Chapter 14
By seven o'clock Friday evening, the storm that’s been battering the island all week has finally subsided, leaving the campus waterlogged and dripping beneath a bright sky bathed in shades of pink and orange as the sun begins to set.
The fresh scent of petrichor lingers in the air as I navigate the pathways toward the greenhouse with nervous energy thrumming through my veins after a quick dinner in the dining hall.
Dr. Vale is sitting on the bench outside of the greenhouse, writing in that same small leather notebook I’d seen him with in the arboretum. He doesn’t seem to notice me as I approach, lost in the details of whatever he’s writing, and I take the opportunity to examine him.
His face is washed in the warm glow of the sunset, the light reflecting off his glasses that have slid down the bridge of his nose. He runs his fingers through his dark hair, brushing it off his forehead before it falls right back while he continues to write in sharp, quick pen strokes.
I’m only a few feet away from him, making my footfalls intentionally loud, when his head finally whips up.
At the same time, he snaps the cover of his notebook shut before seeming to relax when he realizes it’s me.
I’d almost think he looks guilty if he didn’t school his expression so quickly. I wonder what he’s writing.
“Hello, Ms. Harver,” he says, carefully sliding the notebook into his satchel before standing.
“Hi. Sorry if I startled you.”
“No worries.” He stands then leads the way to the greenhouse before unlocking it with one of the keys hanging around his neck.
He opens the door and gestures inside. “After you.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, making my way into the warm enclosure.
He closes the door behind us, grabs two lanterns that are just inside, then leads me through the massive building to an area of the greenhouse I haven’t seen yet.
It’s a smaller room, closed off from the main central part of the greenhouse and less humid.
There’s a small raised garden bed in the center of the room with several assorted herbs, and along the outside of the square room, more planter boxes with vegetables in various stages of growth.
Against the far wall, there’s a gap between planter boxes where a small circular table with two matching chairs sits.
Dr. Vale gestures to the table in an indication to sit, and I oblige, sinking down into one of the chairs across from him with the table between us.
The table is small but sturdy, its legs made of twisted metalwork made to resemble vines, and the chairs are the same.
They’re surprisingly comfortable, though, with plush pillows on the seat and against the backs.
My heart races, both with our close proximity and the fact that I’m probably about to make a fool of myself again.
But I have to do this, I remind myself. I won’t make it through the semester without a disaster if I don’t. What would’ve happened if we’d been working with more dangerous plants yesterday? I easily could’ve harmed someone.
Part of me wishes we were in a more public location, as I’m only more nervous due to being alone with this man, but the larger part of me recognizes that would be worse because it would mean more witnesses to my ineptitude.
When we get settled at the table together, he finally speaks.
“The first lesson everyone needs to learn, which I presume you’ve covered in Professor Showen’s class, is that magic is not simply an external source you can control, but something that’s channeled within you.
Your magic responds to intention, and your emotions are affecting it. Does that sound right?”
“Yeah.” His gaze burns into me, but I can’t bring myself to make eye contact.
“So, in order for me to help you, I need to understand more about you. Some of these questions will feel personal,” he states, “but it’s important to be truthful and introspective.”
I nod in acknowledgment for him to continue, taking a deep breath to steady myself.
“So, based on the story you told me earlier about how you discovered your magic, you must be pretty powerful.”
I shrug. In all honesty, I have no clue what’s normal and what’s not when it comes to magic, so his statement surprises me.
“My first question is, do you feel like you’re an emotional person? More affected by things than the average person, perhaps?”
“Not really,” I answer honestly. “I feel like my emotions are pretty on par with other people’s, and I do a good job of keeping them in check.”
“What does that mean to you? Keeping your emotions in check?”
“I don’t know, just coping with things to the best of my ability, I guess. Like, I’m not going to scream at someone if I get angry with them, and I won’t burst out crying if I fail a test or something.”
“Hmm, interesting. In that case, what do you do to cope with your emotions?”
“Uhh, I don’t know. I just kind of get over them eventually.”
“Well, I think we’ve found the issue,” he states.
I turn my head to look at him, hopeful he’s found some simple correction I’ve been missing. “What’s that?”
“Because your magic is tied to your emotions, poor emotional regulation means unstable power. You said before that you were sort of a caretaker in your household, yes?”
I nod. The way he’s looking at me feels entirely too intimate, like he’s examining my soul through my eyes. I shift in my seat but can’t seem to look away from him. He’s captivating.
Dr. Vale continues. “If I’m guessing correctly, then you’ve spent most of your energy managing everyone else's needs and emotions, so much so that your own get suppressed, stored away because there's no time or space to properly process them. Does that sound right?”
Well, shit. He hit the nail on the head there. “That does sound accurate,” I admit.
“Magic doesn't recognize that suppression as control. It interprets stored emotion as fuel, so the more you bottle up, the more volatile your magic becomes. In order to properly control your magic, you’ll need to learn how to process your emotions in a healthy way.”
“So, how do I do that?” I ask. “Is there some sort of magical therapist I can see here that’ll fix me?”
He chuckles, and my traitorous heart skips a beat.
