7. Chasing Joy
7
Chasing Joy
Ren
Luca peered at the caterpillar with a mix of fascination and concern. “So he’s going to transform into a moth?”
“Eventually,” I said, absently turning another page in my summoning theory textbook.
Books were stacked in precarious towers around us, their leather bindings worn soft with age and use. I'd draped black velvet over the standard-issue desk lamp, giving the room a softer glow that made the brass fixtures gleam like cat's eyes in the dark. The whole effect was rather like studying in a Victorian naturalist's private library, if that naturalist had a particular fondness for the macabre.
A jar of cemetery dirt sat on my windowsill (properly consecrated, of course), next to a collection of oddly shaped bottles I'd been slowly filling with various magical essences. One contained captured moonlight, another held pressed flowers from the ossuary garden, and a third swirled with what looked like liquid shadows.
As Luca leaned in closer, his sprite familiar Thistle fluttered over to investigate the peculiar caterpillar. He hovered just above it, gossamer wings shimmering with curiosity. The caterpillar, seemingly unperturbed by the attention, continued its methodical journey across my desk, leaving a trail of minuscule silk strands in its wake. The silk wasn't ordinary either. In the right light, it seemed to shimmer with tiny runes, like the caterpillar was unconsciously weaving spells as it moved.
“What are you going to name him?” Luca asked, his voice soft with wonder.
I glanced up from my textbook, a wry smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “I haven't really thought about it yet. I suppose I should come up with something fitting for a future moth familiar.”
Thistle, apparently deciding the caterpillar posed no threat, plopped gently on its back. The caterpillar paused, its tiny antennae twitching as it assessed the sudden presence of the sprite. Then, to my surprise, it began to crawl forward once more, undeterred by its newfound passenger.
Luca's eyes sparkled with delight as he watched the unlikely pair. “They seem to be getting along well,” he mused, a hint of amusement in his tone. “Kinda like you and Professor Crowe, huh?” He gave me a knowing wink.
My cheeks grew warm. “I don't know what you're talking about,” I mumbled, suddenly finding the pages of my textbook incredibly fascinating.
Luca's grin only widened. “Oh, come on, Ren. I miss out on about eighty percent of most social cues and even I see it.”
I sighed, leaning back in my chair. The caterpillar, with Thistle still perched on its back, had made its way to the edge of the desk. I watched as it began its descent, lowering itself on a delicate strand of silk.
“He’s a professor, Luca,” I said quietly.
“So?”
“So, there are rules. Even if there was something there, and I’m not saying there is, I’m pretty sure it’s against the rules.”
“Only until Professor Reedy comes back from medical leave,” Luca said with a shrug. “Crowe is just filling in for her, you know.”
As I pondered Luca's words, a flicker of movement caught my eye. The caterpillar had reached the floor and was now determinedly making its way towards my bookshelf. I watched, transfixed, as it navigated the treacherous terrain of discarded socks and crumpled papers with a single-minded purpose.
“Uh, Ren?” Luca's voice pulled me from my reverie. “I think your little friend has found something it likes.”
I followed his gaze to see the caterpillar perched on the spine of my grimoire, its mandibles working furiously as it munched on the ancient leather binding. Thistle fluttered nearby, seemingly cheering on the caterpillar's destructive endeavor.
“Oh, for the love of—” I jumped up, carefully scooping the caterpillar into my palm. It wriggled in protest, a scrap of leather still dangling from its jaws. “You can't eat that,” I chided gently. “It's a very important grimoire!”
Luca chuckled, his eyes dancing with mirth. “Looks like you've got a little book worm in the making there.”
I shot him a wry look. “Great. Just what I need. A caterpillar with a taste for forbidden knowledge.”
As I held the squirming caterpillar, an idea struck me. “You know what? I think I've got the perfect name for this little guy.” I grinned at Luca. “I'm going to call him Grim.”
Luca raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Grim? As in, short for grimoire?”
“Exactly,” I said. “It's only fitting, given his apparent fondness for devouring ancient tomes of forbidden knowledge.”
Thistle flitted around my head, leaving a trail of glittering fairy dust in his wake. He seemed to approve of the name, if his enthusiastic aerial acrobatics were any indication.
I gently placed Grim back on the desk, watching as he immediately set off in search of more literary sustenance. The little caterpillar had a voracious appetite, and I couldn't help but admire his tenacity.
