Chapter 19
Istroll along the path that cuts through the center of campus toward the greenhouse, and the lanterns mounted at intervals along the walkway cast watery gold light across the flagstones.
The air is cool now that the rain has ceased, and every exposed surface is glazed with a sheen of water from today’s storm.
When the greenhouse comes into sight, I notice the door is ajar and the soft light of lanterns illuminates the glass from inside, and I smile to myself as I imagine Alaric waiting for me.
I shouldn’t be so elated at the thought of spending more time with him, but I can’t help it.
There’s something about him that draws me in.
He’s intellectual without being condescending, skilled with his work, and enigmatic in a way that leaves me wanting to know more after every single interaction.
His ethereal good looks only enhance the effect.
I slip through the door and close it behind me, immediately relaxing with the familiar earthy scent of the greenhouse.
It’s becoming a sanctuary at this point, a place where I can feel at home.
The forest might feel the same if not for the eerie watchfulness that consumes me every time I go too deep into the trees.
Alaric is waiting for me at a far workbench, the sleeves of his charcoal-colored button-down rolled to the elbows. He’s examining something under a microscope, making occasional notations in his notebook.
“Hi,” I call out, giving him plenty of notice of my presence so I don’t startle him this time.
“Miss Harver,” he greets me with that same professional tone he always does. “Ready to get started?”
“I am.”
He closes his notebook and slips it into his bag before pushing the microscope aside and beckoning me over, gesturing to the empty stool beside him.
I pull the seat backward so as not to impose upon Alaric’s personal space before taking a seat. The flames of the lantern flicker in the dusky light, casting shadows over the dark foliage surrounding us. Alaric pulls a tray of six seedlings from the shelf beneath the bench and sets them before me.
“We’re going to work on identification today. Each of these is a different plant. I want you to focus in on the properties of each plant and identify what it is.”
I do as he says, more easily able to channel my Affinity each time I practice it. The exercise only takes me twenty minutes, and I correctly name each plant.
“You’re showing considerable improvement in your magic,” he says. “As long as you keep up in class and continue to practice on your own time, you should be at the level of your peers before the end of the semester. How is your progress in the foundational work going?”
“Not nearly as well,” I admit. Outside of classes, I’ve spent hours attempting to practice minor spells and enchantments to no avail, and the ease with which the other students are able to perform them only makes me feel worse.
This type of simple magic has been a part of their lives for so long that it’s a simple, rudimentary skill while still feeling like an impossibility in mine.
“And how has your emotional state been since our last discussion?”
“Well, I did go walking once, though I should probably work on making it a consistent effort. But even without the walking, I’ve been paying more attention to my emotions and my impulses rather than pushing them away.”
“That’s good to hear. I know it’s only been a week, but do you feel as if it’s been working?”
I sigh. “It’s, uh, hard to say. There’s a lot going on right now, and I’m having trouble keeping a clear mind.”
He raises an eyebrow in silent question.
“I asked another professor about my father today, and it was… weird.”
“Weird in what way?”
“The professor said they were good friends, roommates, even. He told me stories about my father’s personality, but when I was ready to leave, he warned me to stop asking around about him.”
Alaric’s brow furrows, his face illuminated by the flicker of lamplight. “Did he give a reason?”
“Not really. He said I should keep a low profile and that I shouldn’t resurrect the past.”
Alaric turns his body to face mine, and I try to ignore the jolt of electricity that zips through me when our knees brush. He’s watching me intently, and I can almost see the wheels in his head turning. “Which professor said these things to you?”
“Dr. Lowry. He teaches my Magical Law and Ethics class.”
Alaric nods, as if I’ve confirmed something in his thoughts, but simply says, “Interesting. Did he say anything else?”
“No, that was pretty much it.”
The conversation is over as quickly as it began when Alaric responds, “In that case, let’s practice some foundational elemental skills with the rest of our time tonight.
” He stands and rummages around in a drawer near the area where tools are stored before returning with a white candlestick.
“I’d like you to practice conjuring a flame, assuming you haven’t done so before? ”
He phrases the last part as a question.
I shake my head. “I haven’t.”
“Have you attempted to?”
“Yes, and I haven’t made so much as a spark.”
“That’s okay. I want you to try again.”
I do exactly that, focusing my intention as I’ve been told to do, clearing my mind of everything except producing a flame. I envision a flame sparking to life and consuming the wick, attempt to feel the warmth of it in my chest and transfer that warmth to my magic, but… nothing.
After a few minutes of fruitless effort, I exhale and lean back, rubbing my eyes. “It’s not working.”
“That’s okay, let’s try a different approach. Walk me through what you’re thinking and feeling as you do this.”
I explain my process to him, and he nods along.
When I finish, he speaks. “I’ll start by saying that there are many methods of performing magic.
In this case, you’re trying to visualize, which doesn’t seem to be working.
You have a connection to the earth and, to a degree, the natural elements, so try to utilize that.