“You could see a therapist if you’d like, yes.
But everyone has their own methods for emotional maintenance, so to speak.
Some write in a journal or do artwork, others exercise or simply talk to a friend.
You will learn meditation techniques with Professor Showen this semester, as those are universally helpful.
It’s a delicate balance of allowing yourself to genuinely feel and process something without ruminating on it, then being able to set those feelings aside or channel them in a controlled manner when you’re performing magic.
Otherwise, everything will accumulate and become unpredictable and unstable, even explosive, if ignored. ”
“What do you do for yourself?” I ask. “For emotional maintenance or whatever.”
He pauses, then says, “Reading. Playing chess. My research.”
“Was that what you were working on when I came here? Your research?”
“Yes. But the focus of this session is you. Do you have any hobbies you’ve used in the past as a way to relax?”
“Besides taking care of my plants? Hiking, whenever I was able to make the time.”
“Well, since we’re on an island, there aren’t really any true hiking areas, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, but there are some nice walking paths. I’d encourage you to try those out and make it a point to work walking into your schedule.”
I don’t mention that I’ve already explored the forest more than I should have. “Sounds good.”
“But don’t forget that the most important thing is still to allow yourself to feel your emotions rather than suppressing them. It can also help to find a friend to spend time and speak with.”
“Got it.”
“On that note—” he stands, walks across the room, and picks up the small flower pot “—for now, we can practice separating emotion from magical intention in the short term while you work on the long-term application.”
My stomach clenches as he sets the flowerpot on the table before me with a dull clang and lowers himself back into his seat. A large, healthy succulent sits in the middle of the pot, its pointed leaves creating a beautiful circular symmetry.
“I want you to try the same thing we attempted in the lab on Tuesday, but on a lower scale. All I want you to do is cause a leaf to grow, but do so slowly; aim for ten minutes. When you’re using your power, do not let your mind stray.
If you happen to think about something, don’t get frustrated.
Acknowledge the thought and set it aside.
Visualize placing it somewhere outside yourself, like a mental box, for later.
You had a handle on the lab before your mind strayed, so attempt to focus in the same way. Okay?”
I nod. “Okay.”
“Close your eyes and pretend I’m not here, if that helps.”
I do exactly that, not wanting to admit that his presence makes me nervous in ways I can’t articulate. I reach forward and rest my fingertips on the soil, searching for the heat in my chest that sparks to life quicker than before.
The pulse of energy flows through me, and I envision it as a warm light trickling down my limbs and through my fingertips, controlling it in the same way I did this afternoon. Whenever a stray thought appears, I dismiss it and continue to focus on the task at hand.
It’s more difficult than I thought it would be to maintain my focus for so long, but with steady breathing and concerted, intentional effort, I manage. My energy is connected with the thriving plant, a serene vibration that hums between us.
After what I assume to be about ten minutes, I open my eyes and find a small, healthy-looking leaf that wasn’t there before.
“Oh my god, I did it!” I grin at Alaric, and to my surprise, he grins back with a smile that could light up the world, one filled with pride.
It only lasts a second, but I’m certain that image will stay burned into my brain for a very long time. “Wonderful. Now, cut off your magic as you pull your hands away, severing the bond between you and the plant.”
I do as he says, envisioning the invisible thread between me and the flower snapping.
“Well done,” he says, and the praise makes my heart constrict.
The excitement and pride bubbling through me make my eyes burn with happy tears, even though crying over something so minuscule would be embarrassing.
But then I remember what Dr. Vale said about allowing myself to feel my emotions, and I’m torn between letting the tears fall or trying to force them back.
Taking deep breaths to steady myself, I allow the tears to fall but wipe them away quickly.
“Sorry, it's just, this is the first time I've done magic on purpose without it going catastrophically wrong.”
“Don't apologize. Magic is difficult, and you're learning everything simultaneously that most practitioners spend years developing gradually.” He stands. “I think our lesson for tonight has been successful. Keep practicing this skill in a safe environment, preferably somewhere outdoors and with small plants, and we’ll work on building new skills through each tutoring session.”
I stand, looking up at him with gratitude. “Thank you so much, Dr. Vale. Seriously. This has already helped so much.”
“It’s no problem. And you can call me Alaric, but only in the context of our tutoring sessions, since I suppose that is how I initially introduced myself to you.
” Playfulness dances in his eyes, and my stomach somersaults.
First he makes it clear how professional our interactions must be, and then he tells me to call him by his first name?
“Make sure you eat regularly,” he says before I can respond to his confusing statement. “And get plenty of sleep. Using magic will take more energy than you’re used to.”
“I will,” I promise as I follow him back through the massive greenhouse toward the main door.
“Vivian?”
He turns to face me, procuring something from his pocket. “A little memento of your first successful night of magic. Grow it into something you’re proud of.” He hands me a leaf from the succulent, one that I’ll be able to propagate in my room and grow into a full plant, and I beam at him.
“Thank you so much. My room could use some greenery.”
“I remember,” he says. “Thank you for your diligent work tonight, Miss Harver. Same time next week.”