Page 30 of Magic in My Bones

“It's not just about feelings, is it?” I asked softly. “Our magic...”

“Recognizes each other,” he finished, his voice rough. “Yes. It's rare, that kind of magical compatibility. The kind the old books write about in terms that sound more like poetry than spell craft.”

I nodded slowly, a wistful smile tugging at my lips. “A necromantic mystery and a forbidden romance. Sounds like something straight out of one of those penny dreadfuls they sell down at the bookshop.”

Dorian chuckled, the sound warm and rich like honey. “Ah, but those stories pale in comparison to the real thing, don't they? No fictional hero could hold a candle to you, Ren Wickens.”

I ducked my head, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks at Dorian's compliment. It was strange, being on the receiving end of such praise from someone I admired so deeply. A part of me wanted to deflect, to brush off his words with a self-deprecating joke like I usually did. But something in Dorian's gaze stopped me, a sincerity that made me want to believe, even just for a moment, that I could be the hero of my own story.

“So,” I said, clearing my throat. “Where do we start? With the research into the binding rune, I mean.”

Dorian's eyes sparkled with amusement, no doubt at my less than subtle attempt to change the subject. But he didn't press, instead rising from the bed and crossing to one of the many bookshelves lining the walls.

“I've been combing through every text I can find on ancient runic magic,” he said, running his fingers along the spines of the leather-bound volumes. “But so far, I haven't come across anything that exactly matches the mark on your brow. The research I gave you to complete is the closest I could come, so our next moves hinge entirely on your results.”

I took a deep breath, my mind flashing back to the hours I'd spent hunched over ancient tomes, deciphering the cryptic runes Dorian had tasked me with researching. It had been like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing, the symbols seeming to shift and change every time I thought I had a grasp on their meaning.

“It's like the runes are a language all their own,” I said, “but one that's been broken down and put back together in a way that doesn't quite make sense. The individual components are familiar. They’re symbols for binding, ownership, control. But the way they're arranged is... wrong. Like a sentence with all the right words, but in the wrong order.”

Dorian hummed thoughtfully, plucking the book from the shelf and flipping through the pages with a practiced hand. “Runes are an art, not a science. The arrangement of the symbols is as important as the symbols themselves.”

I frowned, trying to wrap my head around the intricacies of runic magic. “So you're saying that whoever created this binding rune on me deliberately arranged the symbols in a way that doesn't follow the established rules? Like they're making up their own twisted language?”

“Precisely,” Dorian said, snapping the book shut and tossing it to me. “Which means that in order to unravel the meaningbehind the mark, we'll need to approach it from a different angle. Think outside the proverbial box, as it were.”

I picked up the book Dorian had tossed me, turning it over in my hands. The leather cover was worn and cracked with age, the pages yellowed and brittle. But it was the name embossed on the spine that caught my attention, making my eyes widen in disbelief.

“Erasmus Cavendish,” I breathed, tracing my finger over the faded gold lettering. “TheErasmus Cavendish? The one who wroteA Treatise on the Arcane Tongues of the Ancient World?”

Dorian nodded, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “The very same. Cavendish was a pioneer in the field of arcane linguistics, a man centuries ahead of his time. If anyone can help us decipher the meaning behind your mark, it's him.”

I frowned. “But he’s been dead for over four hundred years. How can he possibly help us?”

“My dear Ren,” he said with a slow, mischievous smile. “Are we necromancers or are we not?”

“Well, yes, but to summon a spirit that old would require a major ritual and rare arcane components!”

Dorian's eyes sparkled with excitement, his smile widening into a grin that was equal parts exhilaration and mischief. “Precisely!”

“And permission from Dean Vane,” I pointed out. It was an academy rule that all major rituals had to be approved by the appropriate program’s dean.

“You leave Vane to me,” Dorian said. “Give me a few days to bring together all the necessary components, and then you and I will perform the ritual together.”

I hugged the ancient book to my chest, feeling a thrill of anticipation course through me. Working with Dorian to summon Erasmus Cavendish’s spirit? It was both daunting and exhilarating, like stepping into a story I’d only ever read about.

Dorian glanced at me, his eyes warm but with a hint of caution. “This will be intense, Ren. If any of this feels like too much, just say the word.”

I shook my head, grinning despite myself. “Are you kidding? The chance to talk to a spirit that old doesn’t come around often. I’m in.”

Dorian’s face softened, the lines of concern fading into a smile. “Very well. I’ll start making preparations.” He gave Bones a final pat. “You rest up. I’m going to make some more tea and when you’re feeling better, I’ll walk you back to your dorm room.”

I nodded, the weight of the old book grounding me as excitement and a touch of nerves fluttered in my chest. Bones gave a soft, clinking wag of his tail, as if to cheer me on, and I reached down to scratch behind his bony ears. The whole moment felt strangely like home.

Dorian moved toward the small kitchen, lighting another candle and filling the teapot. The cottage was quiet except for the soft whistle of the kettle and the rustle of pages as I flipped through the ancient book, unable to resist another look.

As I sat there, anticipation warming me more than the tea ever could, I found myself already imagining what lay ahead. And for the first time all afternoon, the danger, the mystery, even the mark on my brow, all felt just a little less daunting, a little more manageable, with Dorian by my side.

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