14. The Phantoms Waltz
14
The Phantom's Waltz
Dorian
I adjusted the white mask that covered half my face and stepped into the grand ballroom of Blackstone Academy. The masquerade was already in full swing, with students and professors alike crowding the dance floor.
The grand doors had been enchanted to release tiny bursts of silver sparkles whenever someone entered, like walking through a cascade of starlight. The effect was both elegant and eerie.
Even the usual school ghosts had dressed for the occasion, their translucent forms adorned with echoes of their finest attire from centuries past. They waltzed through the solid guests, leaving trails of spectral frost in their wake.
The ballroom was a sight to behold, transformed into an enchanting realm of wonder and whimsy. Someone had enchanted the refreshment table to offer each guest their perfect cup of tea, the silver teapots dancing through the air like elegant ballerinas. The vaulted ceiling soared overhead, painted with a mural depicting skeletons waltzing with maidens in flowing gowns, their bony hands clasped together in an eternal embrace. Candelabras floated in midair, their flickering flames casting an otherworldly glow upon the revelers below. The guests were dressed in a dazzling array of costumes, from ethereal fairies with iridescent wings to dapper vampires in crimson-lined capes. Everywhere I looked, there was something to delight and astonish the senses.
The air was thick with the scent of spiced pumpkin and mulled wine, mingling with the heady aroma of incense and the crisp tang of fallen leaves. Enchanted jack-o'-lanterns grinned from every corner, their carved faces flickering with an eerie inner light. A ghostly orchestra played hauntingly beautiful melodies, the ethereal strains of violins and cellos weaving through the chatter and laughter of the crowd.
I paused to admire an intricate ice sculpture depicting a grinning skull, its hollow eyes seeming to follow me as I moved. Nearby, a table groaned under the weight of a sumptuous feast of caramel apples, pumpkin pasties, and a towering cake in the shape of a mausoleum, its fondant doors open to reveal a raspberry filling as red as blood.
As I marveled at the macabre splendor of the Samhain masquerade, a familiar voice called out to me.
“Professor Crowe! Dorian! Over here!”
I turned to find Professor Reedy gliding toward me, dressed as an Egyptian queen. Her elegant white gown was adorned with intricate gold embroidery, and a jeweled headdress glittered upon her brow. By her side trotted her faithful familiar, Mrs. Nesbit, the goat's horns adorned with gleaming bangles.
“Mina! You look positively regal,” I exclaimed, bowing deeply. “And Mrs. Nesbit, charming as ever.”
The goat bleated softly in response, her intelligent eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Ah, the Phantom of the Opera,” Mina said, taking in my costume. “A fitting choice for you, Dorian. Both brilliant men, shrouded in mystery, with a flair for the dramatic.”
I chuckled softly, inclining my head in acknowledgment. “I confess, I do feel a certain kinship with the Phantom. Though I aspire to give my own story a happier ending.”
“Indeed,” Mina agreed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “And speaking of happy endings, I have some news that may interest you.”
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? Well, don’t keep me waiting, Mina. You know how I adore a good tale.”
She leaned in with a smile. “I've been feeling much better as of late, Dorian. So much so that I believe I shall be returning to teaching after the Samhain break.”
My eyes widened at Mina's revelation, a surge of elation rising within me. “Why, that's positively marvelous news! The students will be overjoyed to have you back, as will I. Your presence has been sorely missed in the hallowed halls of Blackstone.”
Mina's smile turned sly, a knowing glint in her eyes. “And with my return, perhaps you might find yourself with a bit more... freedom, Dorian. Freedom to pursue certain matters of the heart, hmm?”
My thoughts turned to Ren. Sweet, brilliant Ren, with his quiet intensity and gentle soul. There was a connection between us, a spark that danced like the flickering flames of the jack-o'-lanterns. In stolen glances and lingering touches, in the way his eyes lit up when he grasped a complex concept, in the soft smiles he reserved just for me... I felt it growing stronger with each passing day.
And yet, I had held back, ever mindful of the boundaries that separated us. He was my student, entrusted to my care and guidance. To act on my feelings would be a betrayal of that trust, no matter what spark we felt between us.
But now, with Mina's return on the horizon, the landscape of possibility had shifted. If I was no longer Ren's professor, if we were simply two souls drawn together by fate and circumstance... could I dare to hope for more?
It was a fine line to walk, and the higher ups at Blackstone would almost certainly frown upon it, but perhaps… Well, I was due for a sabbatical. Perhaps I could take one until Ren finished his studies, removing the problem altogether.
“Dorian,” Mina said, laying a hand on my shoulder. “There's no shame in loving someone, regardless of the circumstances.” She gave me a light push out toward the dance floor. “Go. Find your man. Live, Dorian. Life’s too short not to.”