As I watched Grim's determined progress across the desk, a sudden realization hit me. “Oh, shit!” I exclaimed, leaping to my feet. “The queer alliance club meeting! I completely forgot!”
Luca glanced at the clock on the wall, his eyes widening. “Didn't that start, like, five minutes ago?”
I cursed under my breath, hastily shoving my books into my satchel. Grim, startled by the sudden flurry of activity, curled into a tight ball on the corner of the desk. I scooped him up gently, placing him in the terrarium I'd prepared earlier. “Sorry, little guy,” I murmured. “Duty calls.”
Slinging my satchel over my shoulder, I turned to Luca. “I've gotta run. Can you keep an eye on Grim for me? Make sure he doesn't eat my homework?”
Luca grinned, giving me a mock salute. “You got it, boss. Thistle and I will make sure he stays out of trouble.”
I flashed him a grateful smile before dashing out the door, my heart pounding in my chest. The ancient stone halls of Blackstone Academy stretched before me, a labyrinth of gothic arches and flickering lights. My footsteps echoed off the worn flagstones as I hurried through the corridors, dodging the occasional startled ghost or mischievous watcher spirit.
As I rounded a corner, I nearly collided with a towering suit of armor. It creaked ominously, its empty helm turning to follow my progress. I muttered a hasty apology, sidestepping the enchanted guardian and pressing onward.
I'd never been to an LGBTQ+ alliance meeting before. Hell, I'd never really been part of any sort of community like that. Growing up in a small town, there hadn't been many opportunities to connect with other queer folks. And after coming out as transgender, well... let's just say my social life had taken a bit of a nosedive. But here at Blackstone, things were different. Here, I had a chance to find my people. To belong.
As I approached Willow Commons, I could see the warm glow of lights spilling out from the windows. The building was a cozy little cottage tucked just off the main courtyard.
I paused just outside the door, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. Through the leaded glass, I could see the shadowy forms of people moving about inside, their laughter and chatter drifting out into the evening air. With a final surge of courage, I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The room was everything a witch's cottage should be. Overstuffed armchairs were draped with hand-knitted throws, knick-knacks everywhere, and a hearth fire that changed colors based on the mood of the room. Someone had enchanted houseplants to grow in impossible ways, creating living archways between different conversation nooks. The whole space felt like stepping into the kind of home I'd always dreamed of having someday. It was a place where magic and comfort intertwined so naturally you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
As I hovered uncertainly in the doorway, a familiar figure detached itself from the crowd and made its way towards me. Professor Crowe wore a deep burgundy sweater, dark trousers, and a warm smile. “Ren! I'm so glad you could make it.”
My cheeks flushed at his earnest welcome. “Sorry I'm late, Professor. I got a bit... distracted.”
Professor Crowe chuckled, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. “No worries. These things aren’t really so formal. People come and go as they please. We're just happy to have you here.” He placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, steering me towards the center of the room. “Come on, let me introduce you to some of the other members.”
Professor Crowe guided me into the heart of the gathering, his reassuring presence at my side. As we wove our way through the clusters of students, I spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd. There was Juniper, the elfin girl with the hummingbird familiar who always seemed to have her nose buried in some ancient tome. She caught my eye and waved, her smile warm and welcoming.
We passed by a group engaged in a lively discussion about the merits of various divination techniques. I recognized Orion from my divination basics class. They had an uncanny knack for reading tea leaves and were busy doing a reading for two others.
In the corner, a trio of students were practicing wandless magic, their fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air. Among them was Leif from my sigil study group with his shock of bright purple hair. He grinned at me as we passed, his eyes glinting with mischief.
Professor Crowe led me to a table laden with an assortment of drinks and snacks. The aroma of spiced cider and pumpkin bread filled the air, making my mouth water. “Help yourself,” he said, handing me a steaming mug. “Maeve's infamous cinnamon hot chocolate. It's a crowd favorite.”
I took a sip, letting the rich, velvety liquid warm me from the inside out. It was like a hug in a mug, warm with just the right amount of spice.
As I savored the comforting flavors of the hot chocolate, Professor Crowe smiled at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Go on, Ren. Enjoy yourself. Mingle. That’s what these events are for.”
I hesitated, my grip tightening on the mug of hot chocolate. “I'm not really sure where to start,” I admitted. “I've never been to anything like this before.”
