Page 44 of Magic in My Bones

I laughed, the sound warm and rich in the cozy kitchen. “Ah, mo stóirín, you don't need wine to loosen my tongue. Your company is intoxicating enough.”

The endearment slipped out before I could catch it, the Gaelic term of affection hanging sweetly in the air between us. Ren's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and he ducked his head, a pleased smile tugging at his lips.

“Flatterer,” he accused softly, but there was no heat in it.

I grinned, unrepentant. “It's only flattery if it's not true.” I leaned a hip against the counter, my body angling towards his. “But I'm more than happy to regale you with tales of my misspent youth over dinner, if you're interested.”

Ren took another sip of his wine, his eyes never leaving mine. “I'd like that very much, actually,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of anticipation.

Feeling emboldened by the wine and the warmth of Ren's gaze, I reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, my fingers lingering for a moment against his skin. Then, with a playful wink, I grabbed the risotto and the tarts, carrying them to the small, rustic dining table I had set earlier with candles and sprigs of fresh herbs. Ren followed close behind, the peeled pears and salad in hand.

As we sat down across from each other, knees brushing under the table, I couldn't help but marvel at how right it felt to have Ren here in my home, in my life.

“This looks incredible, Dorian,” Ren said appreciatively as I served up the risotto, the fragrant steam rising between us. “You've really gone all out.”

“I wanted tonight to be special,” I admitted, my voice soft and earnest. “It’s not every day I get to cook for Ren Wickens.”

Ren smiled, the candlelight dancing in his eyes as he took a bite of the risotto. A soft hum of appreciation escaped his lips, and I felt a thrill of satisfaction knowing I had pleased him.

“This is delicious,” he declared after a few bites. “So you’re an excellent teacher, a master necromancer, and a talented chef.”

I chuckled, taking a sip of wine. The vintage was a personal favorite, a delightfully crisp Sauvignon Blanc that paired perfectly with the meal. “Alas, I must confess that my culinary skills are entirely non-magical in nature. Though I suppose one could argue that the alchemy of transforming humble ingredients into a sumptuous feast is a kind of sorcery in itself.”

Ren grinned, spearing a piece of roasted parsnip with his fork. “Careful now, or you'll have me believing that your Irish charm is the real magic at play here.”

“Ah, you've uncovered my secret,” I teased, eyes sparkling with mirth. “It's all part of my grand plan to enchant you with tales of emerald hills and mist-shrouded moors, plying you with comfort food and a lilting brogue until you're thoroughly bewitched.”

Ren laughed, the sound warm and honeyed in the intimate space between us. “Consider me spellbound then.” He took another bite before asking. “What was it like, though? Did you always know you were a necromancer?”

I leaned back in my chair, a wistful smile playing at my lips as memories of my childhood in Ireland rose to the surface. The kitchen seemed to grow cozier, more intimate, as memories of Ireland rose like mist. Spirit lights drifted closer, as if drawn to the stories waiting to be told, and somewhere in the distance, a phantom wind chime played a tune that sounded suspiciously like an old Irish lullaby.

“You know,” I said softly, watching the candlelight paint shadows across Ren's attentive face, “my grandmother alwayssaid that magic remembers. It carries echoes of where we come from, who we're meant to be. Sometimes when I'm cooking her recipes, I swear I can feel her presence in the kitchen, guiding my hands just so.”

I swirled the wine in my glass. “My magical abilities didn't manifest until I was about thirteen. But looking back, there were signs even before then—an unusual affinity for the dead, an instinctive understanding of the cycle of life and death.”

I paused, taking a sip of wine as memories long buried stirred to the surface. “My parents were both necromancers themselves, though they didn’t work with the dead. They were pioneers in the field of reanimating dead tissue, treating necrotic limbs, frostbite, and the like. Given their work, I spent much of my early years in and out of hospitals and hospice centers. Even though my parents’ work was with the living, I grew up surrounded by death, but it was never something to be feared or reviled. It was simply a part of life, as natural as breathing.”

Ren listened intently, his eyes soft with understanding. “That must have shaped your perspective in such a profound way,” he mused. “To grow up seeing death not as an enemy, but as an integral part of the cycle.”

I nodded, warmed by his insight. “Indeed it did. When my own powers began to emerge, it felt like a natural extension of everything I had learned. A way to connect with and honor the dead, to ease their passage and perhaps even guide them back, if only for a time.”

Ren leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he cradled his wine glass. “Were you scared, though? When you first realized what you could do?”

I chuckled. “A bit, yes. It's a hefty responsibility to wield that kind of power. But my parents were there to guide me, to teach me the ethics and the limits of what we do. They instilled in mea deep respect for the dead and a commitment to using my gifts wisely.”

“They sound like they were wonderful people,” Ren said softly, his hand coming to rest lightly over mine on the table. “I wish I could have met them.”

A pang of longing mixed with old grief as I turned my hand over, lacing my fingers with Ren's. “I wish you could have too,” I said softly, my thumb brushing over his knuckles. “They would have adored you, I'm certain of it. Your kindness, your integrity, your thirst for knowledge... they're all qualities my parents valued deeply.”

I paused, a shadow passing over my features as memories I'd long tried to suppress rose unbidden. “They were good people,” I said slowly, my gaze fixed on the flickering candle flame. “Principled. Ethical. They taught me everything I know about respecting the sanctity of life and death. Which is why...” I trailed off, a lump forming in my throat.

Ren squeezed my hand gently, his eyes filled with quiet concern. “Why what?” he prompted softly.

I sighed, taking a fortifying sip of wine before continuing. “Which is why it was such a shock to learn that they’d died while attempting soul transference. Attempting to find a way to cheat death by moving their consciousnesses into younger, healthier bodies.”

Ren's eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping his lips. “But that's...”

“Forbidden,” I finished, a wry twist to my mouth. “A violation of the very laws of magic they taught me to uphold. The ultimate taboo for a necromancer.”

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