Page 25 of Magic in My Bones

I glanced down at my faded jeans and scuffed sneakers, suddenly feeling very out of place among the effortlessly stylish witches and warlocks of Blackstone.

I thought about Professor Crowe, wondering if he'd be there. He'd probably wear something devastatingly elegant, something that matched those green eyes of his perfectly. The thought of seeing him in formal wear, maybe even dancing with him... No. That was definitely not a path my mind needed to go down.

Still, the idea of him seeing me in whatever cobbled-together costume I managed to create made my stomach twist. I wanted him to see me as capable, confident. Someone worthy of the extra attention he'd been giving me with these translations. Not some awkward scholarship kid who couldn't even manage a proper Halloween costume.

I'd never been to a fancy dress party before, let alone a magical masquerade. Growing up, Halloween had always been a low-key affair. Just me and my siblings in homemade costumes, trick-or-treating around our apartment complex. The idea of attending a grand gala with enchanted decorations and elaborate disguises seemed as fantastical as the spells I was learning in my classes.

What would I even wear? The practical voice in my head that had managed our family budget and made sure everyone had enough to eat immediately started calculating costs. Even a simple costume would eat up at least a month of my stipend.And that wasn't counting masks or accessories or whatever magical embellishments everyone else would surely have.

But deeper than the money worry was something else. No matter what I wore, I might not look right. The lingering fear that my body would somehow betray me, that people would see past any costume to the parts of myself I was still learning to love. Masquerades were supposed to be about becoming someone else for a night, but how could I when I was still figuring out who I was?

Grim, apparently deciding my anxiety was more interesting than his current snack, abandoned the half-eaten grimoire page to bump his fuzzy head against my cheek. He chirped determinedly.

“You're right,” I murmured to him. “Maybe I'm overthinking this.”

He chirped again, and I pushed thoughts of the masquerade aside, turning back to the papers in front of me. I couldn’t afford to get distracted by a school dance, not when there was so much to figure out. Professor Crowe’s runes were still scattered across the page, their intricate lines dancing before my eyes. The faint hum of the café around me began to fade as I dove back into the symbols, letting my pen flow over the paper with renewed focus. The mystery of the spell was still just out of reach, but I wasn’t going to stop trying. Each stroke felt like a step closer to uncovering something important, even if I didn’t fully understand it yet.

For now, it was just me and the magic before me, unraveling slowly, piece by piece.

10

The Chains that Bind

Dorian

Another low moan echoedthrough my laboratory. The room was my sanctuary, a space where the line between academic pursuits and ancient magic blurred.

Bones lay curled in his favorite spot by the hearth, his skeletal tail twitching occasionally as he watched me work.

Sweat beaded my brow as I weaved my fingers through the air, carefully working to separate the souls that had been bound together. A small field around us kept the spirits from breaking free to cause any damage.

These poor, tortured spirits, their essences forcibly entwined in a grotesque perversion of the natural order. As I carefully teased apart the tangled strands of their beings, my mind raced with dark possibilities. This was no mere happenstance, no accidental melding of souls. No, there was deliberate intent here, a malevolent will weaving a tapestry of spiritual agony.

I shuddered to think of the power one could wield by harnessing such a twisted fusion of life forces. The implications were staggering and profoundly disturbing. Mina'sdire warnings echoed in my mind. We stood upon the precipice of something truly abominable, a necromantic working of cataclysmic proportions. And yet, the identity of the architect behind this madness remained shrouded in shadow.

I sighed as I glanced over at the Chain of Echoes. I had brought the ancient artifact with me, clinging to the faint hope that it might hold the key to unraveling this spiritual quagmire. Yet, for all my years of study and practice in the necromantic arts, the chain's secrets remained stubbornly opaque, its arcane power tantalizingly out of reach.

The air in the laboratory grew thick with the weight of the spirits' anguish, their plaintive cries a discordant symphony that set my teeth on edge. I redoubled my efforts, my fingers dancing through the ether with a deftness born of desperation. Each strand of spiritual energy I untangled seemed to reveal a dozen more.

Sweat trickled down my spine, my shirt clinging to my back as I poured every ounce of my concentration into the task at hand. The spirits swirled around me, their ghostly forms a mix of pain and confusion. I could feel their suffering as if it were my own, a bone-deep ache that threatened to overwhelm me entirely. I could only imagine the crushing weight someone as sensitive as Ren might feel if he were in my place.

Ren…My heart clenched as I thought of my brilliant and devoted student. The weight of guilt settled upon my shoulders. In my fervor to unravel this mystery, had I unwittingly placed him in harm's way? The very notion sent a chill down my spine, colder than the grave's embrace. I'd seen how deeply Ren felt the spirits' pain, how his natural empathy made him uniquely vulnerable to their suffering. Just yesterday, I'd watched him comfort a lost spirit in the graveyard with such a gentle understanding that it had brought tears to my eyes. The thought of these tortured souls reaching for him, trying to claim thatbright, compassionate spirit for their own... No. I couldn't allow that to happen.

“Keep watch, Bones,” I murmured, and my familiar rattled his agreement.

Ren, with his keen intellect and gentle soul, had thrown himself into the task of deciphering the arcane runes etched upon these tortured spirits. Each glyph, a testament to the unspeakable cruelty inflicted upon them, seemed to pulse with an eldritch light as I worked to unravel their bonds. The sigils danced before my eyes, mocking my efforts to comprehend their true nature.

As I delved deeper into the labyrinthine web of entwined souls, a sickening realization dawned upon me. These runes were no mere inscriptions; they were brands, seared into the very essence of these unfortunate beings. A mark of ownership, a sign of subjugation to a will both twisted and powerful beyond reckoning. The implications hit me like a badly mixed potion, turning my stomach something fierce. Gran always said dark magic left a bitter taste, but this was fouler than anything in her grimoire.

The laboratory door suddenly creaked open, and I heard Ren’s voice call my name. “Professor Crowe?”

In an instant, I ceased my work, the ethereal strands of the spirits' essences dissipating like wisps of smoke in the wind. I couldn't risk exposing Ren to the horrors I had witnessed, the unspeakable cruelty woven into the very fabric of these unfortunate beings.

Ren approached me, his steps hesitant yet eager. In his hands, he clutched a sheaf of papers, the fruits of his labors in deciphering the arcane runes. He looked exhausted but excited in the candlelight, his dark hair tousled as if he'd been running his fingers through it while studying, a habit I definitely hadn't noticed during our evening tutorials. The top buttons of his shirtwere undone, his tie loose, and there was an ink smudge on his jaw that made my fingers itch to reach out and brush it away. I forced myself to look down at the papers instead.

These late-night research sessions were becoming dangerous, blurring the lines I'd so carefully drawn between us. It was harder to remember my position when we were alone like this, surrounded by candlelight and ancient books, sharing theories and tea as if we were simply two scholars lost in pursuit of knowledge.

“I've completed the translations you requested. The runes, they speak of—” He paused, his brow furrowing as he took in my haggard appearance. “Are you all right, sir? You look ill.”

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