9. Autumn Runes
9
Autumn Runes
Ren
I woke to the familiar chiming of distant bells. I blinked, groggy and disoriented, then shivered and pulled my blanket closer around my shoulders. As amazing as it was to have Luca as a roommate, he had the annoying habit of sleeping with the window cracked open. Over the last few weeks, the temperature had dropped, and I wasn’t used to the New England chill.
I sat up slowly, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the dim light filtering through the window. Outside, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft golden glow across the frost-covered campus. The ancient oak trees stood like silent sentinels, their leaves the color of fire. In the distance, I could see the spires of the academy's front gate, the stone facade bathed in the warm light of dawn.
My thoughts drifted to my family back home. I wondered how the twins, Lily and Ashley, were doing. Were they bickering over who got to use the bathroom first? Was Mom making them toast and jam or scrambled eggs with ketchup? Would she remember that Ashley liked her eggs runny and Lilly wanted them practically burnt? How was Genna doing in her algebra class? I knew she struggled with math. Maybe Denise was helping her. She’d always been better at math than me. A pang of homesickness twisted in my chest.
It had been hard, leaving them behind to come to Blackstone. But after years of feeling like an outsider in my own home, I knew I needed a fresh start. A place where I could be myself without the weight of my family's expectations and misunderstandings.
I watched frost patterns form on the half-open window. They reminded me of the way Lily and Ashley used to draw on our apartment windows in winter, their small fingers tracing pictures in the condensation while I made sure they didn't press too hard and crack the thin glass. Being the oldest of six meant always watching out for something. Even now, miles away at Blackstone, I couldn't shake the habit of worrying about them all.
I remembered the countless nights I stayed up late, helping the twins with their homework or reading stories to Genna until she fell asleep. I'd make sure they brushed their teeth and got to bed on time, then I'd pack their lunches for the next day, carefully dividing whatever food we had, so everyone got a fair share. Mom was always working, trying her best to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. She'd come home exhausted, her eyes weary but always filled with love for us, even if she didn’t always understand.
It wasn't easy, but we made it work. Denise, the second oldest, was my rock. She'd help me wrangle the younger ones, making sure they did their chores and stayed out of trouble. She had a way with them, always able to make them laugh and forget about our struggles for a little while.
I worried about them constantly now that I was gone. Were the twins remembering to do their homework? Was Genna making friends at her new school? Did they miss me as much as I missed them? The questions swirled in my mind, an endless loop of worry and longing.
But deep down, I knew I was in the right place.
I still couldn't quite believe I was here at Blackstone Academy. When the gilt-edged invitation first arrived, my hands had trembled as I opened the heavy envelope. The creamy parchment inside was embossed with the school crest, a soaring raven with a key clutched in its beak.
At first, I'd been wait-listed as an alternate candidate if someone else declined their spot. I'd tried not to get my hopes up. After all, what were the chances of a poor, transgender kid from the wrong side of the tracks getting into the most prestigious necromancy program in the country? It seemed about as likely as Grim turning down a snack.
But then, miraculously, a spot had opened up. Someone else's misfortune became my incredible stroke of luck. Not only was I accepted, but I was being offered a full scholarship that covered tuition, room and board, even a stipend for books and supplies. It was like something out of a dream.
Mom had cried when I told her, tears of joy and pride streaming down her face. She'd hugged me tightly, her strong arms enveloping me like they always had. Even though she struggled to understand what it meant for me to be trans, she'd never wavered in her love and support. She’d always pushed me to be true to who I was, and coming to Blackstone felt like the next step in becoming the version of me I was meant to be.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet flinching as they touched the cold hardwood floor. Luca was still snoring softly, his curly hair peeking out from under his quilt. I envied his ability to sleep through anything. Shivering, I grabbed my fluffy black robe from the hook on the wall and shrugged it on, wrapping it tightly around myself.
“Grim, breakfast time,” I called softly. There was a rustle from the small nest of shredded papers and scraps of fabric in the terrarium, and Grim's furry head popped out, antennae twitching. His caterpillar body had grown considerably, thanks to his voracious appetite for enchanted texts.
I rummaged through the stack of grimoires on my bookshelf until I found the one I was looking for: a tattered volume bound in dark blue leather, its pages worn and musty. I'd picked it up for a steal at the used grimoire store tucked away in a cobblestoned alley near campus. The proprietor, a hunched old man with a wiry beard, had raised a bushy eyebrow when I brought it to the counter. If only he’d known I’d meant for it to be caterpillar food.