With Mina's words ringing in my ears, I took a deep breath and strode out onto the dance floor, my cape billowing behind me. My heart raced with anticipation as I scanned the crowd, searching for Ren’s familiar face.
And then I saw him.
Time seemed to stop, the world narrowing to a single point of brilliant green and gold. Ren stood across the ballroom, and the sight of him stole the breath from my lungs. I'd imagined how he might look tonight, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality. The emerald coat transformed him from my shy student into something out of a gothic romance, all elegant lines and quiet confidence.
But it wasn't just the costume. There was something different about the way he carried himself, a subtle shift in his bearing that made my heart stutter in my chest. When he laughed at something Luca said, his head thrown back in genuine mirth, the candlelight caught the line of his throat in a way that made me want to trace it with my fingers, to learn if his skin was as warm as it looked.
As I approached the group, my heart thrummed with a heady mix of anticipation and trepidation. Ren's radiant smile faltered for the briefest of moments as he caught sight of me, his eyes widening behind his golden mask. I could see the flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, the way his fingers tightened slightly around his cane.
But I was a man on a mission, emboldened by Mina's words and the magic of the Samhain masquerade. I would not let this moment slip through my fingers, not when the promise of something extraordinary hung in the air between us.
I stopped before Ren and his companions. “Forgive the intrusion, gentlemen,” I said, sweeping into a bow.
“Dorian!” Ren’s eyes widened.
I straightened, extending my gloved hand toward him with a warm, inviting smile. “Mr. Wickens,” I said, my voice soft but clear above the music, “might I have the pleasure of a dance?”
Ren's eyes darted to his friends, their expressions a mix of surprise and encouragement. Luca gave him a subtle nod, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
Ren turned back to me, his posture still slightly guarded, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes, a tentative curiosity, perhaps even a flicker of hope. He hesitated for a moment, his fingers fidgeting with the handle of his cane, before handing the cane to Luca and slowly placing his hand in mine.
“I... I suppose one dance couldn't hurt,” he said softly, his voice barely audible above the swell of the music.
I closed my fingers around his, marveling at the way our hands fit together, as if they were always meant to be joined. With a gentle tug, I led Ren onto the dance floor.
As we took our positions, Ren's nervousness was palpable. His movements were stiff, his eyes darting around as if he expected Dean Blackwood herself to materialize from the shadows and put an end to our dance.
“Ren,” I said softly, drawing his attention back to me. “Relax. It's just a dance.”
Ren glanced up at me through his lashes, a faint blush coloring his cheeks beneath the golden mask. “I'm sorry, Dorian. It's just…I don’t want you to get in trouble for this.”
I chuckled softly, gently squeezing his hand in reassurance. “Ah, but that's the beauty of tonight, my dear Ren. The Samhain masquerade is a time when the veil between worlds grows thin, and the usual rules of propriety are bent, if only for a night.” I leaned in closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “And besides, with classes out for the holiday, I am not currently your professor. Tonight, we are simply two souls, drawn together by the magic of the evening.”
Ren's eyes widened. “So... we're not breaking any rules?”
“Precisely,” I confirmed with a warm smile. “And once we return from the break, Professor Reedy will be taking over Necromancy 101 and I will be applying to go on a year-long sabbatical.”
Ren cocked his head to the side. “A sabbatical?”
I chuckled, giving his hand another gentle squeeze. “A year off to pursue my own research, to delve into the mysteries of life and death without the constant demands of the classroom.” I paused, my gaze softening as it met Ren's. “And perhaps... to explore other matters of the heart without the specter of impropriety looming over us.”
Ren's breath hitched, his lips parting slightly as he stared up at me. But before he could respond, the lively tune that had been playing came to an end, and the ghostly orchestra struck up a hauntingly beautiful waltz.
Around us, the other dancers began to pair off, moving in graceful circles to the entrancing rhythm. I looked at Ren, made another bow, and once again extended my hand. “What do you say to another dance, Mr. Wickens?”
Ren hesitated, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “I... I'm afraid I don't really know how to waltz,” he admitted, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Formal dancing wasn’t exactly a required course back in my Pennsylvania high school.”
I stepped closer, gently placing one hand on the small of Ren's back. The other hand clasped his, our fingers intertwining. “Do you trust me, Ren?”
Ren's breath hitched, his pulse fluttering beneath my fingertips. Every point of contact between us felt electric from the warmth of his hand in mine, to the subtle pressure at his waist where I guided him. I found myself cataloging each small detail: the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks when he glanced down, how his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on my shoulder when I adjusted my grip, the slight catch in his breath when our eyes met.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I trust you, Dorian.”
