Chapter 16
The following Tuesday’s botany lab is almost miraculous compared to last week’s disaster.
Dr. Vale has set out potted plants again, though this time there are dozens of different types.
They’re not labeled, but he instructs us to choose one, identify it, write down its current stage of growth, and identify what it needs.
From there, we’re required to make the necessary changes to fix the plant or its environment, whatever that may be, either magically or manually, then document the changes.
It’s an exercise in connecting through magic rather than imposing and directing it.
My previous experience of working at the nursery allows me to identify most of the plants scattered about, so I grab one I’m familiar with before it can be scooped up. It’s a pink azalea with yellowing leaves that look like they’ve seen better days.
Multiple students cast me side-long glances and move to tables further away from me, and shame threatens to overtake my positive mood.
It’s okay, I tell myself. I made a mistake before, and that’s alright.
I’ll do better this time. The tapping of the rain against the glass roof provides the white noise I need to focus.
I follow the same process as before, letting my power slowly find the connection with the plant.
This time, however, I don’t direct any magic outward.
I simply let it simmer inside of me, waiting for the connection to deepen.
Just when I begin to doubt that I’m doing this correctly, I’m hit with an inexplicable sense of thirst and an almost bitter taste in my mouth that I inherently understand.
I jot down my observations in my notebook then get to work. In the storage area of the greenhouse, I scan the shelves until I find elemental sulfur powder, scooping some out from the large container with a plastic cup.
Dr. Vale watches me when I return to the main work area, and I smile brightly at him. My newfound confidence, however tentative, feels like a secret between us.
I get to work, sprinkling the sulfur onto the soil in order to lower the pH, as azaleas need more acidic soil, then water it deeply to provide it the moisture it needs and allow the sulfur to soak in. I debate my next action for a few moments before deciding to risk it.
Since the sulfur will take a long time to work on its own, multiple weeks at minimum, I’m certain a little magic can help it along. I’m just not sure if I’ll be able to do it without screwing something up.
Still, I decide to try.
Cupping my hands around the warm terracotta pot, I close my eyes and envision my magic flowing through me as it warms my chest, and I direct the smallest amount I can to my hands.
In my mind, I imagine the soil soaking in the sulfur and the roots of the flower drawing up the nutrients ever so slightly to make the plant healthier.
Determined not to test my luck, I gently sever the connection between myself and the plant then open my eyes. It’s still not perfect, but the leaves have darkened enough to be perceptible, and I’m almost sure that the plant will continue to grow stronger over the next week.
Beside me, AJ’s eyes widen. “Are you done already?” he asks with disbelief.
“Umm, I think so.”
“Ugh, lucky. I don’t know why I picked a monstera. These things are finicky as hell, but I always think the leaves look cool. Guess I just have a bad habit of picking the pretty ones.” He glances over at me, winking then letting out a dramatic sigh.
I snort a laugh and roll my eyes. “Whatever. Good luck.” It’s only been a couple weeks of me knowing him, but I’ve managed to learn in that short time that AJ is a shameless flirt with practically everyone.
He even winked at Dr. Hagan yesterday after making some double entendre that she (thankfully) missed.
I note all of my observations and corrective actions on the paper I’m required to turn in for the lab, then proudly hand it over to Dr. Vale.
He takes it, scans it, then looks up at the plant before finally looking at me.
There’s a gleam of approval in his eyes.
“Very well done, Miss Harver. You’re even one of the first to complete the lab, and you knew the correct moment to stop in order to maintain your plant’s natural health,” he adds, and I beam at the praise.
“Go ahead and use a piece of tape to label the pot with your name, then leave it on the table. I’ll be checking in on the progress of everyone’s plants. ”
“Great, thanks. I’ll do that. Should I stay for anything else?”
“No, you’re good to go.”
“Perfect, thanks. I’ll see you soon.” With that, I leave the greenhouse with a spring in my step, and the satisfaction carries me through the afternoon.
In our Naturalism Spellwork course the next day, AJ and I chat as we spend the second half of class putting theory into application, creating wearable spell jar pendants with minor protective properties.
For mine, I layer in mugwort, sage, and a tiny sliver of black tourmaline.
Each item on its own signifies protection from negativity or warding off evil.
I’m not sure how reliable it might be, considering the number of students rolling their eyes at Professor Hagan’s lecture on spiritual protection from unseen evil beings, and it makes me wonder how much of magic is fact versus fiction.
“She’s an old bat,” AJ whispers at the end of the lecture.
“Is this all just nonsense then?”
“Not entirely. The information about protective herbs and crystals is legitimate enough, but according to my friends who’ve had her before, she’s always going on about how evil is escalating.
She might just be one of the few remaining religious nuts.
” He had shrugged, and I had left the conversation at that.
It’s interesting to wonder how religion would work in the context of the magical community, but it feels like too much to care about right now when I have more important things to focus on.
With my newly made pendant around my neck, I drop my bag off in my dorm room before deciding to go for a walk. If I’m going to make a habit of it, I should start on a good day, right?
Plus, the summer is fading, and I should take advantage of the balmy weather.
Walking, or hiking, has always been a good way for me to think through things on a higher level, but it had been difficult to make time in Vegas.
