Page 21 of Magic in My Bones

I stepped into ProfessorMina Reedy's quaint cottage, ducking slightly to avoid bumping my head on the low doorframe. The interior was a delightful blend of antique furnishings and esoteric decor; the walls adorned with aged tapestries depicting scenes of necromantic rituals from centuries past.

Every surface held some fascinating artifact or curiosity: antique tea sets that whispered secrets when you poured from them, crystal balls filled with swirling midnight mist, and delicate silver instruments whose purpose I could only guess at. Mina had always had an eye for collecting beautiful things with dark histories. A mechanical bird in a gilded cage sang melodies that made listeners weep, while a music box on the mantle played tunes that could only be heard by the dead.

The cottage itself seemed alive with magic, each room having adjusted itself over centuries to its vampire mistress's tastes. Velvet curtains shifted of their own accord to keep the sunlightat comfortable levels, and the grandfather clock in the corner marked time not in hours, but in phases of the moon.

“Dorian, my dear boy, how kind of you to visit,” Mina greeted me warmly, her refined English accent lending a melodic lilt to her words. She reclined on a plush velvet chaise, her pale skin still bearing the fading marks of the vicious spirit attack that had left her battered and bruised.

“Of course, Mina,” I replied, removing my hat and coat with practiced care. She'd lectured me more than once about proper respect for antique coat racks. “I couldn't help but check on your recovery. Besides, who else would appreciate my grandmother's latest tea blend? She sent it specifically for you. She says it's perfect for healing ancient vampires who don't know when to retire.” I pulled out the carefully wrapped package, watching Mina's eyes light up despite her attempt to look offended.

Reedy gestured for me to take a seat in a nearby armchair, its upholstery embroidered with delicate silver skulls. “Oh, you know me. Too stubborn to die, too foolish to stay out of trouble.” She chuckled, wincing slightly as she shifted her position. “Though I must admit, these wounds are taking their sweet time to heal. Perils of being an ancient creature, I suppose. The physical wounds go away every time I feed, but they just come back. Even blood isn’t enough to heal what ails me these days.”

I nodded sympathetically, noting the slow knitting of her flesh, the bruises fading from deep purple to yellow.

As I settled into the armchair, Mina clapped her hands together, a spark of mischief dancing in her eyes. “Where are my manners? Would you care for some refreshments, Dorian? I have several lovely little salmon finger sandwiches and a pot of Earl Grey that's simply divine.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Thank you, Mina, but I must decline the sandwiches. Tea would be lovely, though.”

Mina's eyes widened for a moment before she let out a tinkling laugh. “Oh, heavens, I'd forgotten you're a vegetarian! Forgive me, my dear. The mind isn't quite what it used to be after a few centuries.” She waved her hand, and a delicate porcelain teapot and two matching cups appeared on the coffee table between us, steam curling invitingly from the spout.

As I poured the fragrant tea, I couldn't help but marvel at the surreal juxtaposition of a centuries-old vampire serving tea to a necromancer in a cottage straight out of a fairy tale. The absurdity of it all brought a small smile to my lips, even as the weight of recent events settled heavily on my shoulders.

I took a sip of the tea, savoring the rich, bergamot-infused flavor before setting the cup down and leaning forward, my elbows resting on my knees. “Mina,” I began, my voice softening with concern, “I know it's difficult to revisit, but could you tell me more about the spirit attack you experienced?”

“Why are you so interested? I was told it was a fluke.”

I hesitated for a moment, weighing my words carefully. “I fear it may not have been an isolated incident, Mina. There's been another attack.”

Mina's eyes widened, a flicker of concern crossing her elegant features. “Another attack? Good heavens, was anyone hurt?” She leaned forward, wincing slightly as the movement aggravated her healing wounds.

I shook my head, a small sigh of relief escaping my lips. “Fortunately, Dean Vane and I were able to contain the spirit before it caused any serious harm. But I worry that these occurrences could continue, or worse, escalate. “The thought of my students being caught in the crossfire...” I trailed off, an image of Ren facing such a violent spirit making my chest tight with fear. He was talented, yes, but also so new to all of this, so earnestly determined to prove himself. The idea of him throwing himself into danger made me want to strengthen everyprotection ward in the academy. “Some of them are still learning to navigate their own magic, let alone defend against something like this.”

