Page 72 of Magic in My Bones

I gestured at the Archivist, who was still shimmering patiently in front of us. “And this isn't? At least browsing, we might stumble on something useful.”

Dorian opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, his shoulders slumping slightly. “You may have a point,” he admitted grudgingly. “All right, you start searching the stacks, and I'll keep trying to extract some useful information from our ethereal friend here.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, trying not to sound too smug. “I'll start with the historical section and work my way towards geology.”

I set off into the labyrinth of shelves, the scent of old parchment and leather binding filling my nostrils. The further I ventured, the more the archives seemed to stretch on impossibly. Shelves towered above me, their tops disappearing into shadows.

“Right,” I muttered to myself, running my fingers along the spines of ancient tomes. “If I were a secret cave entrance, where would I hide?”

As I browsed, I couldn't help but overhear snippets of Dorian's continued interrogation of the Archivist. His voice, usually so smooth and confident, was taking on an edge of desperation. “No, not weather patterns in the 14th century! I'm asking about—oh, for the love of—”

I snickered to myself, imagining the look on Dorian's face. It was oddly comforting to know that even he had his limits when it came to bureaucratic spirits.

After what felt like hours of searching, I stumbled upon a promising section.Blackstone Academy: A Comprehensive Geological Study of the Surrounding Coastal Areawas emblazoned in faded gold lettering across a series of massive volumes.

“Jackpot,” I whispered, pulling out the first tome. It was heavier than I expected, and I staggered a bit under its weight.

As I hefted the massive tome, a cloud of dust billowed up, making me sneeze. The sound echoed through the cavernous archives, and I winced, hoping I hadn't disturbed any cranky spirits.

“Bless you!” Dorian's voice called out from somewhere in the stacks.

I smiled to myself, warmth blooming in my chest at his casual concern.Focus, Ren, I chided myself.

I cracked open the book, my eyes widening as I took in the intricate diagrams and maps spread across its pages. Whoever had compiled this study hadn't skimped on the details. I flipped through the pages, scanning for anything that might hint at hidden caves or secret passages.

About halfway through the tome, something caught my eye. A small notation in the margin, written in faded ink: “Anomalous readings near old academy site. Further investigation required.”

My heart quickened. This could be it. I tucked the book under my arm and made my way back to where I'd left Dorian.

As I approached, I caught the tail end of what sounded like a very strange conversation.

“…he doesn’t see what I see,” Dorian was saying. “He’s brilliant, driven, beautiful. But he holds himself back, like he’s afraid to believe it.”

I glanced over my shoulder, creeping closer to the source of his voice, careful to stay out of sight.

The Archivist responded in its usual dry, mechanical tone. “Interpersonal relationships are catalogued in section B, row twelve. Subsection three covers emotional self-perception.”

Dorian sighed, and I could practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” he muttered before continuing, more to himself than to the spirit. “I just… I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I don’t want to make him feel like he’s under a microscope or, worse, like I’m just humoring him.”

My breath hitched.

“Perhaps if I just told him the truth,” Dorian went on, his voice quieter now. “That every time I look at him, I think,how could someone be so wonderful and still not see it?” He let out a soft sigh. “But then, what if I get it wrong? What if I say too much, ornot enough? And I don’t want him to think I’m thinking too hard about all these things, though I probably am, aren’t I?”

The Archivist’s response was as infuriatingly neutral as ever. “Effective communication strategies are covered in section B, row eighteen. There is also a subsection on overcoming personal inadequacy on end cap seven.”

“Helpful as always,” Dorian muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He sighed again, his voice softening. “I just… I think I’m in love with him. With Ren.” His voice softened, filled with wonder. “He has this way of seeing beauty in everything, even in death magic, even in the darkest places. And when he smiles... it's like watching the sun rise after the longest night of the year. Every time he masters a new spell or shows that brilliant mind of his, I fall a little deeper.”

The words hit me like a thunderclap, and my breath caught. My pulse raced as the enormity of what he’d just said settled over me.

Dorian wasn’t done. “Every time I look at him, it feels like the world tilts just a little, like it’s rearranging itself around him. And I can’t help but think how lucky I am to know him, let alone to feel the way I do about him. But how do you tell someone that without overwhelming them? With everything that’s going on, I don’t want to stress him further, and it really hasn’t been that long. It’s too soon. Isn’t it?”

The Archivist responded without hesitation, its tone as neutral as ever. “Romantic timelines and their appropriateness are catalogued in section B, row fourteen. Subsection two contains philosophical debates on the nature of time as it pertains to emotional connection.”

Dorian groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, thank you for that profoundly unhelpful input. As always, you’re a beacon of wisdom.”

The Archivist paused, then added in its unflappably even tone, “For further assistance, section C, row six, subsection four offers guidance on enhancing sexual stamina for older men.”

Dorian’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “I beg your pardon?” he said, his voice rising an octave.

---