I flipped through the grimoire until I found a promising page, the runes shimmering with a faint indigo light. Tearing it out carefully, I crumbled it into Grim's food dish. He scurried over, his mandibles clicking excitedly as he began to devour the enchanted paper.
As Grim munched away, I got dressed, pulling on a thick charcoal sweater and my favorite pair of soft black jeans. I ran my fingers through my sleep-tousled hair, trying to tame the unruly waves into some semblance of order. Catching my reflection in the mirror that hung on the back of the door, I paused, studying my features. The changes from the potions were subtle but undeniable. My jaw was a bit sharper, my brows a touch heavier, my voice incrementally deeper. Each small shift brought me closer to the man I knew myself to be.
Even if I couldn’t convince my stupid face to grow more than a little patchy stubble. Oh well. At least I only had to shave a few times a week. Unlike Luca, who seemed to have given up on taming the goatee that insisted on attaching itself to his face.
Satisfied, I grabbed my leather satchel and slung it over my shoulder. The bag was a gift from Denise, the rich chestnut leather buttery soft from years of use. She'd pressed it into my hands the day I left for Blackstone, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Something to remind you of home,” she'd said, her voice thick with emotion. Now, I never went anywhere without it.
I glanced over at Luca, debating whether to wake him. He looked so peaceful and cozy, though, that I didn’t have the heart to do it.
I left Luca snoozing and slipped out of our room, Grim perched on my shoulder. The dormitory was quiet, most of the other students still asleep at this early hour. I made my way down the creaky wooden stairs, the floorboards groaning softly beneath my sneakers.
Outside, the crisp autumn air nipped at my cheeks, turning them a rosy pink. I pulled my scarf up higher, burying my nose in the soft wool. Inhaling deeply, I caught the scent of wood smoke and decaying leaves, the quintessential perfume of a New England fall.
The walk into town was short but scenic, the narrow path winding through a small wood of towering maples and ancient oaks. Their leaves were a riot of brilliant crimson, sunset orange, and golden yellow, like a patchwork quilt stretched across the landscape. A few leaves drifted down, dancing on the breeze before settling on the damp earth.
Grim chittered excitedly, his fur fluffed up against the chill. He kept sniffing the air, his antennae twitching as he took in all the new scents.
The cafe was a cozy little spot tucked between a used bookstore and a pharmacy. The faded wooden sign above the door read “The Black Cat” in curling script, a small silhouette of a cat slinking along.
I pushed open the heavy wooden door, a cheerful bell jingling to announce my arrival. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baking scones enveloped me like a warm hug. The cafe had that particular magical ambiance that only came from being frequented by witches and warlocks for generations. The ceramic mugs were all mismatched vintage pieces, each one enchanted to keep drinks at the perfect temperature. Even the resident black cat—a rather plump familiar named Fat Tommy—had a way of appearing and disappearing between tables like smoke.
Behind the counter, the barista was crafting drinks with both mundane and magical ingredients. I watched as she sprinkled what looked like crushed starlight into someone's cappuccino, the shimmer settling into the foam like early morning frost.
I joined the short queue, bouncing slightly on the balls of my feet as I waited my turn. When I got to the front, I ordered a large pumpkin spice latte and an apple cider doughnut, collecting both before finding a cozy corner spot to sit for the morning’s studies.
I settled into a worn leather armchair by the window, setting my steaming latte and doughnut on the scuffed wooden table. Shrugging off my coat, I draped it over the back of the chair before reaching into my satchel for the sheaf of papers Professor Crowe had given me the day before.
“Some additional translations, if you're up for the challenge,” he'd said with one of his usual warm smiles. “I think you'll find them quite illuminating.”
I'd nodded eagerly, trying to play it cool even as a thrill of excitement warmed me. Professor Crowe asking me to do extra work? It was like being handed a golden ticket to the chocolate factory. Only instead of candy, it was deliciously complex necromantic runes. And okay, maybe Professor Crowe was a more mysterious wizard than Willy Wonka, but still. I was honored that he trusted me with this.
I spread the papers out on the table, weighted down by my latte on one corner and a little ceramic cat figurine on the other. The runes were unlike any I'd seen before, all graceful curves and sharp angles twining together in intricate patterns. They seemed to shimmer on the page, as if imbued with some hidden power.
