26. Uncertain Echoes
26
Uncertain Echoes
Ren
I squinted at the rune-covered chalk circle on my desk, willing it to make sense. The symbols swam before my eyes like drunken fireflies at a celestial rave. Professor Reedy's voice droned on about spirit anchoring and ethereal tethers, but my brain had apparently decided to take an impromptu vacation. My brain felt like scrambled eggs, refusing to process anything Professor Reedy said about spirit anchoring. It was the same fog that had followed me through ethics of magic and care of familiars. Without Grim's reassuring weight on my shoulder, even the simplest spells felt like trying to catch smoke with chopsticks.
The classroom windows were thrown open to the autumn air, allowing crimson leaves to occasionally drift in and settle on ancient wooden desks. Brass instruments gleamed on shelves alongside jars of preserved specimens.
I glanced around the room, watching my classmates effortlessly trace their runes with the precision of seasoned calligraphers. Meanwhile, my own attempts looked like a toddler had gotten into the chalk supply and decided to redecorate the floor of a mausoleum.
Professor Reedy's practical approach to teaching was effective, but her words might as well have been in ancient Sumerian for all the sense they made to me. I longed for Dorian's gentle guidance and philosophical musings. At least then I could pretend my inability to concentrate was due to lusting after my professor, rather than some deep personal failing.
I missed Grim desperately. My familiar's absence left a gaping void in my magical senses, like trying to navigate a labyrinth with one eye closed and both hands tied behind my back. Without the weight of his stubby little caterpillar feet on my shoulder, I felt as magically adept as a potato. A very sad, very lonely potato.
Professor Reedy's sharp eyes locked onto my pathetic excuse for a summoning circle, her brow furrowing. She glided over, her robes billowing behind her.
“Mr. Wickens,” she said, her voice much gentler than I expected, “I can see you’re struggling. The circle's a bit... unconventional, but that’s alright. This kind of work can take time.”
I stared at my chalk disaster, wishing I could melt into the floor like a particularly embarrassed puddle. “I know,” I muttered, erasing it to try again. It wasn’t any better.
She paused next to me, her eyes scanning my work with quiet concentration. “Try to focus less on perfection and more on the intention behind the circle. It's not about how it looks; it's about how it feels to you. Your magic’s still there, even if it feels a little off right now.”
I frowned, but the sting of failure dulled slightly with her reassurance. “I’m trying,” I muttered. “But I can’t seem to get my head to cooperate.”
Professor Reedy’s expression softened further, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “That’s more common than you think. Sometimes, magic has its own rhythm, and it takes a bit of patience to find yours. But you’ll get there.”
I took a slow breath, trying to focus as Reedy’s words echoed in my head. Find the rhythm. Right. That sounded nice in theory. But my chalk felt like a foreign object in my hand, no longer a tool of magic but just something to distract me from the mess I was making. I wiped away the half-formed circle again, and then another, and then another.
But none of them felt right. None of them felt like me.
The minutes ticked by, each second dragging like the endless stretch of an eternity. My classmates were practically gliding through their work, the runes appearing on their chalkboards with sharp precision. I tried to ignore the frustration bubbling in my chest, but it was hard not to feel the sting when I could hear the quiet hum of their satisfaction in the air.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want this. I did. But lately, it felt like the world was pushing me further and further away from everything that should have been mine. My magic felt so distant, like a fading echo of something I’d once known.
Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, and slumped back in my chair, feeling the weight of my failure settle over me.
Professor Reedy moved to collect our papers, but her eyes flickered to me once more. She didn’t approach immediately, but I could feel her watching me, waiting.
I gathered my things slowly, hoping I could escape without drawing attention. I was already embarrassed enough. But as the last of my classmates filtered out of the room, Professor Reedy moved to stand in front of my desk. There was no avoiding her now.
“Mr. Wickens,” she said, her voice softer, but no less firm. “May I have a word?”
I hesitated, but nodded. “Yeah, of course.”
She leaned against the edge of my desk, folding her arms across her chest. “You’re clearly distracted. You have been all week, and it’s affecting your work.”
I glanced down at my hands, fumbling with my papers. “I’m fine,” I muttered, but even I didn’t believe it.
Reedy’s eyes softened, but there was concern behind them. “It’s not just the circle, Ren. I know about the mark on your forehead, and your… connection to Professor Crowe. And I’m aware that Grim’s absence is weighing heavily on you.” She paused, her gaze lingering on me for a beat longer. “But your grades have been slipping. Your marks in this class, especially, have been unusually low this week.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My scholarship had always been my lifeline. If I couldn’t keep my grades up, if I couldn’t prove I belonged here, I’d lose it.
“I’m trying,” I said again, my voice barely above a whisper.
Reedy’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know you are, but Ren, I’m concerned that you’re not fully here. If this continues, we might need to have a more serious conversation about your place in this program.”