Professor Crowe's expression softened, and he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “That's okay, Ren. Everyone here knows what it's like to feel out of place. But I promise you, this is a safe space. No one here will judge you.”
His words were like a balm to my frayed nerves, and I felt some of the tension drain from my body. I took another sip of the hot chocolate, letting its warmth fortify me. “Thanks, Professor. I appreciate that.”
He smiled, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze before dropping his hand. “Attaboy. I'll be around if you need anything.”
As he melted back into the crowd, I took a moment to gather my courage. The room buzzed with conversation and laughter, a warm hum of camaraderie that I desperately wanted to be a part of.
I took a deep breath and stepped forward, making my way towards a group of students gathered around a low table. They were engaged in what appeared to be a spirited game of tarot, the colorful cards spread out before them. As I approached, one of them looked up and smiled, her dark eyes sparkling with welcome.
“Hey there,” she said, scooting over to make room for me. “I'm Raven. Want to join us?”
I hesitated for a moment, then nodded, settling onto the plush cushion beside her. “I'm Ren,” I offered, setting my mug of hot chocolate on the table. “I'm new to all this.”
Raven grinned, sweeping her long, black hair over one shoulder. “We'll show you the ropes. Ever played tarot before?”
I shook my head, eyeing the cards with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. “No, but I'm willing to learn.”
The others at the table introduced themselves. There was Lorcan, a willowy non-binary person with a shock of green hair, and Duncan, a burly guy with a beard that seemed to have a life of its own. They walked me through the basics of the game, their easy banter and gentle teasing putting me at ease.
As the evening wore on, I found myself relaxing into the warmth of the gathering. The conversation flowed effortlessly, ranging from the mundane details of coursework to magic theory.
Around us, the common room buzzed with activity. A group of students huddled around a scrying mirror, their faces illuminated by the swirling mists within. In the corner, a pair of witches were engaged in a heated debate over the merits of using sage versus rosemary in cleansing rituals. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and spices, mingling with the warm aroma of pumpkin bread.
The tarot game wound down, and the group began to disperse. I found myself lingering, not quite ready to let go of the warm camaraderie of the evening. I busied myself with tidying the cards, my fingers tracing the intricate designs etched into their weathered surfaces.
The common room had taken on a softer, more intimate atmosphere. The once-roaring fire had died down to glowing embers, casting a gentle warmth over the room. Shadows danced along the stone walls, playing hide-and-seek with the flickering candlelight.
As I placed the last of the tarot cards back in their worn velvet pouch, I became aware of a presence beside me. I glanced up to find Professor Crowe, his green eyes soft in the dim light. He smiled, a gentle curve of his lips that made my heart skip a beat.
“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he said, his voice low and warm. “I'm glad you decided to come.”
I ducked my head, feeling a flush creep up my neck. “Thanks for inviting me.”
Professor Crowe settled into the armchair beside me, his long legs stretched out before him. In the flickering light of the dying fire, his features took on an almost ethereal quality, the planes and angles of his face softened by the warm glow. He leaned back, his posture relaxed and open, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes as he studied me.
I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, my fingers fiddling with the frayed edge of my sleeve. A sudden wave of self-consciousness washed over me, and I found myself second-guessing every aspect of my appearance. Did I pass well enough? Was there something about me that had given me away? The old, familiar fear of being clocked as trans reared its ugly head, twisting my insides into knots.
“Is everything all right?” he asked softly.
I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “I just...” I trailed off, unsure how to put my fears into words. “I was wondering why you invited me. To the club, I mean.” My voice came out small and uncertain, and I hated myself for it.
Dorian’s brow furrowed, a flicker of concern dancing in his green eyes. “I invited you because I thought you might enjoy it,” he said.
“Yes, but why this club?”
Dorian’s expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering in his emerald eyes. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he fixed me with an earnest gaze. “Ren, I... I hope I didn't overstep. I saw the changes in your student file, the updates to your name and gender marker. And I just thought...” He trailed off, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. “Well, I suppose I made certain assumptions, which, in retrospect, was a rather asinine thing to do, wasn’t it?” He sighed, running a hand through his chestnut hair. “I’m so sorry, Ren. It wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable. I never should’ve assumed—”
I held up a hand, cutting off Professor Crowe's apology. “No, it's...it's okay,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “You were right. I am transgender.” The words hung in the air between us, a truth I'd spoken aloud so rarely it still felt foreign on my tongue. “But that's not all I am.”