Grim perched on my shoulder, peering down at the runes with his beady black eyes. He chittered excitedly, his mandibles clicking. I got the distinct impression he was asking if he could eat my homework.
I chuckled, gently bopping Grim on his fuzzy nose. “No snacking on these, buddy. Professor Crowe is counting on me to figure them out.”
Grim let out a disappointed chirp but settled down, curling his caterpillar body around my neck like a living scarf. His soft fur tickled my skin, making me smile. For all his mischievous antics, Grim had become more than just a familiar to me over these past weeks. He was a true friend, a constant companion who somehow always sensed when I needed a bit of extra warmth and comfort.
I took a sip of my latte, savoring the creamy sweetness shot through with the spicy kick of cinnamon and nutmeg. The first taste of pumpkin spice was always the best, like taking a big bite out of fall itself. It never failed to make me feel cozy and content, wrapped up in the simple pleasures of the season.
Picking up my pen, I began to carefully copy the runes, my hand moving in smooth, practiced strokes.
As I worked, my mind drifted to Professor Crowe. Dorian. His name felt like a secret on my tongue, one I rarely dared to speak aloud. He was brilliant, enigmatic, and unfairly gorgeous, with his chestnut hair and piercing green eyes.
From the moment I first saw him in the hallway, I'd been captivated. The way he spoke about necromancy, with such passion and reverence, made my heart flutter in my chest. He had a way of making the macabre beautiful, of finding light in the darkness.
And the way he looked at me sometimes, with that soft, knowing smile... I wanted to believe that there was more there than a teacher student relationship, even if it would’ve been inappropriate.
I shook my head, trying to dispel the distracting thoughts of Professor Crowe. I needed to focus on the task at hand. These runes weren't going to decipher themselves.
I bent over the papers, my brow furrowing as I studied the complex symbols. Each graceful line and sharp angle seemed to dance before my eyes, the shapes both foreign and achingly familiar. Some looked like they'd been written in ink that shifted color depending on how the light hit it. Others seemed to have been scribed with something darker, the strokes carrying a weight that made my fingers tingle when I traced them. There was something almost organic about the way they flowed together, like the branching patterns frost makes on windowpanes, or the delicate lacework of spider webs in the moonlight.
The longer I stared at them, the more they seemed to whisper at the edges of my consciousness, like spirits trying to catch my attention. Whatever this spell was, it carried echoes of old magic, the kind that lived in forgotten graveyards and ancient bones. It was like trying to recall a half-forgotten dream, the details slipping away like mist between my fingers.
But as I began to transcribe the runes, letting my pen flow across the page, something shifted. The shapes started to make sense, like puzzle pieces clicking into place. I could feel the power thrumming through each stroke, an ancient magic that set my blood singing.
This was the thrill of necromancy, the heady rush of touching the veil between worlds. It was like being let in on a cosmic secret, privy to the whispers of the dead. With each rune I copied, I felt more attuned to the ebb and flow of spiritual energy, the delicate balance of life and death.
I recognized some of the symbols, like the curling spiral of the soul, the jagged bolt of the body. But there were others I'd never encountered before, runes that seemed to bind and braid the two together in intricate knots. It was as if the spell was weaving a tapestry of spirit and flesh, creating something entirely new.
The more I studied the runes, the more I realized just how complex and advanced this spell was. It went far beyond the basic principles of soul transference and resurrection that we'd been learning in class. This was high-level necromancy, the kind of magic that could rewrite the very fabric of life and death.
I could only make out bits and pieces. I deciphered a symbol that represented the flow of energy between realms, another that spoke of balance and exchange. But large portions of the spell remained frustratingly opaque, the meaning dancing just out of reach. It was like trying to read a foreign language with only a rudimentary grasp of the alphabet. I could sound out the words, but the deeper meaning escaped me.
Still, I couldn't help but be drawn in by the sheer elegance of the composition. The way the runes flowed together only for the pattern to break apart on the next line… It was almost as if someone had intentionally scrambled things, like looking at a line of corrupted code. I didn’t know exactly what the spell did, but even I could tell that something about it wasn’t quite as it should be. Like its purpose had been transformed somehow. Twisted.
