24. Secrets in the Archives
24
Secrets in the Archives
Ren
I stumbled into my dorm room, a whirlwind of nerves and excitement. Dorian and Bones waited patiently outside while I went in to get my things.
“Right, notebook, rune research, don't forget your brain, Ren,” I muttered to myself, rifling through the organized chaos that was my desk.
One of Luca’s vine plants reached out and tried to curl around my wrist. I smacked it away. “Bad Sylvie! Just because Luca isn’t here doesn’t mean you get to tangle me up again.”
The vine retreated, and I swore I could feel it sulking from the windowsill.
“Grim?” I called out, scanning the room for my familiar. “Come on, buddy, we've got work to do. There’ll be lots of old papers to chew on.”
Silence greeted me, which was odd considering Grim usually came crawling along at the mere suggestion of food. I frowned, a tendril of worry worming its way into my gut.
“Grim?” I tried again, my voice pitching higher as I approached his terrarium. “I swear, if you’re eating Luca’s Herbalist’s Guide to Hexenweed textbook again, I’ll…”
My words died in my throat as I peered into the glass enclosure. Where Grim should have been perched, munching on his stack of old grimoires, there was instead a pupa unlike anything I'd ever seen. It gleamed like polished onyx, catching the light and refracting it in mesmerizing patterns. Dotted across its surface were what looked like tiny jewels, each one a different hue - sapphire blue, emerald green, ruby red. They pulsed with an otherworldly glow, as if someone had bottled up the aurora borealis and sprinkled it over this magical cocoon. The cocoon seemed to breathe with ancient magic, each pulse sending ripples of power through the air like whispers from beyond the veil.
But the strangest part? It was humming. A soft, barely there vibration that resonated in my bones.
I stumbled backward, my heart racing. “Dorian!”
The door creaked open, and Dorian's tall frame filled the doorway. “What is it, Ren?” he asked, concern etching his features.
I pointed wordlessly at the terrarium, unable to form coherent sentences. Dorian's eyes widened as he took in the sight of Grim's pupa. He approached it slowly, his movements careful and deliberate. “Is that…Grim?”
“I think so,” I said and frowned over at him. “You said he would change, but I wasn’t expecting this.”
“To be entirely honest, I wasn’t sure what to expect either,” Dorian said, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’ve never seen an Actias arcanum’s transformation before.”
I blinked, my brain struggling to process the bizarre sight before me. “So this is... normal?”
Dorian chuckled softly, his green eyes twinkling with amusement. “In the realm of necromancy, 'normal' is a rather flexible concept. But yes, this appears to be a perfectly healthy transformation for Grim based on what I’ve read. When he emerges, he’ll be much stronger.”
“What should I do?” I watched the stillness of Grim’s form, a deep knot tightening in my chest. “Should we just... wait?”
“For now, yes,” Dorian said, his voice gentle. “When a being is in transition, it’s delicate. Whether it’s a soul crossing over or a familiar going through a shift like this, it’s our duty to protect them, to give them space to change in their own time. He needs time to become what he’s becoming. Our role now is to protect him and support him as he goes through that change.”
I stood there, my gaze on Grim, and something in Dorian’s words settled deep inside me. “What can I do to support him?”
Dorian crouched beside the terrarium, his hands moving with practiced care. He reached over to gather some leaves that had fallen off of one of Luca’s plants. With slow, deliberate movements, he gently arranged them around the base of the pupa, creating a small nest to keep it warm and protected.
“We keep him safe,” Dorian explained softly, his focus still on his task. “Just as we would protect a spirit in transition, we give Grim the space and warmth he needs to transform. These leaves will help keep him insulated, provide the comfort and stability he needs. Sometimes, the best thing we can do is protect the process, not rush it.”
I watched as he carefully arranged the leaves, his hands tender and precise. The sight of Grim, wrapped in such care, felt almost sacred. There was something intimate about this moment, about allowing Grim to change at his own pace, free from interference.
I nodded slowly, my chest loosening as I understood. “Just wait, protect him, and let him be.”
Dorian gave me a soft smile, his hands still working gently around Grim’s pupa. “Exactly. It’s about allowing the change to happen naturally, without forcing it. We’re here to keep the space safe, to give him room to evolve.”
