Magic in My Bones (Delightfully Dark Arts #1)

1. Welcome to Blackstone

1

Welcome to Blackstone

Ren

I tripped on my way out of the cab and made a graceful entrance face-first into the cobblestone. Two seconds on campus, and I was already earning a gold star in the art of awkwardness. Truly, my talents knew no bounds.

I sighed, dusting off my faded jeans and checking my phone. 10:47 AM. At least I wasn't late. The orientation packet had said new students could arrive anytime before four. Plenty of time to get settled before the welcome dinner at six. I caught my reflection in a nearby window. Dark hair fell into eyes that my mom always said were the color of storm clouds, a slim build that made me look more like a dancer than a necromancer. The old hoodie I wore probably wasn't helping my case, its sleeve frayed where I constantly worried the hem. But hey, at least I'd remembered to put on my single "nice" shirt underneath. Black, of course, because I did have some standards to maintain as a future master of death magic.

I grabbed my battered suitcase, handed the cabbie a tip that probably didn't cover the damage I’d done to my dignity, and took a moment to appreciate the view.

Blackstone Academy loomed ahead like every gothic cathedral's evil twin had a growth spurt. The black stone seemed to eat what little sunlight made it through the clouds, and gargoyles sneered down at me from above like they were judging my secondhand robes.

The other students definitely didn't shop at thrift stores like I did. They glided around in everything from jewel-toned traditional robes to modern blazers with actual moving sigils. I caught snippets of their conversations as I passed. Something about summoning circles and summers in places I couldn't even find on a map. Great.

I hefted my suitcase and made my way up the steps, trying not to get distracted by the swirling pit of dread in my stomach. The door swung open with a dramatic creak. The air inside held that peculiar mix of scents: old books, hints of herbs and incense, and underneath it all, the metallic tang of raw magic. The stone walls seemed to hum with contained power, making my teeth buzz slightly. A wave of cold air washed over me that smelled like mint and ozone instead of normal air conditioning. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear the low, melodious hum of protective wards, like a thousand whispered secrets all at once.

My crumpled orientation letter looked like it had been written in code. I checked it for the hundredth time and tried to decipher the spider-scratch handwriting that directed me to the Moonvale wing, third floor. I lifted my suitcase, wincing as it banged against the steps, no doubt leaving scuff marks on the polished marble.

The corridors were a sensory overload: the click-clack of dress shoes on marble competing with the whoosh of levitation spells, someone's failed potion sending up clouds of sparkly smoke that smelled like burning sugar and regret, and the constant background tingles of so much magic in the air my fingertips felt numb. A nearby portrait sneezed, scattering painted dust that disappeared before it hit the floor.

After getting lost twice, I finally found the room I was looking for. The door had a brass nameplate that read “Wickens & Bramblewood.”

I raised my hand to knock, then hesitated. What if my roommate hated me already? What if he was a legacy magic prodigy with a flair for dramatic entrances, and I was just the embarrassing kid who tripped over his own feet?

I took a deep breath, knocked, and waited for... nothing. I knocked again. Crickets.

I pushed open the door with an appropriately ominous creak. “Hello?” My voice echoed through the room, sounding way smaller than I intended.

I stepped into the room and blinked, trying to adjust to the dim lighting. Heavy velvet curtains blocked out most of the sunlight, casting everything in a purplish gloom. The air was thick with the smell of earth and green things, like stepping into a greenhouse after rain. Something rustled in the corner. It was probably just a plant, but with magic schools, you never knew. The floorboards creaked under my feet, but it was a friendly sort of creak, like they were saying hello. Somewhere, a clock ticked with an oddly musical chime, and I swore I could hear the plants growing, a soft whisper of leaves unfurling in the purple-tinted darkness. The walls were painted a deep, midnight blue, and were covered in an eclectic mix of folk music band posters and intricate tapestries depicting various magical sigils.

One side of the room was still bare, like a blank canvas waiting for me to make my mark. But the other side? Well, it looked like I’d stumbled into a jungle. Vines hung from the ceiling like something out of a nature documentary. They snaked around the bedposts and bookshelves like they were trying to stage a coup. Potted plants of every shape and size crowded the desk and windowsill. Some of them even had that unearthly glow that made me wonder if they were secretly magic.

The bed, meanwhile, was buried under a mountain of plush pillows in every shade of green you could imagine, topped off with a patchwork quilt that looked like it had been sewn together from the remnants of the forest floor. I half-expected a squirrel to pop out and give me a welcoming hug.

It was like stepping into a hidden glade, a cozy little woodland escape in the middle of a gothic nightmare. I felt a flicker of excitement stir in my chest. Whoever my roommate was, they clearly had an unshakable bond with nature, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief. It was a welcome contrast to the sterile, utilitarian room I’d been half-expecting.