Grim chirped curiously, his antennae tickling my cheek as he leaned in for a closer look. I smiled, scratching him gently under his furry chin. “Looks like Professor Crowe really challenged us this time, huh, buddy?”
Just then, the bell over the cafe door jingled merrily, announcing a new arrival. I glanced up to see a group of Blackstone students come through the door, all laughing and chatting with one another.
I watched as the students made their way to the counter, a colorful whirlwind of cozy sweaters, artfully ripped jeans, and boots crunching on the hardwood floor. They looked effortlessly cool, like they'd stepped out of an indie movie about witches at a liberal arts college. I recognized a few of them from my classes. There was Silas, the willowy blonde who always had his nose buried in an ancient tome, and Esther, the edgy brunette with a shock of purple in her hair, who sat in the back and doodled intricate sigils in her notebook.
As they waited for their orders, I couldn't help but overhear their animated conversation. They were talking about the upcoming Samhain masquerade, their voices rising with excitement.
“I heard Professor Nightshade is going all out with the decorations this year,” Silas said. “Apparently she's enchanting a whole pumpkin patch to glow in the dark.”
“I can't wait to see that,” Esther replied, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Have you decided what you're wearing yet?”
Silas grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I'm thinking of going as a plague doctor. What about you?”
“I've been working on a Morrigan costume,” Esther said, practically bouncing on her toes. “I found this amazing feathered cloak at the thrift store, and I'm going to make a headpiece with raven skulls.”
Their excitement was infectious, and I found myself wondering what the masquerade would be like. I imagined the Great Hall transformed with shimmering jack-o'-lanterns and swirls of enchanted mist. Everyone dressed in their most elaborate costumes, music and laughter ringing out beneath the starry ceiling. It sounded magical, like something out of a storybook.
But then a flicker of doubt crept in, my old insecurities rising to the surface. Would I even fit in at a fancy event like that? I'd never been to anything so grand, and the thought of trying to come up with a costume that could match the creativity and craftsmanship of my classmates made my stomach twist with nerves.
I glanced down at my faded jeans and scuffed sneakers, suddenly feeling very out of place among the effortlessly stylish witches and warlocks of Blackstone.
I thought about Professor Crowe, wondering if he'd be there. He'd probably wear something devastatingly elegant, something that matched those green eyes of his perfectly. The thought of seeing him in formal wear, maybe even dancing with him... No. That was definitely not a path my mind needed to go down.
Still, the idea of him seeing me in whatever cobbled-together costume I managed to create made my stomach twist. I wanted him to see me as capable, confident. Someone worthy of the extra attention he'd been giving me with these translations. Not some awkward scholarship kid who couldn't even manage a proper Halloween costume.
I'd never been to a fancy dress party before, let alone a magical masquerade. Growing up, Halloween had always been a low-key affair. Just me and my siblings in homemade costumes, trick-or-treating around our apartment complex. The idea of attending a grand gala with enchanted decorations and elaborate disguises seemed as fantastical as the spells I was learning in my classes.
What would I even wear? The practical voice in my head that had managed our family budget and made sure everyone had enough to eat immediately started calculating costs. Even a simple costume would eat up at least a month of my stipend. And that wasn't counting masks or accessories or whatever magical embellishments everyone else would surely have.
But deeper than the money worry was something else. No matter what I wore, I might not look right. The lingering fear that my body would somehow betray me, that people would see past any costume to the parts of myself I was still learning to love. Masquerades were supposed to be about becoming someone else for a night, but how could I when I was still figuring out who I was?
Grim, apparently deciding my anxiety was more interesting than his current snack, abandoned the half-eaten grimoire page to bump his fuzzy head against my cheek. He chirped determinedly.
“You're right,” I murmured to him. “Maybe I'm overthinking this.”
He chirped again, and I pushed thoughts of the masquerade aside, turning back to the papers in front of me. I couldn’t afford to get distracted by a school dance, not when there was so much to figure out. Professor Crowe’s runes were still scattered across the page, their intricate lines dancing before my eyes. The faint hum of the café around me began to fade as I dove back into the symbols, letting my pen flow over the paper with renewed focus. The mystery of the spell was still just out of reach, but I wasn’t going to stop trying. Each stroke felt like a step closer to uncovering something important, even if I didn’t fully understand it yet.
For now, it was just me and the magic before me, unraveling slowly, piece by piece.