“How long will he be like this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Dorian straightened up, brushing a stray leaf from his sleeve. “It's hard to say. Familiar transformations can take anywhere from a few days to several weeks. We'll just have to be patient.”
I nodded, still staring at Grim's cocoon. “I've never been very good at patience,” I admitted with a wry smile.
Dorian chuckled. “Well, consider this an excellent learning opportunity, then. Now, shall we continue our quest? The archives await, and I'm sure Bones is wondering what's keeping us.”
Right. The archives. Our mission. I'd almost forgotten in the face of Grim's unexpected metamorphosis. I tore my gaze away from the terrarium and grabbed my notebook and research materials.
“Ready,” I said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice. As we left the room, I couldn't help but cast one last glance at Grim's shimmering cocoon. “Stay safe, buddy.”
We emerged into the hallway where Bones was waiting, wagging his bony tail.
Dorian led the way down the winding corridors of Blackstone Academy, his long, confident strides pulling ahead of me with each step. I had to practically jog to keep up, my heart pounding for more reasons than one. Bones trotted alongside us, his bony paws clicking against the stone floor in a rhythm that somehow felt oddly comforting, like a heartbeat echoing through the halls.
“So,” I panted, clutching my notebook to my chest, trying to catch my breath, “what exactly are we looking for in the archives?”
Dorian glanced over his shoulder, his green eyes flashing with excitement, and for a moment, the sight of him made my chest tighten. That glint, that spark of enthusiasm, made him look even more... well, more Dorian. I had to fight the urge to just stand there and admire the way his hair fell so effortlessly across his forehead, the way his voice held an edge of authority even when he was sharing his excitement.
“Information about the original academy location, and a nearby cave system that might be connected to it,” Dorian explained, his voice rich with the kind of energy that always made my pulse quicken. “The spirit of hunger seemed to suggest that’s where Alistair will be performing his ritual. We’ll need to go there to stop him.”
I nodded, trying to focus on his words, even as my brain struggled to keep up with the way my body responded to the proximity of his presence. I cleared my throat, doing my best to look composed. “Right. Caves. Old stuff. Got it.”
The teasing smile that flickered across Dorian’s lips told me he’d caught my distracted moment, and I felt my face warm. But it didn’t matter. He was Dorian , and I couldn’t help but be drawn to him, pulled in by that magnetic energy of his that seemed to fill every room.
We rounded a corner and went down a wide set of concrete stairs, descending into the basement where we came face to face with a massive set of obsidian doors, etched with swirling silver runes that seemed to move if you looked at them too long. I blinked, wondering if I was hallucinating from lack of oxygen after our brisk walk.
“The Blackstone Academy Archives,” Dorian announced with a flourish. “Home to centuries of arcane knowledge, and one very temperamental archivist spirit. Well, many spirits, but the Archivist himself is the one we’re most concerned with.”
Dorian placed his hand on the cool obsidian surface, murmuring an incantation under his breath. The runes flared to life, pulsing with an eerie silver glow before fading away. With a low groan, the massive doors swung open, revealing the cavernous space beyond.
The archives felt alive with centuries of magical knowledge. Spirit lights drifted between leather-bound tomes like curious scholars, while enchanted card catalogs shuffled themselves endlessly, their drawers opening and closing with soft sighs that sounded like whispered secrets. The air itself tasted of parchment and possibility, thick with the kind of magic that came from generations of learning.
“Wow,” I breathed, spinning in a slow circle. “It's like a necromancer's candy store in here.”
Dorian chuckled, the sound echoing through the vast space. “That's one way to put it. Now, let's see if we can coax our elusive Archivist out of hiding.”
As Dorian stepped forward to summon the Archivist, I hung back, my eyes darting around the cavernous space. The sheer magnitude of knowledge contained here was overwhelming. Shelves stretched upward into shadows so deep I couldn't see where they ended, like some kind of bookworm's fever dream.
A shimmering being began to coalesce in front of us, wisps of silvery smoke twirling and twisting until they formed the vague shape of a man. Well, mostly a man. His lower half sort of faded away into mist, like some kind of nerdy genie.
“State your name and purpose,” the Archivist intoned, his voice echoing with the whispers of a thousand rustling pages.