I was so lost in absorbing the greenery around me that I didn’t hear the door creak open behind me.

“Oh!”

I spun around, only to find a guy frozen in the doorway, fern in hand, looking like he’d just walked in on me doing something embarrassing. His eyes were wide with surprise, and the fern he was carrying brushed against his chin like it had a mind of its own.

For a moment, we just stared at each other like a couple of confused deer in headlights.

I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing. The guy standing in front of me had sun-kissed skin and a wiry build. But it wasn’t his physique that caught my attention. It was the pair of elegant, tawny horns sprouting from his forehead, nestled among a mess of dark curls, some of which were decorated with little flowers and vines. It was like someone had taken a forest and turned it into a person.

He shifted the fern to his hip and gave me a shy smile that looked like it had been hand-crafted by a woodland sprite. “You must be Ren,” he said, his voice soft and melodic, with an accent I couldn’t quite place. “I’m Luca. Luca Bramblewood.”

I blinked again, still processing the whole part faun situation. “Uh… yeah, that’s me," I stammered, still trying to wrap my head around it. “Nice to meet you.”

Luca ducked his head, and I swore I saw his cheeks flush a little. “Sorry for sneaking up on you,” he said, glancing at the fern like it was his precious baby. “I was in the greenhouse, picking up this beauty. Isn’t she glorious?”

I couldn’t help but smile at the sheer enthusiasm in his voice. “Uh… yeah,” I said, stepping aside so he could squeeze past me. “You must have quite the green thumb.”

Luca beamed, his eyes practically twinkling. “It’s a gift,” he said, gently caressing one of the fern’s fronds. “Plants have always spoken to me, even when people couldn’t.”

His voice held a note of wistfulness that hit me somewhere deep. I didn’t even need to ask to know what he meant. The world of people could be tricky, but at least plants didn’t judge.

Luca gently placed the fern on his desk, tucking it carefully among the other plants as if it were a fragile treasure. As he did, I couldn’t help but glance down at his ankles. Which, to my surprise, were covered in soft, dark fur and ended in cloven hooves instead of feet. It was such an unexpected sight that I’m pretty sure my mouth fell open.

Luca caught me staring, his hooves shifting uncomfortably from side to side. “Yeah, I know I'm not exactly what people expect,” he said, with a laugh that sounded only slightly forced. “Half-faun, half-witch. Try finding that checkbox on school forms.”

I quickly snapped my eyes away, my cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and curiosity. I was all too familiar with the feeling of being the object of attention—the way people’s eyes lingered in places they shouldn’t, their unspoken questions thick in the air.

“Oh! Sorry,” I blurted, feeling the weight of my awkwardness settle in. “I didn’t mean to stare. I’m just... not the best at meeting new people.” I let out a big sigh, shoulders slumping in a way that felt way too dramatic for the situation.

“Me neither,” he said, making a show of glancing around at the room like he was looking for an escape route. “But here’s the good news: at Blackstone, you’re never really alone in the ‘oddity’ department.” He waved a hand around. “We’ve all got magic! And then there’s Blackstone Academy itself. My stepmom said that if I stick to small talk about people's specializations and the place itself, it totally counts as normal conversation. She's basically a conversation expert. She runs this huge magical herb shop back home where everyone comes to gossip and buy tea.” He grinned sheepishly. “But look at me, already messing it up with rambling.”

I couldn’t help but snicker at his spiraling. There was something weirdly comforting about meeting someone else who seemed to collect awkwardness like I collected embarrassing moments. Maybe we could start a club.

“No, no! You’re doing great,” I reassured him. “Honestly, I’m just relieved my roommate isn’t some high-and-mighty magic snob.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that with me. I much prefer the company of plants to people. They’re way less judgy.” He paused, looking horrified. “Not that I’m calling you judgy… I mean, unless you want to be a plant. Wait, no, that sounded weird.”

I burst out laughing, waving my hand dramatically. “It’s okay, I get it! Plants are like the best listeners. They never interrupt or give unsolicited advice.”

Luca’s face lit up like he’d just been handed a compliment from the universe. “Exactly! And if you listen carefully, they’ve got stories , you know? They’ve been through a lot, those little guys.” He ran his fingers gently over a fern leaf, eyes closed in bliss as if it were the most important thing in the world.

I watched him for a moment, feeling an unexpected sense of kinship. Here was someone who, like me, found comfort in the quiet, unassuming presence of nature. Maybe I wasn’t so alone in this strange new place after all.

“So, uh...” I hesitated, remembering Luca's advice about small talk. “What’s your specialization?”

