4. Linden
Linden
The greenhouse was still smoldering in places when I stepped into it with Professor Paulson at my side.
For the first time since I’d started at Widdershins Academy, she wasn’t her usual chipper self.
She was, for lack of a better term, fucking furious.
I could feel it rolling off her in waves like heat on pavement.
“It’s going to be okay, professor,” I said, patting her on the shoulder. “We’ll get this place fixed up in no time.”
She let out a long sigh. “I’m glad you’re feeling so positive about this,” she replied, looking over the devastation. “But between you and me, I was an inch away from killing the kid that did this.”
“You wouldn’t do that professor. You’re too good for that.
” I knelt down, digging my fingers through the ash and snow until they met soil.
Warmth flowed through me into the ground as my dryad magic spread from my fingertips.
“The earth is still alive and many of the plants are still okay. Damaged, but very much alive. I suspect we’ll be able to save most of them. ”
The professor watched me work, her expression slowly shifting from fury to something almost contemplative.
I could feel the roots beneath the ash, the delicate network of life that had survived the inferno.
Most of them were scorched, their outer layers blackened and brittle, but the core remained intact.
There was hope here. Real, tangible hope.
“Your senior project,” Professor Paulson said quietly. “The specimens you were cultivating. Some of them were in here, weren’t they?”
I didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t. My throat had gone tight the moment I’d stepped into the greenhouse and seen what was left of my college career’s work.
Months of careful cultivation, of coaxing rare plants to thrive in controlled conditions, of documentation and research.
All of it was reduced to ash and twisted metal.
“Most of them,” I finally managed, my voice rough. I pulled my hands back from the soil, leaving golden glowing handprints in the ash. “The blue moonflowers were in the north section. The silverleaf specimens were along the east wall. And the heartwood cuttings...” I trailed off, unable to finish.
“I’m sorry, Linden,” she said, and I believed her. I could hear the genuine regret in her voice. “I know how much this project meant to you.”
“It’s not your fault,” I replied, standing up and brushing the ash from my jeans. “It was just an accident. A stupid, careless accident, but an accident nonetheless.”
The words came out a little bitter. I hadn’t meant for them to, but they did. That usually wasn’t my style. But today… Today I was feeling a little down.
Before Professor Paulson could respond, I heard footsteps crunching through the snow outside the greenhouse. I glanced toward the entrance just as a small thin figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the gray morning light.
It was him. The witch from the library last night. The one that had been very irritated with me for some reason.
And judging by the way Professor Paulson’s expression hardened, he was exactly who I’d been dreading to see. He was the one that had burned down the conservatory.
“Uh… hi,” he said, not moving from the arched entrance. “I’m here to… help fix this I guess.”
“Fix it?!” Professor Paulson scoffed. “This cannot be fixed, Mr. Reed. You have done untold damage to this institution and—”
I held up my hand, cutting my professor off. “I’ll take it from here Professor,” I said, glancing her way. “If that’s okay with you?”
She took a deep breath, blowing it out through her nose like an angry bull. “Fine. But if he does one damn thing out of line, you tell me so I can have his ass expelled.”
Then, with a huff, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the greenhouse.
I watched her go, knowing she just needed some time to cool down.
I might’ve lost my senior project, but Professor Paulson had lost several plants that she not only had been cultivating for decades, but that she considered her own children.
It was a heavy loss for her and one I hoped to ease with a lot of dryad magic and an even larger amount of time and effort.
“I didn’t get your name last night,” I said, taking a step forward. “Before you told me to fuck off.”
Realization dawned, and his face went through several emotions in the span of a second or two.
He probably expected me to scream at him or treat him poorly.
But that wasn’t really my style. I gave people the benefit of the doubt until they left me no other choice.
And this guy… I didn’t get the feeling he was bad, just that he was… still figuring it all out I guess.
“Cass,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft this morning. “My name is Cass Reed.”
I nodded, taking in the way he was standing there in the doorway like he was terrified to come inside. His dark hair was messy, and he had that same irritated energy from last night, but there was something else there too. Something that looked almost like... shame maybe?
“Well, Cass,” I said, gesturing around at the wreckage. “Welcome to your new home for the next four months.”
He flinched at that, and I felt a small pang of guilt. I hadn’t meant to sound quite so harsh, but the words had come out, anyway. It was hard to be chipper when I was looking at the charred remains of my home away from home.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Cass said, and he actually sounded like he meant it. “I was drunk and stupid and—”
“You were drunk and stupid and you called down lightning from the sky,” I finished for him, trying to keep my voice level. “I know. Professor Paulson already told me the whole story.”
I could see him wince at that. Good. He deserved to feel bad about what he’d done. But I also knew, from experience, that guilt alone wouldn’t fix anything. We were going to have to work together if we wanted to salvage what was left of this place.
“So here’s the deal, Sparks,” I said, and I watched his eyebrow twitch at the nickname.
“I’m going to teach you how to help me rebuild this greenhouse.
We’re going to start with the debris, then we’ll move on to structural repairs.
After that, we’ll replant what we can save and see what grows.
It’s going to be hard work, and it’s going to take a long time. ”
“Sparks?” he repeated, his voice tight.
“Electricity,” I said with a shrug. “You literally called down lightning. Sparks seems appropriate.”
For a moment, I thought he might argue with me about the nickname. But then something shifted in his expression, and he just nodded slowly.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “When do we start?”
“Right now,” I said, gesturing to the wreckage around us.