“Then all you need to do is follow my lead.” With that, I began to move, guiding Ren in a slow, swirling dance. We glided across the floor, our bodies moving in harmony.
“Here,” I murmured, adjusting my grip on his waist. “Let me show you something.” I let a tendril of my magic flow through my palm where it rested against his back, seeking his power like a key finding its lock. “Do you feel that?”
Ren's breath caught, his eyes widening behind his mask. “Oh,” he whispered. Where our magic met, warmth bloomed between us, spreading like honey through our veins. “That's... that's incredible.”
“Back home in Ireland, Gran used to say the waltz was more than just a dance. It was how magical couples would test their compatibility,” I explained softly, my accent thickening with the memory. “She'd tell stories of how the Fair Folk would hold their own midnight balls, dancing until their magic sang together in perfect harmony.” My thumb traced small circles against his waist, each movement sending ripples of power between us. “They would use it to test their magical compatibility. Like this.” I guided more of my magic to twine with his, creating patterns of silver light that spiraled around us like cosmic dust.
Ren shivered, his magic rising eagerly to meet mine. The connection between us deepened, intimate in a way that made my heart race. This wasn't just magical resonance. This was something far more profound, like finding a harmony I'd been searching for my entire life.
Ren fit against me as though he belonged there, the warmth of his hand a steady anchor, his breath catching softly as he settled into my touch. In this moment, it felt as though the world around us faded, leaving only the quiet pull of our bodies, the silent language of a shared heartbeat.
As we traced delicate spirals upon the darkened floor, Ren’s initial shyness slipped away, replaced by a quiet, fierce grace that made him glow in the dim light. He moved with me, our steps synchronized perfectly.
In the shifting glow of the masquerade lights, Ren was nothing short of striking. The lines of his emerald coat skimmed his shoulders and framed his body with a perfect elegance, accentuating every graceful angle and lean strength. His jaw was set, determined, his eyes intense and serious behind his mask. Yet there was a hint of vulnerability in them, a flicker of softness that only made him more compelling.
As I held him close, I felt the steady strength in his shoulders, the warmth of his hand in mine, and something in me stirred, both fierce and tender. His presence commanded my full attention, filling the space between us with a quiet intensity that eclipsed the music or the distant dancers around us.
I realized I was lingering, unable to look away from the sharp edge of his cheekbone, the line of his collarbone under the rich fabric. The weight of his gaze on me was grounding and electric, making my pulse race. Each turn brought us closer together until I could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against my chest. His magic reached for mine instinctively, creating delicate patterns of frost on the marble floor beneath our feet. The enchanted candles overhead shifted color in response to our dance, their flames turning a deep, rich purple that cast mysterious shadows across Ren's masked face.
I noticed how his breath caught whenever I adjusted my grip on his waist, how his fingers tightened ever so slightly in mine when I guided him through a particularly complex turn. Every point of contact between us felt charged with possibility, with unspoken promises.
With a quiet breath, I let my thumb brush lightly over the back of his hand, feeling the strength there, the warmth that grounded me even as my heart thudded louder. Here was Ren, not merely captivating but unmistakably, strikingly handsome, someone who could light up the darkest room, and for this moment, he was mine alone to look at, to hold close.
“Ren,” I breathed, my voice rough with emotion. “You are... exquisite.” The words felt inadequate compared to the swell of feeling in my chest. Here was the young man who had brought such warmth to my carefully ordered world, who treated lost spirits with the same gentle kindness he showed to Bones, who made even the darkest corners of necromancy feel like home.
His cheeks flushed a little more pink. “I’m just trying not to trip over my own two feet here.”
I chuckled softly, gently squeezing Ren's hand in reassurance. “Nonsense, my dear. You're doing splendidly. It's as if you were born to waltz.”
Ren ducked his head, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I suppose I have a good teacher to thank for that.”
We continued to dance, lost in the music and the magic of the moment. But all too soon, the ghostly melody began to fade, signaling the end of the song. Around us, couples began to drift apart, their laughter and chatter filling the air.
Ren stiffened in my arms, his eyes darting around the room. I followed his gaze, noticing the curious stares and hushed whispers directed our way. It seemed our dance had not gone unnoticed by the other revelers.
Leaning close, I murmured in his ear, “Perhaps we should get some air? Might I suggest a walk through the herbalist gardens?”
Ren nodded, relief flooding his features. “Please. I think I could use a bit of fresh air.”
I guided him off the dance floor, our fingers still intertwined. We made our way through the crowd, past the curious glances and murmured speculations, until we reached the arched doorway that led to the herbalist gardens.