He arched an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. “Guess.”

I tapped my chin, feigning deep concentration. “Hmm... herbalism?”

Luca burst into laughter. “What gave it away? The entire forest overtaking my side of the room, or the fact that I literally just waltzed in cradling a fern like it was a newborn baby?”

I grinned, feeling the tension in my shoulders finally loosen. “Both, I suppose. But the fern was definitely the final nail in the coffin. Not every day you see someone treating a plant like it's royalty.”

“Oh, but she's not just any plant,” Luca said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “This, my dear friend, is a Whispering Fern. Legend has it that on a full moon night, if you listen really closely, you can hear the deepest secrets of the forest.”

He leaned in, dropping his voice to a mock-dramatic whisper. “Of course, most of those secrets are about which trees are feuding, or which rabbits are sneaking around with the wrong kind of carrots, but hey, secrets are secrets.”

I snorted, fighting back a grin. “I’ll keep that in mind. Next time I need some juicy gossip, I’ll be sure to check in with the ferns. Though I might need to brush up on my rabbit dialect first.”

Luca let out a delighted laugh, then tilted his head, sizing me up like I was some kind of riddle. “So, what about you? What’s your story? What brings you to the grand and mysterious Blackstone Academy?”

I hesitated, that familiar twist of anxiety curling in my gut. “Necromancy,” I said, bracing for the usual reaction where people either back away slowly or start looking for the nearest exit. “I know, it’s not the most... cheerful field.”

But Luca didn’t flinch. Instead, he gave a thoughtful nod. “Necromancy, huh? That’s a lot to take on. I can only imagine the kind of compassion it must take to work with the dead.”

His words were so unexpected, I nearly tripped over my own thoughts. Most people recoiled when I mentioned my path, like I’d just confessed to being a serial killer. But Luca? He spoke about it like it was a sacred art form, like he got it.

“It’s not the easiest,” I said, my voice soft. “I just... I wanted to understand that barrier better, you know? Between life and death. Maybe help others cross it more gently when their time comes.” I ducked my head, suddenly very interested in my worn sneakers. “Plus, someone's got to help the ghosts figure out their unfinished business, right? Can't leave them hanging around forever playing invisible pranks on the living. It feels... right, you know?”

He nodded sagely. “Like me and my plants.”

I smiled, feeling a connection I hadn’t expected. Maybe this whole roommate thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Just then, something small and shiny zipped past my face, making me do an ungraceful double-take. A flicker of movement, like a miniature comet, darted out from behind the curtains. It circled Luca’s head a couple of times, then zoomed right up to hover in front of my face.

I blinked, trying to focus on the tiny creature. It was a sprite no bigger than my palm with gossamer wings that shimmered like stained glass. Its body was made of twisted vines and leaves, with little acorn-cap shoes and a hat crafted from dandelion fluff. It had the brightest, most mischievous eyes, like a tiny troublemaker caught in a good mood.

It flitted around my head, poking and prodding at my hair, my ears, and even the tip of my nose, chittering away in a language I couldn’t even begin to understand. I stood perfectly still, terrified that one wrong move might squash the delicate creature.

Luca chuckled softly, shaking his head in fond exasperation. “Thistle, give the poor guy some space. He just got here, and you’re already harassing him.”

Thistle, the sprite with the sass of a thousand toddlers, made an indignant little huff and darted back to perch on Luca's shoulder. Its tiny arms were crossed in a pout, and it looked like it had just been accused of stealing the last cookie. Luca reached up and gave its leafy head a gentle stroke, the most affectionate smile spreading across his face.

“Sorry about that,” he said, turning back to me with a sheepish grin. “Thistle gets very excited when there’s a new person. He's harmless, really. Just very curious. And extremely fond of mischief.”

As if on cue, Thistle stuck out a tiny, sparkly green tongue at me and giggled, disappearing behind Luca's curls like a mischievous little gremlin.

I couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s okay,” I said, still grinning. “I’m just not used to being ambushed by miniature plant people. Is he your familiar?”

Luca nodded, his eyes soft with affection as he gazed at his sprite. “Yep, Thistle and I go way back. Freshman fundamentals, actually. He’s more than just a magical buddy, though. He’s my best friend, my confidant. The Puck to my Oberon, if you will.”

I chuckled, shaking my head in mock disbelief. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you both,” I said, waving at Thistle, who gave me a cheeky grin in return. His little pout was completely gone, replaced with a look that said, I’m definitely up to something.

“How long have you been here?” I asked, gesturing to his already-jungle-like side of the room.

Luca shrugged, adjusting a vine that seemed determined to strangle his bedpost. “Just since yesterday. The greenhouse staff needed help with some temperamental moonflowers, and since I'm doing work-study in herbology...” He grinned. “Perks of the job include early move-in and unlimited access to plant cuttings.”