There was a sharp pang of panic in my chest and I looked up at her, my eyes watering. “I can do this, professor. I know I can. It’s just that with everything else going on…”
Professor Reedy studied me for a long moment before her expression softened. “Ren, you’re not failing because you’re not capable. I know that. But you need to take care of yourself first. If you’re too overwhelmed by everything else to give this your full attention, you’re going to lose everything you’ve worked so hard for.”
I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into fists on top of my desk. “How am I supposed to give my studies my full attention when there’s someone out there who wants me dead? And what did I ever do to him? I’m not hurting anybody. I just want to live my life. I just want the same chance to pursue my dreams as everybody else. So why? Why is all this happening to me?”
Reedy’s gaze softened further, her arms uncrossing as she took a small step toward me. “Ren…” she began, her voice quiet but steady. “I can’t give you all the answers to those questions. I wish I could. I can’t explain why you’re being dragged into all of this, why you’re facing things no one should ever have to face. But what I can say is this. You are not alone in it.”
I blinked, caught off guard by her words. For a moment, I felt a wave of something I hadn’t expected: comfort. Not pity, not sympathy, but an understanding that was hard to put into words.
“You’re right to feel overwhelmed,” Reedy continued, her voice low and measured, as though she were choosing her words carefully. “What you’re dealing with is... not small. The mark on your forehead, your connection to Crowe—it’s dangerous, Ren. And I know the toll it’s taking on you.” She gave me a pointed look, her eyes narrowing slightly. “But shutting yourself off and pretending you can handle it alone is only making things harder.”
I shook my head, more out of frustration than anything else. “I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to be the one who needs protection or… whatever this is. I just want to be normal. I just want to be good enough.”
Professor Reedy’s expression softened, her lips pressing into a line before she sighed deeply. “You are good enough, Ren. But you can’t fight this alone. You need help. Real help. And sometimes, that means asking for it. Is there anyone you can talk to? Someone outside of everything that’s going on? Perhaps a friend, or a family member.”
I thought of my family back in Pennsylvania. They might try to understand, but all of this was so far outside their experience, the best they could do was listen and sympathize. I needed someone who understood magic. Someone who understood me.
But not Dorian. I was already leaning so much on him. I didn’t want to burden him further.
“Maybe,” I said to Professor Reedy.
She offered a kind smile and put a hand on my shoulder. “I know you’ve got it in you, Wickens. You’ll get through this. I have faith.” She reached into her robe pocket and pulled out a smooth black stone, offering it to me. “Here. Sometimes when our magic feels distant, having something tangible to ground us can help. This is black tourmaline. It's particularly good for protecting against negative energy and self-doubt.”
I took the stone, feeling its comforting weight in my palm. It was warm, as if it had been sitting in sunlight rather than her pocket, but it wasn’t the same as having Grim perched on my shoulder.
I trudged out of the classroom, my feet as heavy as my heart. The corridors of Blackstone Academy seemed to stretch endlessly before me, a labyrinth of stone and secrets that I was beginning to fear I'd never truly unravel. My brain felt like complete mush. I couldn’t wait to see Dorian. At least I had that still going for me.
As I made my way across the grounds towards Dorian's cottage, the crisp autumn air nipped at my cheeks, carrying with it the scent of fallen leaves and woodsmoke. The setting sun painted the sky in beautiful brushstrokes of oranges and purples. Thick, wispy clouds floated above while birds and squirrels chattered in the trees.
I smiled as soon as I saw the warm glow from the windows of Dorian’s cottage. I imagined him inside baking something in his kitchen with Bones at his side, or perhaps hunched over his work desk grading papers. The kettle was probably already on, and the fireplace going judging from the smoke billowing out of the chimney.
As I approached the cottage, I noticed an unfamiliar figure through the window. My stomach did a little flip-flop of anxiety. I'd been looking forward to some one-on-one time with Dorian, but it seemed the universe had other plans.
I knocked on the door, fidgeting with the strap of my messenger bag. Dorian's warm voice called out, “Come in, Ren!”
I pushed open the door, stepping into the cozy warmth of the cottage. The scent of cinnamon and cloves wafted through the air, mingling with the comforting aroma of old books and woodsmoke. Dorian stood by the fireplace, a steaming mug in his hand and a gentle smile on his face. Beside him was a striking individual I'd never seen before.
They were tall and lithe, with sun-kissed bronze skin and curly blond hair that fell to their shoulders. What caught my attention, though, were the modest spiraling horns peeking out from their hair and the dark brown hooves where feet should have been. A faun, or at least part-faun, I realized.
“Ren,” Dorian said, his voice warm and welcoming, “I'd like you to meet Rowan Greyfable. Rowan, this is Ren Wickens.”
Rowan's eyes met mine, a warm smile spreading across their face. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Ren,” they said. “Dorian's told me so much about you.”
My cheeks flushed, and I wondered exactly what Dorian had shared. “Oh, um, nice to meet you too,” I stammered, my social graces apparently deciding to take the day off along with the rest of my brain.
A flash of movement caught my eye, and I noticed a cream-colored fennec fox with nine flowing tails perched on the back of Dorian's armchair. The familiar's oversized ears twitched in my direction, and all nine tails fanned out in what seemed like curiosity. The fox disappeared in a shimmer of golden light, only to reappear on Rowan's shoulder, her tails wrapping around them like a living scarf.
