“I’m tethered to him,” I said. “Literally. I can’t go far from Professor Grey. If I do… I die. It’s just… when I first teleported here, he sort of… killed me. And then brought me back.”

  Elvira narrowed her eyes, thinking.

  “Hm. Yes. I think you’re experiencing what we call a Liminal Resonance of Limbo-Existence,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s possible. Extremely rare. Very dangerous. Requires an obscene amount of magical power and total control.”

  She waved a dismissive hand.

  “It’s nothing like raising a zombie. Any idiot can manage that. When we raise the undead, we’re not dealing with souls. Just residual memories and fragments of aura. Leftovers, really.” She glanced at me. “But you’re different. You have a living soul in a living body — only… bound. Anchored. That’s not spellwork. That’s practically an art form.”

  “How did you call that?” Finn blinked.

  Elvira gave him the kind of look normally reserved for people who think necromancy is spelled with a k.

  “Liminal Resonance of Limbo-Existence,” she repeated slowly, like a school teacher explaining shoelaces. “An ancient ritual. Part soul magic, part spatial binding. It was used in old family graveyards to anchor spirits — so they could visit their descendants without fully crossing into the afterlife. Professor Grey must’ve modified it.”

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  Finn still looked like he needed a lie down.

  “Right. Sure. I’ve just… never heard of it.”

  “I’d be shocked if you had,” Elvira sniffed. “It’s hardly standard curriculum. And thank every deity for that. Resonance only works under absolute magical control. But Professor Grey…”

  She paused meaningfully.

  “He’s clearly capable of it.”

  “All right, genius. And how do you know all this?” Finn sighed, shaking his head.

  Elvira shrugged, maintaining her superior expression, as if the answer were obvious.

  “I read, Finn.”

  “So,” Finn turned to me, frowning, “Grey tied your soul to your body to keep you alive? Why?”

  “Great question,” Elvira said, with a hint too much interest. “He must be very invested. That’s a big magical commitment.”

  A silence fell. I tried to lighten it with a shrug.

  “Maybe I’m just an experiment? If he modified the ritual, maybe he needed a test subject.”

  “Or it’s because you’re from another world,” Finn offered.

  “There have been outworlders before,” Elvira snapped. “Remember that fellow from Alterra? Disappeared eventually… speaking of which, do you know where he went?” She waved the thought away. “Either way, no one soul-glued him to a professor. Malinka here must be something special.”

  She narrowed her eyes, the way people do right before they accuse you of murder.

  “Are you hiding something? A cursed amulet? Secret royal bloodline? Hidden tail?”

  “Or,” Finn grinned, “the dean just fell in love at first sight.”

  He immediately regretted it. The look Elvira shot him could’ve curdled milk.

  Yeah. I’d noticed. She was very academically interested in the professor.

  They were still bickering when the door creaked open again — and something stepped in.

  A skeleton.

  Not metaphorical. Actual bones. White, ancient, faintly glowing green in the empty sockets where eyes should have been. It moved with a metallic scrape, joints clicking ominously, as if it might collapse into a heap at any moment.