Dorian bowed slightly. “Greetings, honored Archivist. I am Professor Dorian Crowe and I’m here with my student, Ren Wickens, seeking information about Blackstone’s history.”
The spirit shifted slightly. “What is your clearance level?”
“Level four, Necromancy Department,” Dorian replied smoothly.
The Archivist's form shimmered, like someone had dumped a bucket of glitter into a swirling mist. “Access granted. State your query.”
I held my breath, waiting for Dorian to work his magic. Surely, if anyone could charm information out of a finicky spirit, it would be him.
“We're looking for information about the original location of Blackstone Academy,” Dorian said, his voice smooth as silk. “Specifically, any connection it might have had to nearby cave systems.”
The Archivist's form rippled like a librarian shuffling through invisible index cards. “The original location of Blackstone Academy is recorded in the historical archives. Cave systems are documented in the geological section.”
Dorian's brow furrowed slightly. “Yes, but we're looking for information that might link the two. Perhaps some kind of secret passage or magical connection?”
“Secret passages are catalogued under architectural anomalies. Magical connections fall under arcane geography,” the Archivist replied, his tone as dry as the dusty tomes surrounding us.
I bit back a snort. This was like watching the world's most frustrating game of twenty questions. Dorian's usual charm seemed to be bouncing off the Archivist, and it was frustrating the heck out of him.
I watched as Dorian's usual smooth charm crumbled in the face of the Archivist's literal-mindedness. His brow furrowed deeper with each exchange, and I couldn't help but find it oddly endearing. The great Professor Crowe, master of necromancy and expert sweet-talker, was being outwitted by a glorified card catalog.
“Okay, let's try this again,” Dorian said, running a hand through his hair. The motion left a few strands sticking up at odd angles, and I had to fight the urge to reach out and smooth them down. “Are there any records of unusual magical activity in the caves near the original academy site?”
The Archivist's form shimmered again. “Unusual magical activity is a subjective term. Please specify parameters for 'unusual.'”
Dorian let out a frustrated groan that echoed through the cavernous space. I bit my lip to keep from laughing. Dorian's cheeks were flushed, and there was a little vein throbbing in his forehead that I'd never noticed before. It was kind of cute, actually.
“Having trouble, Professor?” I asked, my voice dripping with faux innocence.
Dorian turned to me, his green eyes flashing with mild annoyance and amusement. Something about that look on his face made my stomach flutter. “I'd like to see you do better, Mr. Wickens.”
I smirked at Dorian. He really was adorable when he was flustered. “Maybe we should try a more hands-on approach. You know, actually browse the stacks?”
Dorian's eyebrows shot up. “Ren, there are literally miles of shelves here. It would take us forever to find what we're looking for manually.”
I gestured at the Archivist, who was still shimmering patiently in front of us. “And this isn't? At least browsing, we might stumble on something useful.”
Dorian opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again, his shoulders slumping slightly. “You may have a point,” he admitted grudgingly. “All right, you start searching the stacks, and I'll keep trying to extract some useful information from our ethereal friend here.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, trying not to sound too smug. “I'll start with the historical section and work my way towards geology.”
I set off into the labyrinth of shelves, the scent of old parchment and leather binding filling my nostrils. The further I ventured, the more the archives seemed to stretch on impossibly. Shelves towered above me, their tops disappearing into shadows.
“Right,” I muttered to myself, running my fingers along the spines of ancient tomes. “If I were a secret cave entrance, where would I hide?”
As I browsed, I couldn't help but overhear snippets of Dorian's continued interrogation of the Archivist. His voice, usually so smooth and confident, was taking on an edge of desperation. “No, not weather patterns in the 14th century! I'm asking about—oh, for the love of—”
I snickered to myself, imagining the look on Dorian's face. It was oddly comforting to know that even he had his limits when it came to bureaucratic spirits.
After what felt like hours of searching, I stumbled upon a promising section. Blackstone Academy: A Comprehensive Geological Study of the Surrounding Coastal Area was emblazoned in faded gold lettering across a series of massive volumes.
“Jackpot,” I whispered, pulling out the first tome. It was heavier than I expected, and I staggered a bit under its weight.
