Page 13 of Magic in My Bones

Laughter erupted from the watching students, Tad's guffaws rising above the rest. “Nice one, Wickens!” he crowed. “Looks like you got the familiar you deserve!”

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I wished I could melt into a puddle of humiliated goo, just like the slime trail my so-called familiar was leaving behind. Even the weird kid who never talked to anyone had summoned a freaking red panda.

I wanted to disappear, to sink into the stone floor and become one with the castle's ancient foundations. Anything to escape the humiliation searing through me like a branding iron. How could I face my classmates now? I'd be forever known as the guy who summoned a measly caterpillar while everyone else bonded with majestic creatures.

Professor Dance placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, her voice soft with sympathy. “Ren, listen to me. Every familiar is special and has a unique purpose. Don't judge your new companion too quickly.”

Her words barely registered through the hot tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. I couldn't meet her kind gaze, couldn't bear to see the pity surely written there. Around me, the snickersand whispers of my classmates buzzed like angry hornets, stinging me with each mocking jab.

“Looks like Wickens got a worm to match his talent!”

“Guess we know who's flunking Familiar Bonding 101.”

Each barb landed like a punch to the gut, driving the air from my lungs. I needed to get out of here before I completely lost it in front of everyone. Vision blurring, I scooped up the caterpillar with a shaking hand and shoved it into the pocket of my robes.

“Ren, wait,” Professor Dance called after me, but I was already bolting for the door, desperate to escape.

I burst out of the classroom, my feet carrying me down the hallway in a blind rush. Hot tears streamed down my face, blurring my vision, but I didn't need to see where I was going. My legs moved of their own accord, guided by muscle memory and the desperate need to escape.

I flew past the towering stained glass windows, their vibrant colors dulled by the miserable fog wrapped around my heart. Vaulted archways and carved stone gargoyles whizzed by in my peripheral vision, but I barely registered their gothic grandeur. The caterpillar squirmed in my pocket, its wriggling presence a constant reminder of my humiliation.

Before I knew it, I found myself bursting through the wrought-iron gates of the necropolis, my burning lungs gulping the cool, misty air. The ancient cemetery sprawled before me, a labyrinth of mossy headstones and crumbling mausoleums. Twisted oak trees reached their gnarled branches toward the overcast sky, their leaves whispering secrets of the dead. Black roses grew wild between the headstones, their petals edged with silver in the dim light. Somewhere nearby, a ghostly wind chime tinkled a melody that sounded almost like a lullaby. Even in my distress, I felt the familiar comfort of death magic wrapping around me like a well-worn quilt, the spirits keeping a respectful distance but present enough that I didn't feel completely alone.

I darted between the graves, my shoes crunching on the gravel path. Ornate stone angels watched me with sightless eyes, their weathered faces etched with eternal sorrow. I didn't stop until I reached the heart of the necropolis, where a grand marble crypt loomed like a miniature cathedral.

Ducking behind the massive monument, I collapsed against the cool stone, my chest heaving with gasps and eyes burning with tears.

I huddled against the crypt's marble edifice, my body shaking with sobs I could no longer contain. The caterpillar inched along my palm, oblivious to the anguish its presence had unleashed. I closed my fingers around its squirming form, torn between hurling it into the cemetery's tangled undergrowth and clinging to it like a lifeline.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel path, drawing closer with each measured stride. I tensed, hastily scrubbing at my tear-streaked cheeks with my free hand. The last thing I needed was for some well-meaning groundskeeper to stumble upon me in this pathetic state.

“Ren?” a familiar voice called out, gentle and laced with concern. “Is that you back there?”

Oh no. I'd know that rich, honeyed timbre anywhere. Professor Dorian Crowe emerged from behind a towering angel statue, his forest green robes fluttering in the breeze.

I hastily wiped my nose on my sleeve, shrinking further behind the marble edifice as if I could merge with the cool stone. Of all the people to find me in this state, it had to be Professor Crowe. Dashing, brilliant, could-charm-the-pants-off-a-skeleton Professor Crowe, who I may have been harboring a raging crush on since the moment I saw him in the hallway on my first day at Blackstone.

Dorian rounded the corner of the crypt, his warm green eyes filled with gentle concern as they landed on my tear-stained face.I tried to compose myself, but it was like trying to wrestle a jelly slug into submission: messy and utterly futile. A fresh wave of sobs shuddered through me.

“Oh, Ren,” Dorian murmured, crouching beside me. His voice was soft. “Whatever is the matter?”

I hastily swiped at my eyes, trying to salvage some scrap of dignity. “It's nothing, Professor Crowe. I'm fine. Just needed some air.”

The words sounded hollow even to my own ears. It was painfully clear I was the exact opposite of fine, but admitting that to my unfairly gorgeous Necromancy professor was a special flavor of mortifying.

Dorian settled onto the grass beside me, his movements fluid and graceful. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to me. It was soft cotton, embroidered with tiny silver stars and smelling faintly of earl grey tea and old books. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, he conjured two steaming cups of what looked like hot chocolate, complete with tiny marshmallows shaped like skulls.

“My grandmother always said that any crisis feels more manageable with something warm to drink,” he explained, passing me one of the cups. “And these marshmallows are a special recipe. They're infused with a mild calming draught. Perfect for soothing frazzled nerves.”

His eyes, the mesmerizing color of spring leaves dappled with sunlight, held no judgement. Only gentle understanding and an invitation to unburden myself, if I wished.

I turned the caterpillar over in my hands, staring at its puckered green folds to avoid meeting that penetrating gaze. If I looked into those kind eyes for too long, I'd probably blurt out every pathetic insecurity plaguing my psyche, and then I'd have to fling myself into the nearest open grave from sheer humiliation.

The caterpillar chose that moment to start determinedly inching up my wrist, leaving a glistening trail of slime in its wake.

I took a shuddering breath, the words spilling out of me like a dam had burst. “It's my familiar. Or I guess, lack thereof. During the summoning ritual, all I managed to conjure was this dumb caterpillar.” I held out my hand, showing him the wriggling green grub.

Dorian leaned closer, peering at the caterpillar with intense interest. His brow furrowed in concentration as he studied the wriggling creature, a glimmer of something like wonder sparking in his eyes.

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