“Some of the plants are still alive. But they need to be protected. So the first thing we’re going to do is erect a semi-permanent barrier just outside the walls of the conservatory to keep it climate controlled.
After that we’ll begin cleanup. By hand. ”
I watched as Cass looked around the greenhouse, taking in the full scope of what we were about to undertake. His jaw clenched, and I could see the moment reality hit him. This wasn’t just a punishment. This was months of grueling, physical labor.
“By hand,” he repeated, his voice hollow.
“By hand,” I confirmed. “There are several plants under the debris that will need to be very carefully excavated. If we use magic to do it, they might be damaged.”
“Can’t you just…” He shrugged. “Get new plants?”
I stared at him for a long moment. Clearly he knew nothing about the conservatory.
“Some of the species here are the only ones of their kind. They are living, breathing creatures that deserve our respect. It’s our duty to take care of them, even if it requires hard labor and dirty hands.”
Cass let out a scoff. “If you say so…”
I chose to let that go. He’d learn in time. “My magic works with living things. Plants, soil, earth. But I can’t rebuild structures. That’s all you. Well, you and whatever magic you’ve got that doesn’t involve calling down acts of god on campus.”
He flinched again at that, and I felt a small twinge of satisfaction. Not enough to make me cruel, but enough to let him know I wasn’t going to pretend this was fine or put up with his irritation.
“I don’t really know any magic besides weather magic,” he admitted, his eyes fixed on a pile of twisted metal that had once been part of the greenhouse frame. “And the Dean told me I can’t do that anymore.”
“Then I guess you’re going to learn,” I said, moving toward the northern section of the greenhouse where my blue moonflowers had been. “Come on. First, we need to assess what’s salvageable. And then we’re going to put up the barrier.”
He followed me, his footsteps crunching through the ash and debris. I could feel him watching me as I knelt down beside a charred planter, my hands already glowing with that soft golden light that meant my dryad magic was activated.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Checking if they’re still alive,” I said, running my fingers gently over the blackened soil.
Beneath my touch, I could feel the faintest pulse of life.
The roots were still there. The seeds were still viable.
“This one survived. Barely, but it’s alive.
But this January cold is going to kill it if we don’t get that barrier up this morning. ”
“Do you know the spell for it?” he asked, wrapping his arms around himself. “I don’t know anything like that.”
“You didn’t take Professor Blackwood’s Practical Spellwork course yet? I thought they required all freshmen to take it?”
His brows furrowed in irritation. “I took it,” he growled. “I just… I don’t remember it all.”
“Well, you’re going to remember it now,” I said, standing up and brushing the ash from my hands. “Because we need it, and you’re the only one here who can cast it.”
I could see the frustration building in his expression, the way his jaw tightened and his hands clenched into fists. Part of me wanted to feel bad about pushing him, but I didn’t. He’d burned down the conservatory. The least he could do was learn a spell he’d already been taught in a basics course.
“Look,” I said, my tone softening slightly. “I get it. You’re hung over, you’re tired, and you’d probably rather be anywhere else right now. But these plants don’t have time for your attitude. So either you figure out how to cast the barrier spell, or they die. Your choice.”
He stared at me for a long moment, and I watched as something shifted behind his eyes. It was like watching someone come to a decision they didn’t particularly like but knew they had to make, anyway.
“Okay,” he said finally. “What do I need to do?”
I walked him through the basics. I knew the words of the incantation, the hand gestures, and the way you had to feel for the magic in the air and guide it into the specific shape you needed.
It took him three tries before he got it right, and by the time the shimmering barrier materialized around the greenhouse, I could see the sweat beading on his forehead despite the cold.
“There,” I said, nodding in approval. “That’ll keep the temperature stable and protect the plants from the worst of the cold. It won’t last forever. Maybe a week or two. But it’ll buy us time. And you can always cast it again.”
Cass stood there, breathing heavily, looking like he’d just run a marathon. I felt a small spark of something that might have been sympathy. Weather magic probably came naturally to him. Having to learn something else, something that didn’t come easy, was probably a new experience.
“Now what?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Now we start digging,” I said, gesturing to the debris field.
“Carefully. There are plants under all of this, and we need to get them out without crushing them. I’ll tell you where to dig, and you clear the ash and rubble.
When we get close to the actual plants, we switch to hand tools only. No magic. No shortcuts.”
He nodded, and we got to work. The morning wore on, and the only sounds were the scrape of shovels against stone, the crunch of debris being moved, and occasionally my voice directing him toward the next section that needed clearing.
Cass didn’t complain out loud, which I appreciated.
Though he did throw a few pieces of debris around in frustration.
But he worked, methodically moving through the greenhouse, uncovering the damage and carefully extracting what could be saved.
By the time the sun had cleared the trees, my stomach was growling and my muscles were sore, even with my dryad resilience.
“We should take a break,” I said, straightening up and wiping my brow. “Go get breakfast and get to your classes for the day. What time does your last class get out?”
“I don’t know,” Cass shrugged. “I don’t remember my schedule.”
I stared at him for a long moment. This kid really didn’t give a shit about college. It made me wonder why he’d even come to Widdershins Academy in the first place.
“Then I’ll meet you here at six tonight,” I said. “Whether you have class or not. Make sure you eat first. We’ll be working until ten.”
“Seriously?” he grumbled. “On the first day?”
I nodded, not budging an inch. “Yep. For the rest of the semester too.”
“Fuck me…” He turned away, heading for the door. My words must’ve struck him the wrong way. But they were just the truth, nothing more. “I fucking hate this shit.”
“See you at six,” I called after him.