Page 5 of Magic in My Bones

“Professor Reedy, who was scheduled to teach the introductory necromancy course this term, has been... injured. An incident in the ossuary, I'm told.”

“Heavens, is she all right?”

The dean waved a dismissive hand. “She’s being tended to in the infirmary as we speak.”

I leaned back in my chair, a pensive frown on my face. “Forgive my skepticism, Madam Dean, but I cannot help but wonder if there might be a connection between Professor Reedy's misfortune and the unsettling behavior of the spirits. It seems a rather peculiar coincidence, does it not?”

The dean pursed her lips, a glimmer of uncertainty flickering in her dark eyes. “While I understand your concern, Professor Crowe, I must remind you that speculation without evidence is a dangerous path to tread. We must focus on the task at hand. It is our duty to ensure that our students receive the education they require, even in the face of these unusual circumstances.”

I inclined my head, though the nagging sense of unease remained. “Of course, and normally I’d be delighted to take on the introductory class…But with so little warning…”

The dean fixed me with a piercing gaze, her voice low and measured. “I am well aware of the challenges this last-minute change presents, Professor Crowe. However, I would not have come to you if I did not believe you were uniquely qualified to handle this responsibility.”

She paused, a flicker of something inscrutable passing across her features. “In recognition of the inconvenience, and as a gesture of my appreciation for your willingness to take on this additional burden, I am prepared to offer you something in return. Something I believe you have been seeking for quite some time.”

My breath caught and my heart quickened. “The Chain of Echoes.”

The Dean nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I am willing to grant you access to the artifact, for a limited time, of course. I trust you will use this opportunity wisely, Professor.”

I set my teacup down, my fingers trembling slightly against the delicate porcelain. My heart raced at the prospect of finally gaining access to the legendary Chain of Echoes, an artifact that had haunted my dreams and consumed my waking thoughts for years. Its secrets whispered to me from the depths of ancient tomes and the murmured tales of wandering spirits. To hold it inmy hands, to unravel its mysteries...it was an opportunity I could scarcely refuse.

And yet, even as the thrill of anticipation coursed through my veins, a flicker of unease stirred in the shadowed recesses of my mind. Unbidden, a memory surged forth, as vivid and visceral as the day it had seared itself into my soul.

The acrid scent of burning sage and the metallic tang of blood were heavy in the air. The intricate circle of runes etched upon the stone floor, pulsing with an eerie, otherworldly light. And at the center of it all, my parents, their faces contorted in a rictus of agony as they clutched the ancient chain, its links crackling with dark energy.

I had been but a lad then, barely old enough to comprehend the enormity of what they were attempting. They had forgotten the old wisdom, the careful balance our people had maintained with death for generations. In their hunger for power, they'd abandoned the protective circles of rowan and salt that every Irish witch knew to draw, thinking themselves above such “folksy” precautions.

They had spoken of it in hushed whispers, their eyes alight with a fervor that bordered on madness. To bind their souls to younger, stronger vessels, to escape the inexorable march of time and the looming specter of death.

But something had gone wrong. Terribly, horrifically wrong. The runes had flared with a blinding intensity, the air crackling with the raw power of the necromantic energies they had unleashed. And then the screams. Oh, the screams. They echoed through the chamber, reverberating off the stone walls, searing themselves into my young mind.

I shook my head, dispelling the ghosts of the past that clung to me like a shroud. No, this was different. I was not my parents, consumed by a reckless hunger for power and immortality.I sought knowledge, yes, but tempered with wisdom and a profound respect for the delicate balance between life and death.

With a deep breath, I met the Dean's gaze, my voice steady and resolute. “I accept your offer, Madam Dean.”

The dean nodded, a glimmer of satisfaction in her eyes. “Very well, Professor Crowe. I shall have the necessary arrangements made.” She reached into her robes and withdrew a slim, leather-bound folder, holding it out to me. “Here are the files for your new students. I trust you will find everything in order.”

I accepted the folder with a gracious nod, my fingers caressing the smooth, supple leather.

As the dean took her leave, I settled back into my chair, Bones nestling his skull against my leg with a contented clatter. I cracked open the folder, my eyes skimming over the names and faces of my new charges. Five students in total, a rather intimate gathering for an introductory course, but not unusual. Necromancy was not one of Blackstone’s largest specializations.

My eyes skimmed down the list of names, taking in the brief biographical details provided for each student. And then, a name that caught my eye, accompanied by a small, hand-drawn star: Ren Wickens. The name beside it, likely a birth name, had been neatly crossed out and changed alongside the gender marker.

I frowned. “This won’t do at all,” I said. “Bones, fetch me the white out. Let’s fix this file up properly for our records.”

Bones scampered off, his tail rattling like a merry wind chime. He returned moments later, a small bottle of white out clenched between his teeth.

“Thank you, my faithful friend,” I said, taking the bottle and giving Bones an affectionate pat on the head. I carefully applied the white out over the birth name, erasing it from existence. Ren Wickens was the only name that belonged on that file.

As I closed the folder, a soft breeze rustled through the garden, carrying with it the faint whispers of wandering spirits.The moonflowers swayed gently, their luminous petals casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the stone path.

“Change is in the air, Bones,” I murmured, my fingers absently tracing the embossed letters on the folder's cover. “I can feel it in my bones. Quite literally, in fact.” I chuckled at my own joke, and Bones let out an appreciative rattle.

But beneath the levity, a sense of unease lingered, like a chill mist clinging to the hollows of my soul. The unusual spirit activity, Professor Reedy's mysterious injury, and now the dean's unexpected visit and tantalizing offer...it all seemed to be woven together in a tapestry of secrets and shadows.

I sighed and stood, draining the last of my now-cold tea. “Come, Bones. I’m afraid we’ll have to miss saying goodnight to the moonflowers tonight. It’ll be early nights for us this semester, it seems.”

Bones let out a mournful rattle, his skeletal head drooping in disappointment.

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