Professor Crowe nodded, his expression open and understanding. “Of course not,” he said softly. “I didn't mean to imply otherwise.”
I took a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. The crackling of the dying fire filled the silence, the embers casting a warm glow over the room. “Sometimes, it feels like that’s all anyone ever sees when they look at me. And what’s worse is that sometimes, when I look at myself, that’s all I see.”
The wood of his chair creaked as he sat forward. “Do you want to know what I see when I look at you, Ren Wickens? I see a brilliant young necromancer with immense potential. I see someone with incredible tenacity. Someone who's faced more challenges in his young life than most people face in a lifetime, and yet still has the courage to pursue his dreams.”
He reached out, tipping my chin up with his fingers, and my heart nearly jumped out of my chest. His gaze softened, sincere. “I see a stunning and handsome young man worthy of love. Worthy of joy.” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in. “Chase that joy, Ren, with all that you are. And don’t you dare ever let anyone tell you that you don’t deserve it.”
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to believe him. To see myself through his eyes, if only for a moment.
I swallowed hard, my voice barely above a whisper. “You really mean that?”
His lips tugged up in a warm smile. “Every word.”
The air between us crackled with an unspoken tension, a magnetic pull that drew me closer to him. His magic felt different here, away from the formality of the classroom. It was warmer, more personal. It reminded me of that night in the necropolis, when he'd found me practicing with the spirits. There was something about the way magic moved between us, like we were speaking a language only we understood. Even now, I could feel my own magic reaching for his unconsciously, like a plant turning toward sunlight.
I noticed things I tried so hard to ignore during class: the way his sweater sleeve was pushed up just enough to reveal a tattoo of Celtic knotwork around his wrist, the hint of silver threading through his hair at the temples, the way his eyes seemed to hold fragments of every shade of green I'd ever seen.
For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to close the distance between us. To feel the press of his lips against mine, to lose myself in his embrace. But even as the thought formed, I pushed it away, a sharp pang of guilt twisting in my gut.
He was my professor. My mentor. And I was just a student, young and na?ve and hopelessly out of my depth.
I pulled back, the moment shattering like a delicate glass orb dropped onto unforgiving flagstones. The spell was broken, reality rushing back in to fill the void left behind. Dorian blinked, as if waking from a dream, and leaned away, putting a respectable distance between us once more.
I swallowed hard, my heart still racing in my chest. Every book I'd ever read about magic talked about resonance, that moment when two magical signatures recognized each other, like instruments finding perfect harmony. I'd always thought it was just a pretty metaphor until now. Because what else could explain this feeling? This sense that something in me recognized something in him, like finding a door you didn't know you'd been looking for until it appeared?
But doors could be dangerous too. The most powerful magic often came disguised as the thing we wanted most. And right now, what I wanted was to believe that someone like Dorian could see past everything I wasn't yet, straight through to everything I could be.
The ghost of his touch lingered on my skin, a phantom warmth that sent shivers down my spine. I'd never been kissed before, never even come close to the kind of intimacy that had hung in the air between us just moments ago. The thought of it was both thrilling and terrifying, a dizzying rush of emotion that left me feeling unmoored.
Professor Crowe cleared his throat, his voice rough as he spoke. “It's getting late,” he said, glancing towards the darkened windows. “You should probably head back to your dorm. Wouldn't want you to miss curfew.”
I nodded, not trusting my voice. I gathered my things, my hands shaking slightly as I slung my backpack over my shoulder. Dorian walked me to the door and held it open for me.
As we stepped out into the cool night air, he turned to me, his expression soft. “Thank you for coming tonight, Ren. I…” He paused, seeming to think better of what he was about to say. Instead, he offered another warm smile. “Get some rest, Ren. Don’t forget, you deserve every bit of joy that comes your way. And I’ll see you in class.”
I nodded, suddenly feeling a little steadier, like the whole weight of everything wasn’t on my shoulders anymore. As I turned and started walking away, I heard his voice one last time, almost too quiet to hear. “Take care of yourself, Ren.”
I didn’t turn around this time, but I felt the words sink into me as I made my way into the night. The world felt a little different now, a little softer somehow, as if the darkness held a bit more light than it had before.