Page 77 of Magic in My Bones

“Mr. Wickens,” she said, her voice much gentler than I expected, “I can see you’re struggling. The circle's a bit... unconventional, but that’s alright. This kind of work can take time.”

I stared at my chalk disaster, wishing I could melt into the floor like a particularly embarrassed puddle. “I know,” I muttered, erasing it to try again. It wasn’t any better.

She paused next to me, her eyes scanning my work with quiet concentration. “Try to focus less on perfection and more on the intention behind the circle. It's not about how it looks; it's about how it feels to you. Your magic’s still there, even if it feels a little off right now.”

I frowned, but the sting of failure dulled slightly with her reassurance. “I’m trying,” I muttered. “But I can’t seem to get my head to cooperate.”

Professor Reedy’s expression softened further, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “That’s more common than you think. Sometimes, magic has its own rhythm, and it takes a bit of patience to find yours. But you’ll get there.”

I took a slow breath, trying to focus as Reedy’s words echoed in my head. Find the rhythm. Right. That sounded nice in theory. But my chalk felt like a foreign object in my hand, no longer a tool of magic but just something to distract me from the mess I was making. I wiped away the half-formed circle again, and then another, and then another.

But none of them felt right. None of them felt like me.

The minutes ticked by, each second dragging like the endless stretch of an eternity. My classmates were practically gliding through their work, the runes appearing on their chalkboards with sharp precision. I tried to ignore the frustration bubbling in my chest, but it was hard not to feel the sting when I could hear the quiet hum of their satisfaction in the air.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want this. I did. But lately, it felt like the world was pushing me further and further away from everything that should have been mine. My magic felt so distant, like a fading echo of something I’d once known.

Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, and slumped back in my chair, feeling the weight of my failure settle over me.

Professor Reedy moved to collect our papers, but her eyes flickered to me once more. She didn’t approach immediately, but I could feel her watching me, waiting.

I gathered my things slowly, hoping I could escape without drawing attention. I was already embarrassed enough. But as the last of my classmates filtered out of the room, Professor Reedy moved to stand in front of my desk. There was no avoiding her now.

“Mr. Wickens,” she said, her voice softer, but no less firm. “May I have a word?”

I hesitated, but nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

She leaned against the edge of my desk, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re clearly distracted. You have been all week, and it’s affecting your work.”

I glanced down at my hands, fumbling with my papers. “I’m fine,” I muttered, but even I didn’t believe it.

Reedy’s eyes softened, but there was concern behind them. “It’s not just the circle, Ren. I know about the mark on your forehead, and your… connection to Professor Crowe. And I’m aware that Grim’s absence is weighing heavily on you.” She paused, her gaze lingering on me for a beat longer. “But your grades have been slipping. Your marks in this class, especially, have been unusually low this week.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My scholarship had always been my lifeline. If I couldn’t keep my grades up, if I couldn’t prove I belonged here, I’d lose it.

“I’m trying,” I said again, my voice barely above a whisper.

Reedy’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know you are, but Ren, I’m concerned that you’re not fully here. If this continues, we might need to have a more serious conversation about your place in this program.”

There was a sharp pang of panic in my chest and I looked up at her, my eyes watering. “I can do this, professor. I know I can. It’s just that with everything else going on…”

Professor Reedy studied me for a long moment before her expression softened. “Ren, you’re not failing because you’re not capable. I know that. But you need to take care of yourself first. If you’re too overwhelmed by everything else to give this your full attention, you’re going to lose everything you’ve worked so hard for.”

I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into fists on top of my desk. “How am I supposed to give my studies my full attention when there’s someone out there who wants me dead? And what did I ever do to him? I’m not hurting anybody. I just want to live my life. I just want the same chance to pursue my dreams as everybody else. So why? Why is all this happening to me?”

Reedy’s gaze softened further, her arms uncrossing as she took a small step toward me. “Ren…” she began, her voice quiet but steady. “I can’t give you all the answers to those questions. I wish I could. I can’t explain why you’re being dragged into all of this, why you’re facing things no one should ever have to face. But what Icansay is this. You are not alone in it.”

I blinked, caught off guard by her words. For a moment, I felt a wave of something I hadn’t expected: comfort. Not pity, not sympathy, but an understanding that was hard to put into words.

“You’re right to feel overwhelmed,” Reedy continued, her voice low and measured, as though she were choosing her words carefully. “What you’re dealing with is... not small. The mark on your forehead, your connection to Crowe—it’s dangerous, Ren. And I know the toll it’s taking on you.” She gave me a pointed look, her eyes narrowing slightly. “But shutting yourself off and pretending you can handle it alone is only making things harder.”

I shook my head, more out of frustration than anything else. “I don’twantto be this person. I don’t want to be the one who needs protection or… whatever this is. I just want to be normal. I just want to be good enough.”

Professor Reedy’s expression softened, her lips pressing into a line before she sighed deeply. “You are good enough, Ren. But you can’t fight this alone. Youneedhelp.Realhelp. And sometimes, that means asking for it. Is there anyone you can talkto? Someone outside of everything that’s going on? Perhaps a friend, or a family member.”

I thought of my family back in Pennsylvania. They might try to understand, but all of this was so far outside their experience, the best they could do was listen and sympathize. I needed someone who understood magic. Someone who understood me.

But not Dorian. I was already leaning so much on him. I didn’t want to burden him further.

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