Page 71 of Magic in My Bones

“Information about the original academy location, and a nearby cave system that might be connected to it,” Dorian explained, his voice rich with the kind of energy that always made my pulse quicken. “The spirit of hunger seemed to suggest that’s where Alistair will be performing his ritual. We’ll need to go there to stop him.”

I nodded, trying to focus on his words, even as my brain struggled to keep up with the way my body responded to the proximity of his presence. I cleared my throat, doing my best to look composed. “Right. Caves. Old stuff. Got it.”

The teasing smile that flickered across Dorian’s lips told me he’d caught my distracted moment, and I felt my face warm. But it didn’t matter. He wasDorian, and I couldn’t help but be drawn to him, pulled in by that magnetic energy of his that seemed to fill every room.

We rounded a corner and went down a wide set of concrete stairs, descending into the basement where we came face to face with a massive set of obsidian doors, etched with swirling silver runes that seemed to move if you looked at them too long. I blinked, wondering if I was hallucinating from lack of oxygen after our brisk walk.

“The Blackstone Academy Archives,” Dorian announced with a flourish. “Home to centuries of arcane knowledge, and one very temperamental archivist spirit. Well, many spirits, but the Archivist himself is the one we’re most concerned with.”

Dorian placed his hand on the cool obsidian surface, murmuring an incantation under his breath. The runes flared to life, pulsing with an eerie silver glow before fading away. With a low groan, the massive doors swung open, revealing the cavernous space beyond.

The archives felt alive with centuries of magical knowledge. Spirit lights drifted between leather-bound tomes like curious scholars, while enchanted card catalogs shuffled themselves endlessly, their drawers opening and closing with soft sighs that sounded like whispered secrets. The air itself tasted of parchment and possibility, thick with the kind of magic that came from generations of learning.

“Wow,” I breathed, spinning in a slow circle. “It's like a necromancer's candy store in here.”

Dorian chuckled, the sound echoing through the vast space. “That's one way to put it. Now, let's see if we can coax our elusive Archivist out of hiding.”

As Dorian stepped forward to summon the Archivist, I hung back, my eyes darting around the cavernous space. The sheer magnitude of knowledge contained here was overwhelming. Shelves stretched upward into shadows so deep I couldn't see where they ended, like some kind of bookworm's fever dream.

A shimmering being began to coalesce in front of us, wisps of silvery smoke twirling and twisting until they formed the vague shape of a man. Well, mostly a man. His lower half sort of faded away into mist, like some kind of nerdy genie.

“State your name and purpose,” the Archivist intoned, his voice echoing with the whispers of a thousand rustling pages.

Dorian bowed slightly. “Greetings, honored Archivist. I am Professor Dorian Crowe and I’m here with my student, Ren Wickens, seeking information about Blackstone’s history.”

The spirit shifted slightly. “What is your clearance level?”

“Level four, Necromancy Department,” Dorian replied smoothly.

The Archivist's form shimmered, like someone had dumped a bucket of glitter into a swirling mist. “Access granted. State your query.”

I held my breath, waiting for Dorian to work his magic. Surely, if anyone could charm information out of a finicky spirit, it would be him.

“We're looking for information about the original location of Blackstone Academy,” Dorian said, his voice smooth as silk. “Specifically, any connection it might have had to nearby cave systems.”

The Archivist's form rippled like a librarian shuffling through invisible index cards. “The original location of Blackstone Academy is recorded in the historical archives. Cave systems are documented in the geological section.”

Dorian's brow furrowed slightly. “Yes, but we're looking for information that might link the two. Perhaps some kind of secret passage or magical connection?”

“Secret passages are catalogued under architectural anomalies. Magical connections fall under arcane geography,” the Archivist replied, his tone as dry as the dusty tomes surrounding us.

I bit back a snort. This was like watching the world's most frustrating game of twenty questions. Dorian's usual charm seemed to be bouncing off the Archivist, and it was frustrating the heck out of him.

I watched as Dorian's usual smooth charm crumbled in the face of the Archivist's literal-mindedness. His brow furrowed deeper with each exchange, and I couldn't help but find it oddly endearing. The great Professor Crowe, master of necromancy and expert sweet-talker, was being outwitted by a glorified card catalog.

“Okay, let's try this again,” Dorian said, running a hand through his hair. The motion left a few strands sticking up at odd angles, and I had to fight the urge to reach out and smooth them down. “Are there any records of unusual magical activity in the caves near the original academy site?”

The Archivist's form shimmered again. “Unusual magical activity is a subjective term. Please specify parameters for 'unusual.'”

Dorian let out a frustrated groan that echoed through the cavernous space. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Dorian's cheeks were flushed, and there was a little vein throbbing in his forehead that I'd never noticed before. It was kind of cute, actually.

“Having trouble, Professor?” I asked, my voice dripping with faux innocence.

Dorian turned to me, his green eyes flashing with mild annoyance and amusement. Something about that look on his face made my stomach flutter. “I'd like to see you do better, Mr. Wickens.”

I smirked at Dorian. He really was adorable when he was flustered. “Maybe we should try a more hands-on approach. You know, actually browse the stacks?”

Dorian's eyebrows shot up. “Ren, there are literally miles of shelves here. It would take us forever to find what we're looking for manually.”

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