Instead of envisioning a flame appearing from nowhere, imagine the combustion process using the oxygen from the air.
Use your hands to guide the energy if you need to. ”
I do as he says, hovering my hands between my body and the candle, imagining the process of combustion happening, being directed through my fingertips.
A spark flickers before dying out, nothing more than a scintilla.
I try again. Same thing.
By the fourth time, my hands are shaking and my self-confidence plummeting.
“Here. May I?” Alaric’s voice is soft as he shifts closer to me and envelops my hands in his after I give him a confirmatory nod.
His leg brushes mine again, and though my hands stop shaking, there’s a hitch in my breath at the unexpected contact.
His hands are warm as he holds mine steady, and a sense of calm confidence washes over me.
“Try again.”
I do. I repeat the same process as before, and just like that, a flame bursts to life.
I gape at Alaric as he pulls his hands away. “How did you do that?!”
“You made it happen,” he says. “All I did was take some of your fear. It’s your own mind that’s holding you back.” He says the words with calm reassurance, but he’s looking at me curiously now, his head cocked to the side and that tell-tale wrinkle in his brow when he’s thinking or confused.
“You can do that?”
“Yes,” he says distractedly. Something has rattled him in the last few minutes, and I can’t help but worry that if he’s able to sense my fear, he can sense whatever else I’m feeling, which isn’t entirely appropriate for the situation at hand.
“So you have more than one Affinity?”
“Sort of. Now I want you to try it again on your own, knowing you have the power to do it.” Leaning forward, Alaric blows the candle out, and acrid gray smoke twists and curls up into the air where it dissipates.
Always so goddamn evasive.
Whatever he did has worked, though, because the process is deceptively simple this time around, and I light the candle almost immediately.
“Well done,” Alaric commends in a low voice.
I smile at him. “Did you help this time?”
He shakes his head. “That was all you.”
There’s still something off in his tone that I can’t quite identify, but I take the win regardless. I can worry about his mercuriality later.
For a few minutes, we sit in silence, both of us watching the flame dance atop the candle. A silence stretches between us, heavy with words unsaid, and I find myself missing the warmth of his touch.
It was professional academic help, I tell myself, even if I’m not sure it was.
When I glance over at him, he catches my eye and gives me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I think you’ve managed to figure out the next step in mastering your magic,” he states. “If you don’t believe you can do something, it’ll become a self-fulfilling prophecy. As simple as it sounds, trust yourself to succeed and the rest will come easier.”
Easier said than done, I think, but I simply respond with, “Thank you. I’ll do my best.”
Thick droplets of wax slide down the sides of the candle, slowing as they fall away from the heat and dry near the base.
Alaric extinguishes the candle with a puff of breath once again before standing in a clear indication that our session is over. He hands me one of the two lanterns illuminating the dark space, then walks toward the arched doorway, the orange light of the lantern bobbing with his steps.
I follow his lead and push aside the surge of disappointment that comes from knowing I won’t see him again for another four days.
Despite my frustration with his equivocal demeanor, I’m drawn to him like a moth to flame, and I won’t soon forget the feeling of his warm hands gently holding mine.
It’s such a small gesture, but coming from a man who can be so cold and calculating, it feels significant to see such a softness under that sharp, stern facade.
It makes me wonder how many people truly get to see this side of him.
As we walk out of the greenhouse and into the crisp night air, Alaric finally breaks the silence stretching between us. “Let me know if you end up speaking to any other professors or finding out more about your father.”
“Why?”
He locks the greenhouse door with one hand while holding a lantern with another, avoiding eye contact when he answers, “I am trying to piece together some information about the academy that seems to be off-record.”
“And you think my father might be relevant to whatever you’re trying to learn?”
“I don’t know. Probably not, but there’s always a chance.”
“In what way?”
“I’m still trying to determine that. But I will ask that you keep this conversation between us. It’s imperative that this remains quiet for now.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” I promise. Whatever he’s working on discovering sounds important, and I’m grateful he was even willing to tell me this much.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, leaning against the now-locked door of the greenhouse with one hand tucked in his pocket, cutting a striking silhouette against the reflective glass.
His distinct features are illuminated by the orange glow of the lantern as he surveys me for what feels like the millionth time tonight with a mixture of intrigue and hesitation.
My stomach flips as I bask in his attention, but I don’t avert my gaze like I usually do. After a few seconds, his lips quirk up in a subtle smile.
“From now on, we’ll meet for our tutoring sessions in my office, which is room 107 in the Natural Sciences building,” he states. “We may conduct our sessions there, or we might use an empty classroom, but I don’t think we need to utilize the greenhouse any longer.”
“Oh, alright. That sounds good.” I turn to leave, but he speaks again.
“Vivian?”
“Yeah?”
He pauses, then says, “I’m proud of you.”
My heart constricts in my chest, but my immediate reaction is to ask, “Why? For managing to work my way up to a level that everyone’s already at?”
“No. I’m proud of you for not giving up despite all the odds against you.”