“And this is Eko,” Rowan said with a fond smile, reaching up to scratch behind one of the fox's enormous ears. “My familiar and partner in all things magical. Don't let her regal appearance fool you. She's an absolute sweetheart.”
As if to prove Rowan's point, Eko chirped softly and vanished again, reappearing at my feet where she wound between my ankles in a greeting that felt surprisingly comforting.
“Your familiar,” I said, watching in fascination as Eko's tails moved with impossible grace. “I've never seen a nine-tailed fox before. I thought they were just legends.”
“Oh, she very much enjoys that reaction,” Rowan laughed as Eko preened, her tails fanning out in an impressive display. “She was quite ordinary when we first met. But as our bond grew stronger, so did her magical nature.”
Eko chirped what was clearly agreement, using one of her tails to straighten the crystal pendant around Rowan's neck.
“Show-off,” Rowan said fondly. “Though I suppose I can't talk. You should have seen me when I first got my horns. I was insufferable for weeks.”
Dorian chuckled, stepping over to a small side table with a pot of tea. “Rowan is a life and relationship coach,” he explained, setting down two steaming mugs in front of us. “They use psychomancy to help their clients navigate their lives and relationships. Sort of a fusion of traditional psychotherapy with a magical edge.” He turned to Rowan, a fond glint in his eyes. “Rowan helps magical folk navigate their paths. Think of them as a spiritual cartographer, mapping the landscapes of our hearts and magic. Their work has helped many at Blackstone find their way, myself included.”
I frowned. “Psychomancy? Is that…mind reading and influencing people’s thoughts?”
Rowan gave a small, knowing smile. “Psychomancy is the use of magic to read, influence, or heal the mind and emotions. It’s different from mind reading. It’s more about understanding the energy patterns that shape how we think and feel. It’s a way of aligning your emotional and spiritual self to help you move forward, especially when things feel like they’re stuck. While it can be used to influence minds and decision making, that isn’t its primary function, no more than a necromancer’s powers are meant to be used to enslave spirits.”
I let that sink in. It sounded... soothing, in a way. Like something that could help when I felt too overwhelmed to handle things myself. “I think I get it,” I murmured.
Rowan smiled softly. “It’s like untangling knots, mentally and emotionally, helping you find clarity.”
Dorian then added, “Rowan’s going to help us cleanse the ritual site at the old academy grounds. It’s a place of power, and with everything happening around here lately, it’s become a bit... unstable. Rowan’s energy work will help neutralize some of the residual energies. But Rowan is also here to offer their services individually. They do energy checks and alignment work, something I’ve made use of periodically.”
I blinked, a little surprised. “You—”
Dorian gave me a playful, yet slightly sheepish grin. “I sometimes need a little check-up. Mental and magical energy, especially with all the necromantic work I do, can get... a little out of sync. So Rowan’s helped me a few times.” His gaze softened, a touch of affection in his eyes. “They’re good at helping me stay balanced.”
I nodded slowly, still absorbing the idea of magical energy check-ups. “Sounds... useful,” I said, my voice quieter now.
Rowan chuckled lightly, as though reading my mind. “It can be very grounding,” they said. “In a way, we all carry energetic imprints of our past experiences. Things that can influence how we feel, act, and think. With psychomancy, I help people release those imprints, so they can move forward without carrying the weight of old emotions or stagnant energy.”
There was something deeply calming in their words. I felt myself relax a little, like maybe there was a way to untangle the knots in my own mind. “That sounds... nice,” I said, a little unsure but open to it.
Dorian stepped over to the kettle and poured tea into two mugs. “It’s helpful for me when I feel out of alignment. And I think, Ren, you could probably benefit from a session with Rowan if you feel comfortable with it. You’ve been dealing with a lot.”
I stared at the tea in my hands, its warmth offering some comfort against the storm swirling inside me. I hadn’t realized how much I might need something like this until Dorian had mentioned it.
Rowan’s gaze was steady, patient. “There’s no rush,” they said, their tone soft and understanding. “You don’t need to make a decision now. Just take your time. If you’d like, we can start with something simple, a brief check-in to see where you’re at emotionally and energetically. Nothing overwhelming, just a little exploration.”
Dorian settled back in the chair beside me, his presence grounding. “Sometimes it’s good to just... get a sense of where you are, without trying to fix anything yet. We can take it one step at a time.” His voice was steady, warm. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you don’t have to go through this alone, Ren.”
I felt the weight of Dorian’s words. My throat tightened, but this time, it wasn’t from fear. It was from something else. Maybe... hope?
“I guess it wouldn't hurt,” I said, more to myself than to them. My mind was still racing, but something about Rowan's calm energy made me want to take a step, even if it was just a small one. Maybe this was what I needed. Not another spell or protection charm, but someone who could help me find my way back to myself.
Rowan gave a small nod, as if they'd expected my response. "Good," they said gently. "Have a seat."