“Well, I’ll help any way I can, but I’m not certain I can tell you anything that wasn’t already in the official report.” She took up her teacup and saucer.

I leaned back in the armchair, my brow furrowing as I contemplated Mina's words. “I understand, Mina. But even the smallest detail could prove invaluable in unraveling this mystery. Please, if you could recount your experience, in your own words?”

Mina sighed, setting her teacup down with a delicate clink. “Very well, my dear. If you insist.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, before beginning her tale.

“It was a fortnight ago, as I was preparing the ossuary for the coming semester. You know how I pride myself on maintaining an impeccable collection of bones for our necromancy students. I was in the midst of cataloging a new acquisition–a lovely set of 18th-century femurs–when I found myself engaged in a rather heated discussion with Mrs. Nesbit.” She paused, a fond but sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You know how the old goat was. Always complaining about everything.”

“Ah yes, dear Mrs. Nesbit,” I said with a sad chuckle, my gaze drifting to the wicker basket nestled near the hearth where the infant goat familiar now slumbered peacefully, her tiny hooves twitching as she dreamed. The tiny black goat was barely larger than a house cat, her new form a stark contrast to the dignified elderly nanny she'd been before. Even in sleep, her hooves occasionally struck out as if stamping in disapproval of some imagined impropriety. Some things, it seemed, carried through each rebirth. A silver bell hung around her neck, engraved with protection runes that glowed faintly in the dim light. Mina's attempt to better protect her familiar this time around.

The death of a familiar was always difficult, even if the loss was tempered by the familiar’s rebirth as an infant. Each rebirth cost some of the familiar its power, and Mrs. Nesbit had been Mina’s familiar for centuries. One could only guess at how many times she’d gone through the cycle.

Mina's voice drew me back to the present, her words painting a vivid picture of the fateful day. “Mrs. Nesbit and I were arguing about the proper arrangement of the ossuary, you see. She insisted that the bones should be sorted by the deceased's astrological sign, while I maintained that chronological order was the most sensible approach. Tempers flared, and our voices echoed through the chamber, bouncing off the ancient stone walls.”

She paused, her eyes distant as she recalled the moment that changed everything. “It was then, in the midst of our heated exchange, that the spirit manifested. A chilling, spectral form, its visage twisted with rage and anguish. It lashed out with a fury I had never before witnessed, hurling me against the walls and shattering the carefully arranged bones. Poor Mrs. Nesbit, ever the loyal familiar, leaped to my defense, only to be utterly destroyed by the spirit's malevolent energy.”

I leaned forward, my heart aching for Mina's loss. I couldn’t imagine watching that happen to Bones, even knowing I’d be able to bring him back. “I'm so sorry, Mina. That must have been truly harrowing.”

Mina nodded, a flicker of pain crossing her face. “It was, my dear boy. In all my centuries, I've never encountered a spirit in such pain.” She reached for her teacup, her hand trembling slightly as she lifted it to her lips.

I nodded, my mind racing as I tried to piece together the puzzle. “I believe these pained spirits are being provoked by strong emotions, particularly those of anger and distress. I was arguing with Dean Vane when the second appeared.”

Mina set her teacup down, her brow furrowed in thought. “It's a troubling pattern, Dorian. If these spirits are indeed feeding off the emotional turmoil of the living, we could be facing a far greater threat than we initially realized.”

“I fear you may be right,” I agreed, my stomach twisting with unease. “But what I still don't understand is why this is happening now. What has changed that could be causing these spirits to react now? And who wove them together into those grotesque forms to begin with? And for what purpose? Why torture spirits?”

Mina leaned back on the chaise, her elegant fingers tapping against the plush velvet as she pondered my questions. “There are many factors that could be at play here, Dorian. The veil between the living and the dead is a delicate thing, and even the slightest disturbance can have far-reaching consequences.” She paused, her eyes drifting to the window where the late afternoon sun cast a warm glow across the cottage. “Magically speaking, we know that strong emotions generate power that can be used to fuel spells. We also know that it’s possible to abuse the dark arts and to use pain as a power source. Perhaps, then, whomever is behind this, is attempting to generate power. Alotof power.”

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