But here, I have forest paths minutes from my residence hall, and my only responsibility is myself.
It’s still bizarre to have so much time to focus on what I need.
I slip on a long-sleeve shirt beneath my jacket, grab my keys, and head back downstairs to walk before my evening mycology class. Fog is rolling in over the island, cloaking everything in a gray mist that seems to dampen both light and sound.
Campus is relatively quiet at this hour, most students either eating dinner or already settled into evening study sessions. I follow the now-familiar path toward the far end of campus, then cross the lawn to the same trailhead I’d taken before.
The moment I step beneath the canopy, the temperature drops several degrees.
Breathing deeply, I allow my mind to roam as I process everything that’s happened over the last week.
Remembering what Alaric had said about my emotions, I focus first on the one that’s been lingering in my mind for almost a week now.
Every time I remember that my dad attended school here, I’m overcome by waves of conflicting emotions.
Relief that I have a deeper connection to him than I once thought.
Disappointment that there was no way for me to know.
Confusion about why Professor Showen acted the way she did and hasn’t acknowledged it since.
Instead of brushing the thoughts aside, I let them travel through my mind at whatever speed they come and go, and there’s an ache in my chest as I think again about my dad.
It’s an odd feeling to miss someone you’ve never met, to grieve not only your loss of them, but the fact that you never had any time together in the first place.
I’ve been putting off asking the other professors about my father after Professor Showen’s strange reaction, but I can’t any longer. Otherwise, it’ll weigh on the back of my mind forever. I have to ask the others.
With that decision made, I breathe a little easier.
About halfway through my walk, an idea hits me. I was able to connect with my plant in the lab and sense its needs, so could I do that on a larger scale?
I stop walking and close my eyes, focusing on opening myself up to the nature around me.
I’m surrounded by evergreens and deciduous trees, ferns and salal, moss and fungi.
It only takes a second before I’m overwhelmed with my awareness of the vast collective consciousness of the world around me.
It’s like a second heartbeat, or an expanse in my chest opening after it’s been closed off forever. It’s nothing short of incredible.
Beginning to walk again, I’m both soothed and awed by the energetic hum of the forest.
I start cataloging what I pass and attempt to connect individually with each plant I mentally label.
The first I focus on is a western sword fern, with its fronds arranged in that distinctive upright pattern.
Next, a tree with smooth, pale gray bark. Red alder, I think.
Then devil’s club, with its bright red berries.
I continue like this for a while, mentally reciting the names of plants I recognize while finding that singular thread of energy amongst the larger natural connection.
Fog drifts through the trees in wisps that thicken gradually, obscuring more of the forest as I walk until I can no longer make out the details of plants that aren’t within a few feet of me.
Since I’m already more than halfway through the trail, I decide to finish the loop, confident I won’t get lost considering the distinctive path.
I’m enjoying my calm connection with the world around me when there’s a shift. It’s subtle at first, but the farther I walk, the more it weighs down on me. Whatever friendly bond I’ve been feeling with the plants is replaced by something heavier.
It’s the wary sensation of being watched, stalked by something unseen. It’s similar to the feeling I got the last time I explored the woods, though that time it hadn’t been until I veered off the trail that I’d felt this sense of unease, of wrongness.
Nothing else indicates a predator. The forest is still alive with the sounds of small animals and insects, and there’s no other sound besides that.
I keep walking, though, deciding that it’d be worse to stop and look around, which would indicate to whoever—or whatever—is watching me that I’m aware of being observed.
My stomach twists with unease, and I gradually speed up my pace in a way that’s subtle enough to not be immediately noticeable.
The words of the guy at the party last weekend echo in my mind. Over the last thirty years, over a dozen students have disappeared from the island. Some say the missing students have been sacrificed out in the forest.
My heart rate ratchets up, even as I shake my head to rid myself of the thought. He was just trying to scare you, I tell myself. Even from my brief interactions with him, it was clear that he’s the type who likes to stir up trouble.
But then Alaric’s warning from that first night in the greenhouse comes back to me as well, when he told me it was unwise to walk alone at night in a place where magic exists without inhibition.
But what kind of threats could possibly be out here? If there truly were something dangerous on this island, the administration would surely warn everyone, right?
Behind me, a branch snaps, and I jump. But when I look over my shoulder while walking at a brisk pace, there’s nothing but an empty trail concealed by thick fog.
I fight the urge to run, and when I finally see the opening in the treeline ahead, relief crashes through me.
I’m safe.
But it’s only when I'm back on paved pathways that run through campus that I allow myself to stop and breathe properly. My hands shake as I check my watch. Still fifty minutes until my last class of the day.
I make my way back to my dorm room and grab my bag before heading toward the botanical sciences building, attempting to reason with myself about my experience in the forest. The fog made things feel eerie.
Opening up my magic in such a vast and diverse area confused my senses.
Yeah, that must be it. I’m inexperienced, and my nervous system was overwhelmed by that much input.
But as I walk through the nearly empty stone hallways, unable to see anything out the windows now that the fog has fully descended, I can't shake the sensation of having been watched.
And as much as I tell myself I was simply being paranoid, I can’t fully convince myself to believe it.