Page 14 of Magic in My Bones

“May I?” He held out a hand and after a moment's hesitation, I let the caterpillar inch its way onto his palm

“Ren,” he breathed, his voice soft with reverence as he watched the caterpillar crawl over his palm. The late afternoon light caught in his hair, turning the rich auburn strands to burning copper. His hands, elegant and sure as they cradled my familiar, moved with the kind of careful grace that made my breath catch. There was something intensely intimate about watching him handle the tiny creature with such gentleness, such reverence.

“The thing about magical creatures,” he continued, his voice dropping to that soft, warm tone that always made me feel like we were sharing secrets, “is that they often see what we cannot see in ourselves.” His eyes met mine, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe. “They're drawn to potential, to possibility. To the person we're becoming rather than the person we think we are. Do you have any idea what you've summoned?”

I blinked at him, confused. “Uh, a caterpillar? A really underwhelming, disappointing caterpillar that will probably get me laughed out of Blackstone?” The words tasted bitter on my tongue.

Dorian shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his handsome face. “No, Ren. Not just any caterpillar. This is an Actias arcanum. They're incredibly rare and highly sought after in the necromantic arts.”

I stared at him blankly. “It is? But...it's so... squishy. And green. How can something that looks like a wrinkled pickle be important in necromancy?”

He chuckled. “Ah, but you're only seeing it as it is, not what itcan be. Given time and care, this little one will undergo a magnificent transformation and emerge as something new and breathtaking.”

I gazed at the caterpillar in Dorian’s palm, trying to see it through his eyes. The creature continued its slow journey across his skin, unaware of the wonder it had inspired. The little creature paused in its journey across Dorian's palm, rearing up as if to look at us. Its segments shifted, revealing tiny iridescent markings that shimmered like starlight caught in dewdrops. For just a moment, in the right light, I could have sworn I saw the shadow of what it might become, a creature of gossamer wings and moonlight made tangible.

“You know,” Dorian mused, watching the caterpillar's iridescent markings shimmer, “in old necromantic texts, they speak of death not as an ending, but as the ultimate transformation. The ancients believed that every significant change carried a kind of death within it. The death of who we used to be, making space for who we're becoming.” He glanced at me, his eyes warm with understanding. “It's why necromancers often have a particular gift for recognizing the beauty in transformation. We understand that something precious must be released before something new can emerge.”

I found myself nodding, thinking of all the versions of myself I'd had to let go of to become who I was now. Each one a kind of death, yes, but also a kind of birth. “Is that why the spirits sentme this little guy? Because they knew I'd understand about... changing?”

“The spirits,” Dorian said with a gentle smile, “often see the poetry in such connections.”

“What will he become?” I asked hesitantly.

“Well, that, like so many things, depends on what you feed it. Every transformation requires nurturing,” Dorian continued, his voice gentle. “Whether it's a caterpillar becoming a moth, a student becoming a mage, or...” he paused, his eyes meeting mine with understanding, “or someone becoming who they truly are. The key is having faith in the process, even when others can't see the magic happening beneath the surface.”

I felt a lump form in my throat at his words. It was like he could see right through me, not just to who I was, but to who I was becoming. “But what if...” I swallowed hard, voicing my deepest fear, “what if people are disappointed with the end result?”

Dorian's expression softened further. “True transformation isn't about meeting others' expectations, Ren. It's about becoming the most authentic version of yourself. And anyone who can't appreciate that beauty isn't looking closely enough.” He held the caterpillar aloft, watching it inch along his finger. “Nurture him with a steady diet of love and compassion and it will become a creature of beauty, its ethereal glow capable of guiding even the most wayward souls on the darkest night. Feed it raw potential and power, and it will produce a powder that is highly sought after for resurrection rituals. Feed it whispers, and it will weave a shroud that allows one to pass seamlessly between the world of the living and the dead.”

I gaped at him, hardly daring to believe it. “So you're saying... I didn't summon a dud familiar?”

“Far from it,” Dorian replied with a warm smile. “You've called forth a companion of exceptional potential. One that willgrow and transform alongside you.” He carefully transferred the caterpillar back into my cupped palms.

I looked down at the small green creature with new eyes, wonder bubbling up to replace the bitter disappointment from before. “I didn't realize,” I murmured. “I feel so stupid for how I reacted.”

“You reacted exactly as most would when their expectations aren't immediately met,” Dorian reassured me. “What matters is where you go from here. This little one has a long journey ahead of him... and so do you.”

I blinked down at the caterpillar, watching it explore my palm with a newfound sense of awe. Professor Crowe's words echoed in my mind, filling me with a tentative flicker of hope. Maybe I hadn't screwed up the summoning after all. Maybe this little guy and I were meant to take this journey together, even if it wasn't the path I had imagined.

“Thank you, Dorian,” I said softly, finally meeting his eyes. “I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't found me.”

One corner of the professor’s mouth quirked up in a gentle smile. “It's my job to guide my students, Ren. Both in the classroom and beyond.” He placed a warm hand on my shoulder and my heart stuttered in my chest at the contact. “Never be afraid to ask for help when you need it. You don't have to go through this alone.”

“I'll try to remember that,” I replied, hoping he couldn't feel the way I trembled beneath his touch. Stars, but he was even more devastatingly handsome up close. The flecks of gold in his green eyes, the stray curl falling over his forehead, the hint of stubble shadowing his sculpted jawline...

I mentally shook myself.Get a grip, Ren. The last thing I needed was to develop an even more debilitating crush on my professor. It was already bad enough that I was crushing on one of my professors to begin with.

Dorian gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze before releasing me and settling back on his heels. “I know I’ve said this before, but my door is always open, Ren. For anything you might need. Guidance with your new familiar, questions about class... or even if you just want to talk.” He paused, seeming to consider his next words carefully. “And while I don't want to make assumptions, I did want to extend an invitation, just in case it might be of interest to you. As the faculty advisor for Blackstone's LGBTQ+ Alliance, I wanted to let you know we're having our first meeting of the semester this evening. It's a welcoming space for students of all identities to find community and support. Well, and cupcakes. We almost always have cupcakes.”

I blinked in surprise, a warm flutter unfurling in my chest at the thoughtfulness of his offer. It was true that coming to Blackstone as a transgender man had been isolating at times. As thrilled as I was to finally have a body that felt like home, I sometimes wished there were others there that understood. The idea of connecting with other queer students held a lot of appeal.

“I didn't know Blackstone had an LGBTQ+ Alliance,” I admitted.

His smile widened. “It's a relatively new organization, but one that's very close to my heart. As an openly gay man myself, I know how important it is to have a supportive community, especially in an environment like Blackstone that can feel... rather traditional at times. Magic, like identity, isn't always what others expect it to be,” Dorian said, absently adjusting his sleeve cuff. “When I first realized I had an affinity for death magic, many thought it was... unsuitable. Too dark, too different. But it was who I was. Who I am. Just like being gay, just like your journey. Sometimes the path that's right for us isn't the one others would choose.” He smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “But I've found that the most interesting people are oftenthose who dare to be authentically themselves, regardless of convention.”

My eyes widened at his casual admission. Dorian was gay? That information sent a whole colony of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I quickly tamped them down, reminding myself sternly that he was my professor and any feelings beyond academic admiration were strictly off-limits.

“That sounds really great, actually,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Something warm and hopeful unfurled in my chest—not just because Dorian was gay, but because he seemed to understand the importance of creating safe spaces. Of making room for people to be themselves, even in a place as traditional as Blackstone. “I'd love to come to the meeting, if that's okay.”

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