Page 9 of Magic in My Bones

“Do you know why I teach necromancy, Ren?” he asked softly, his eyes holding mine.

I swallowed. “Because you’re good at it?”

Professor Crowe chuckled, a rich, warm sound that sent a shiver down my spine. “Well, yes, there is that. But more importantly, I teach because I believe in the power of this art to heal, to bring comfort and understanding in the face of life's greatest mystery.”

He reached out, his long, elegant fingers coming to rest on my shoulder. I could feel the warmth of his touch, even through the fabric of my hoodie.

“Death comes for us all, Ren. Rich or poor, legacy or latent. In the end, we are all equal in its eyes. What matters is not where we come from, but how we choose to walk the path that is set before us. And we are all of us walking it together. Some of us move quickly. Some slowly. But the destination for every mortal being in this world, past, present, or future, is the same. Death unites us. And we are the sacred guardians of that unity.”

His words washed over me, sinking deep into my bones. I felt the weight of them, the profound truth and wisdom that they carried. In that moment, standing there with Professor Crowe's hand on my shoulder and the spirits dancing around us, I felt a sense of purpose settle over me, wrapping around my soul like a warm, comforting cloak.

“Thank you, Professor,” I whispered, my voice rough with emotion. “I think I needed to hear that.”

Professor Crowe smiled, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze before releasing me. “Anytime, Ren. My door is always open if you need to talk. About necromancy, or anything else.”

I nodded, a lump forming in my throat at the kindness in his eyes. “I appreciate that, sir.”

“Good heavens, call me Dorian,” he said, his smile taking on a slightly mischievous tilt. “At least when we're not in class. 'Sir' makes me feel ancient, and I'm not quite ready to join the ranks of the ghosts just yet.”

I laughed, some of the tension easing from my shoulders. “Then I won't let you down, Dorian,” I vowed, meeting his gaze with a newfound resolve.

A slow, enigmatic smile curved Professor Crowe's lips. “Oh, I have no doubt about that, Ren Wickens. No doubt at all.”

With a final nod, he turned and strode away, his long coat flaring out behind him like shadowy wings.

As I gathered my things to leave, I noticed something peculiar: where Professor Crowe had been standing, tiny luminescent mushrooms had sprouted between the cobblestones, their caps glowing with a soft, silvery light. I smiled, oddly touched by this small reminder that even in a place of death, new things could grow and flourish.

I stood there for a moment longer, watching the silvery mushrooms spread their gentle light across the cobblestones. One of the nearby spirits drifted down to brush against them, leaving trails of ghostly luminescence in its wake.

Something about that simple interaction, the way life and death and magic all wove together in this hidden place, made me smile. Maybe I didn't have generations of necromantic legacy behind me. Maybe I was still figuring out who I was and where I belonged. But here, in this city of the dead with its phantom gardens and spirit lights, surrounded by the whispered stories of countless souls... here, somehow, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be.

I adjusted my bag on my shoulder and headed back toward the surface, the spectral light bobbing along beside me like a tiny, friendly star. Behind me, the mushrooms continued to glow,marking the spot where something new had begun to grow in the heart of the necropolis.

One of the little spectral lights that had been hovering around during the lecture drifted down to bob near my shoulder, almost like it was offering to light my way back. “Thanks,” I whispered to it, and I swore it twinkled a little brighter in response.

4

Echoes

Dorian

I hunched over mydesk, the flickering candlelight casting a warm glow across the scattered tomes and parchments. The worn armchair in the corner, draped in a hand-knit throw, seemed to invite rest, but the Chain of Echoes, laid out on my desk, demanded my focus. It looked like little more than a long silver chain with engraved arcane markings, but I had spent hours muttering incantations, trying to get it to activate. Yet it remained stubbornly inert.

I grimaced at my cold tea, distracted by Bones’ rattling protest. A half-eaten scone, lavender and honey, stood as evidence of his efforts to keep me from neglecting myself.

“Yes, I’m being obsessive,” I muttered, adjusting his bow tie. “Gran would have my hide.”

Bones nudged his skull under my hand, his tail swishing with determination. Smiling, I scratched his head. “Maybe a walk is what I need.”

Bones shot toward the door, his eager clatter urging me to follow. I shrugged into my coat, stepped out into the misty night,and let the fog wrap around me like an old memory. Even here, an ocean away from Ireland, the air felt like home. It was cool, damp, and heavy with the scent of ancient spirits.

The storm's rumble echoed off the coast, filling the air with a tension I felt deep in my bones. The coming lightning, raw and untamed, sang to me, a whisper of power waiting to be harnessed.

Bones scampered ahead as I wandered through Blackstone's grounds, my thoughts lost on the Chain. What was I missing?

The earth beneath my feet turned soft as I entered the graveyard. Bones trotted between the weathered stones, and I ran my fingers along a crumbling angel statue, its serene face cracked, yet still beautiful in its decay.

We reached the necropolis, and Bones eagerly scurried inside. I followed, ducking into the City of the Dead, where tombs and sarcophagi lined the walls, glowing softly under enchanted candles. Spirit-lights bobbed between the graves, and magical implements floated, maintaining the delicate balance of this place.

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