As I hefted the massive tome, a cloud of dust billowed up, making me sneeze. The sound echoed through the cavernous archives, and I winced, hoping I hadn't disturbed any cranky spirits.
“Bless you!” Dorian's voice called out from somewhere in the stacks.
I smiled to myself, warmth blooming in my chest at his casual concern. Focus, Ren , I chided myself.
I cracked open the book, my eyes widening as I took in the intricate diagrams and maps spread across its pages. Whoever had compiled this study hadn't skimped on the details. I flipped through the pages, scanning for anything that might hint at hidden caves or secret passages.
About halfway through the tome, something caught my eye. A small notation in the margin, written in faded ink: “Anomalous readings near old academy site. Further investigation required.”
My heart quickened. This could be it. I tucked the book under my arm and made my way back to where I'd left Dorian.
As I approached, I caught the tail end of what sounded like a very strange conversation.
“…he doesn’t see what I see,” Dorian was saying. “He’s brilliant, driven, beautiful. But he holds himself back, like he’s afraid to believe it.”
I glanced over my shoulder, creeping closer to the source of his voice, careful to stay out of sight.
The Archivist responded in its usual dry, mechanical tone. “Interpersonal relationships are catalogued in section B, row twelve. Subsection three covers emotional self-perception.”
Dorian sighed, and I could practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” he muttered before continuing, more to himself than to the spirit. “I just… I don’t want to say the wrong thing. I don’t want to make him feel like he’s under a microscope or, worse, like I’m just humoring him.”
My breath hitched.
“Perhaps if I just told him the truth,” Dorian went on, his voice quieter now. “That every time I look at him, I think, how could someone be so wonderful and still not see it? ” He let out a soft sigh. “But then, what if I get it wrong? What if I say too much, or not enough? And I don’t want him to think I’m thinking too hard about all these things, though I probably am, aren’t I?”
The Archivist’s response was as infuriatingly neutral as ever. “Effective communication strategies are covered in section B, row eighteen. There is also a subsection on overcoming personal inadequacy on end cap seven.”
“Helpful as always,” Dorian muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He sighed again, his voice softening. “I just… I think I’m in love with him. With Ren.” His voice softened, filled with wonder. “He has this way of seeing beauty in everything, even in death magic, even in the darkest places. And when he smiles... it's like watching the sun rise after the longest night of the year. Every time he masters a new spell or shows that brilliant mind of his, I fall a little deeper.”
The words hit me like a thunderclap, and my breath caught. My pulse raced as the enormity of what he’d just said settled over me.
Dorian wasn’t done. “Every time I look at him, it feels like the world tilts just a little, like it’s rearranging itself around him. And I can’t help but think how lucky I am to know him, let alone to feel the way I do about him. But how do you tell someone that without overwhelming them? With everything that’s going on, I don’t want to stress him further, and it really hasn’t been that long. It’s too soon. Isn’t it?”
The Archivist responded without hesitation, its tone as neutral as ever. “Romantic timelines and their appropriateness are catalogued in section B, row fourteen. Subsection two contains philosophical debates on the nature of time as it pertains to emotional connection.”
Dorian groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, thank you for that profoundly unhelpful input. As always, you’re a beacon of wisdom.”
The Archivist paused, then added in its unflappably even tone, “For further assistance, section C, row six, subsection four offers guidance on enhancing sexual stamina for older men.”
Dorian’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “I beg your pardon?” he said, his voice rising an octave.
The Archivist continued, “The text also covers overcoming premature sexual climax.”
“That is absolutely not relevant to me!” Dorian interrupted, his cheeks reddening as he sputtered. “Why would you think…Who said…By the gods, someone needs to check your attunement!”
The Archivist, unbothered, simply replied, “Would you like me to retrieve it for you?”
I couldn't contain my laughter any longer. A snort escaped me, followed by a full-blown giggle that echoed through the cavernous archives. Dorian whirled around, his face a delightful shade of crimson that clashed magnificently with his chestnut hair.
“Ren!” he exclaimed, his voice an octave higher than usual. “How long have you been standing there?”
I schooled my features into what I hoped was a convincing look of innocence. “Oh, just got here,” I lied smoothly, holding up the massive tome I'd found. “But please, don't let me interrupt. I'd hate to cut short your... stamina enhancement consultation.”