The moment we stepped outside, it was as if we had crossed the threshold into another world. The gardens were a breathtaking tapestry of colors and scents, the air heavy with the fragrance of a thousand magical herbs. Silver moonlight spilled across the winding paths, casting an ethereal glow upon the foliage.
Night-blooming jasmine released its intoxicating scent wherever we passed, as if the plants themselves were conspiring to make this moment more magical. The protective wards around the garden were visible tonight, woven in delicate strands of silver light that formed elaborate Celtic knots between the trees. They reminded me of my grandmother's garden back in Ireland, where the Fair Folk would sometimes leave similar patterns woven in morning dew.
A chorus of ghost moths fluttered around us, their spectral wings casting no shadows despite their luminescence. Their presence was considered a blessing in necromantic traditions since they were spirits of transformation and renewal, drawn to moments of profound change.
As we strolled along the winding cobblestone walkway, the tension in Ren's shoulders began to ease. He took a deep breath, savoring the crisp autumn air. “It's beautiful out here,” he murmured, his gaze drifting over the vibrant foliage.
“Indeed,” I agreed, my own eyes drawn to the delicate moonflowers that bloomed along the path. “There's a certain magic to this place, a sense of tranquility that soothes the soul. Even if I do prefer the Ossuary Memorial Garden to this one.”
As we rounded a bend, a mesmerizing sight greeted us: a shimmering pond, its surface like black glass reflecting the luminous moon above. Floating lanterns drifted lazily across the water, each one containing a gently flickering spirit light. The effect was breathtaking, as if the stars themselves had descended to dance upon the mirrored surface.
Ren's sleeve brushed against mine as we walked, each accidental touch sending sparks of awareness through me. I found myself hyper-aware of his proximity, of the graceful way he moved, of how the moonlight silvered his hair and made his skin look like porcelain. When he spoke about the spirits, his voice soft with wonder, I had to resist the urge to pull him closer, to learn if his lips tasted as sweet as the words that fell from them.
The space between us seemed charged with possibility, like the air before a lightning strike. Each step brought us closer together, as if we were being drawn by some invisible force neither of us wanted to resist.
“Wow,” Ren breathed, his eyes wide with wonder. “There are so many spirits here, and we’re nowhere near the necropolis.”
I smiled, gently guiding Ren toward a carved stone bench beside the pond. “The spirits are drawn to places of beauty and tranquility,” I explained, my voice soft with reverence. “They find solace in the gentle embrace of nature, just as we mortals do.”
As we settled onto the bench, our thighs brushing, I found myself captivated by the way the moonlight played across Ren's features. It danced in his dark hair, casting a halo of silver around his head, and sparkled in his eyes like stars. The space between us felt charged, alive with possibility. My hand, resting on the stone beside us, itched to reach out, to bridge the gap between us.
Instead, I gently brushed a strand of Ren’s dark hair from his forehead, letting my fingers trail softly along his skin before cupping his face. My fingers traced the edge of his mask, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath. Our magic surged at the contact, death magic recognizing death magic in the most primal way. The sensation was heady, intoxicating, like drinking starlight, like touching lightning. His breath hitched as my thumb brushed his lower lip, the simple touch sending sparks of magic dancing between us.
“Dorian,” he breathed, my name a prayer on his lips. His magic reached for mine, shy but eager, like moonflowers opening to the night. Where our power met, it created something entirely new. Not just the silver threads of necromancy, but gold too, warm and bright as sunrise.
I could feel his pulse racing beneath my palm, could see the way his pupils dilated behind his mask. The air between us grew thick with magic and wanting. When he swayed closer, drawn by the magnetic pull between us, I caught the scent of old books and autumn leaves and something uniquely Ren that made my head spin.
The protective runes in his coat began to glow, responding to our mingled magic. They traced patterns across his skin in threads of light, making him look otherworldly, breathtaking. I wanted to trace each one with my fingers, to learn the map of him by touch, to discover every place where magic marked him as mine.
His warmth spread beneath my touch, his pulse quickening under my fingertips. His eyes closed for a fleeting moment, a shiver passing through him. Slowly, I tipped his chin up, bringing his gaze to mine.
“Ren…” I whispered, my voice soft. “May I kiss you?”
He held my gaze for a heartbeat longer, and I felt his breath hitch. The space between us grew impossibly small, the air thick with the weight of unspoken words. His lips parted slightly, his chest rising with a soft, nervous breath before he spoke, his voice low and trembling.
“Yes,” Ren whispered, the word barely audible, but it was enough.
I leaned in, and just before our lips met, the world seemed to fall away—the gardens, the distant music, the murmurs of the revelers inside. All that remained was the warmth of Ren’s breath against my skin, the gentle pressure of his lips when they finally touched mine.