I turned to my side of the room and took in the stark, minimalist vibe. Blank walls. Bare mattress. It was... well, it was definitely mine. A blank canvas just waiting for me to make it a little less... sad. Maybe I could scrounge up some old anatomical diagrams for the walls, or…Oh, a skull paperweight. Definitely a skull paperweight. That’d class it up, right?

I hefted my suitcase onto the bed with a loud grunt and began unpacking. My robes were secondhand but in decent shape, so I folded them carefully, arranging them like they were fragile treasures, and started placing my possessions on the shelves.

As I was shoving my empty suitcase under the bed, a burst of laughter rang out from the hallway. I glanced up just in time to see a group of upperclassmen strolling past, their robes perfectly tailored and their faces glowing with confidence. They moved like they’d been born to glide through life effortlessly, like they were destined to wear those robes.

But then, my eyes caught the one in the middle. The man who somehow seemed to stand out, even in a crowd of people who looked like they knew they belonged. He was tall, with a kind of graceful presence that made him seem like he’d been carved from some divine marble. His auburn hair was thick and soft, falling in waves around his face, and his eyes were a rich shade of green, smart and full of mystery.

As I watched, he threw his head back and laughed at something a student said. The sound was warm, melodic. A perfect note that hit me straight in the chest, like the opening chord of a cello. It sent a shiver down my spine, but not the bad kind. More like the kind you get when you hear a song you never knew you needed.

I blinked and snapped out of it, suddenly aware that I’d been staring for a little too long. Great. Now that was awkward.

“That's Professor Crowe,” Luca said, his voice practically glowing with admiration. “He's a master of necromancy. Usually teaches the advanced courses. He's probably here early to help the legacy students set up their family wards. You know, protective spells passed down through generations. Most professors won't arrive until tomorrow, but he lives full time on the grounds.”

“Professor?” I echoed, my eyes still glued to the tall, impossibly cool figure. He looked far too youthful to be a teacher and more like someone who had just walked off the cover of the Magical Men of the Fae Age magazine.

Luca nodded sagely. “Don’t let his age fool you. The Crowe family is basically magical royalty, with a lineage that goes all the way back to the Fae Age. He’s got more magic in his blood than most of the rest of the school put together.”

“Magical royalty?” I repeated, still staring at Professor Crowe’s entourage as they disappeared around the corner. “Like… prince of necromancers or something?”

“Yep. There are legacy mages, and then there are legacy mages.” Luca threw me a teasing grin. “Lucky for you, I’m as much of a nobody as you are when it comes to that. At least, I think that’s lucky.”

I tore my gaze away from the now-empty hallway, feeling a mix of awe and mild terror. The idea of being taught by someone like Professor Crowe with his ancient magical lineage and that entirely too cool vibe was thrilling, sure, but also terrifying. What if I ended up tripping over my own feet in front of him? What if he took one look at my secondhand robes and my clearly not royal background and decided to just nope right out of the class?

As if summoned by my anxiety, Professor Crowe suddenly paused at our doorway, those intense green eyes sweeping over our room. “Ah, Mr. Bramblewood,” he said. “I see you've already started transforming your space into a greenhouse.” His gaze shifted to me, and I swear my heart did a complicated gymnastics routine. “And you must be Mr. Wickens. You’re in my department, yes?”

I managed what I hoped was a professional nod, but probably looked more like a nervous twitch. “Yes, sir.” Great. Real smooth, Ren.

He smiled. It was just a small quirk of his lips, but it transformed his whole face into something almost boyish. “No need for 'sir,' Mr. Wickens. Professor Crowe will do.” Then he was gone, leaving behind only the faint scent of old books and something earthy, like freshly turned grave soil. The air where he'd stood still crackled faintly, like the aftermath of lightning, and the temperature slowly crept back to normal. Even the plants seemed to settle, their leaves no longer quite so attentive. I hadn't even noticed they'd all turned to face him while he was here, like sunflowers tracking the sun.

“Did you see that?” I whispered to Luca once I was sure Professor Crowe was out of earshot. “He knows my name. I'm going to die.”

“Technically, that's his job to prevent,” Luca quipped, but he gave me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Come on. I’ll help you finish unpacking and then… Want to grab lunch? The dining hall won't be too crowded yet. Most new students won't arrive until later this afternoon. I’ll show you all the best spots to eat.”

I took a deep breath, letting the tension in my shoulders slip away. Luca flashed a grin at me, and despite the nerves, the awkwardness, and the general weirdness of the whole situation, I found myself looking forward to my first day at Blackstone Academy for the Dark Arts.