Dorian's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing again. It was rare to see the usually composed professor so flustered, and I couldn't deny that I was enjoying it immensely.
“That will be all, thank you,” Dorian said curtly to the Archivist, who shimmered and dissipated without another word. He turned back to me, clearing his throat. “Did you, ah, find anything useful?”
I nodded, pretending not to notice the way his ears were still burning. “Actually, yes. This geological study has some interesting notes about the old academy site.”
I hefted the massive tome onto a nearby table, sending up another cloud of dust that made me sneeze. Dorian leaned in close, his warmth radiating against my side as we pored over the yellowed pages. I tried to focus on the intricate diagrams and spidery handwriting, but my mind kept drifting back to what I'd overheard. Dorian was in love with me. Me, Ren Wickens, scholarship kid and general disaster magnet. It seemed impossible, and yet...
“Look here,” Dorian said, his finger tracing a line on the map. His voice jolted me back to reality, and I blinked, forcing myself to concentrate on the task at hand. “This cavern system runs directly beneath the old academy grounds.”
Dorian leaned in closer, his breath tickling my ear. I suppressed a shiver. “Anomalous readings,” he read aloud. “Well, that's certainly intriguing.”
We flipped through more pages, our heads bent together over the book. I was acutely aware of every point where our bodies almost touched, like there was an electric current running between us.
“Look at this!” I exclaimed, pointing to a particularly detailed floor plan. “There's a hidden passage leading from the old headmaster's office directly into the cave system below!”
“Well done, mo stóirín!” Dorian beamed, his accent thickening with pride. “The best discoveries come when you let your heart guide your research. You've got a gift for finding what needs to be found. This could be exactly what we need to find Alistair and stop his ritual.”
I nodded, trying to focus on the map and not on how close Dorian was standing. His arm brushed mine as he leaned in to examine the floor plan more closely, and I felt a jolt of electricity at the contact.
“We'll need to be careful,” Dorian mused, his brow furrowing in concentration. “These caves could be unstable after all this time, and there’s been so much rain recently, the passages may be flooded, not to mention whatever traps or wards Alistair might have set.”
“So, what’s the plan?”
“We’ll need help from a mage almost certainly, and a local historian wouldn’t hurt either, just so we know what we’re walking into. We need to wait for the water to recede, too. That will take a few days.” Dorian straightened, his fingers lingering on the map as he stepped back. The loss of his warmth made the room feel colder, emptier. “In the meantime, we can prepare. Study these passages, decipher any protective wards Alistair might have set, and gather supplies for the descent.”
His tone had shifted into that commanding, no-nonsense professor voice, the one that usually made me sit up straighter in class. But here, now, I caught the faintest edge of worry beneath it.
When he saw me looking at him, he offered me a reassuring smile, and for a moment, the tension in my chest eased. “We’ll get through this, Ren. Together.”
The word settled between us like a promise, and I found myself holding onto it, letting it ground me.
“We should get this back to the lab and start working,” Dorian said, tucking the heavy tome under his arm. He turned toward the Archivist, who remained unnervingly still at the far end of the room. “Thank you for your... assistance.”
The Archivist didn’t respond, but I thought I caught a faint flicker of approval, or perhaps mild disdain. It was hard to tell.
As we left the archives, Dorian fell into step beside me, the tome cradled securely in his arms. His presence was steady, comforting in a way I couldn’t quite put into words.
“Ren,” he said after a moment, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.
I glanced up at him, my heart skipping a beat at the way his green eyes searched mine. “Yeah?”
His lips parted like he wanted to say something, but then he shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Never mind. Just... good work today.”
The warmth in his voice sent a flush to my cheeks, and I ducked my head, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Thanks,” I murmured.
We stepped out into the hall, the air cooler and fresher than the stuffy archives. My mind was still reeling from Dorian’s quiet confession, the discovery of the caves, and the way his proximity made it so hard to think straight.
If Dorian thought it was too soon to tell me how he felt, maybe he was right. But that didn’t stop me from hoping I’d get to hear those words from him again, this time when he was ready to say them directly to me.
For now, though, we had a ritual to stop.