “I think so. Though I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to Dean Blackwood’s theatrics.”

Ren chuckled, the sound light and soothing after the weight of everything. “She does know how to make a point.”

I nodded, taking his hand in mine and savoring the steady reassurance of his touch. “Ren, I meant what I said earlier. This... us... it’s worth any change, any challenge. And maybe this is what I needed all along, a chance to reimagine what my role here truly means.”

He squeezed my hand, his confidence in me clear as he replied, “You’re going to be brilliant, Dorian. As a teacher, a guide, a caretaker, whatever you choose. Blackstone wouldn’t be the same without you, and neither would I.”

Emotion swelled in my chest, but instead of speaking, I simply pulled him into an embrace. The tension of the evening melted away as I held him, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart against mine. In that moment, the future no longer seemed daunting. It was simply another chapter waiting to be written together.

As we left the chamber, stepping into the cool night air, I felt a strange sense of peace settle over me. The necropolis stood silent, its shadows no longer menacing but comforting, like the pages of a well-worn book closing on one story to make way for another. And with Ren by my side, I knew it would be a story worth telling.

34

Moths and Magic

Ren

As I walked upthe winding path to Professor Crowe's cottage, the evening mist curled around my ankles, cool tendrils licking at my skin. I clutched the glass terrarium tighter, my breath fogging its surface.

Dorian opened the door before I could even knock, his green eyes crinkling with warmth. “Ren! Come in, come in. I've got a kettle on.” He ushered me inside, his hand a reassuring weight between my shoulder blades.

The cottage interior wrapped me in its golden embrace, the crackling fireplace chasing away the autumn chill. The familiar scent of old books, herbs, and Dorian's favorite bergamot tea filled the air. Carefully arranged crystals caught the firelight, casting rainbow shadows across walls lined with ancient texts and magical artifacts. It felt like home. Bones lifted his head from his paws, tail thumping in lazy greeting. I set my terrarium down on the worn oak table, finally letting out the breath I'd been holding.

“I wanted to keep an eye on Grim,” I explained, tapping the glass. The pupa twitched, shadows swirling beneath the translucent surface. “It's been almost a month. Any day now...”

Dorian peered over my shoulder, his presence solid and comforting. “Ah, yes. The anticipation is half the magic, isn't it? Waiting for a new life to unfurl.”

I nodded, my throat tight.

The kettle's whistle pierced the air, a shrill note that made Bones' ears perk up. Dorian patted my shoulder before moving to the stove, the scent of bergamot and honey wafting through the cottage as he poured the steaming tea into mismatched mugs.

“Come, sit,” he said, nodding toward the plush sofa. “You look like you could use a good cuppa.”

I sank into the cushions, their warmth enveloping me like a hug. Dorian pressed a mug into my hands, the heat seeping into my fingers, thawing the chill that always seemed to linger in my bones. He settled beside me, long legs stretched out, socked feet resting on the coffee table.

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