9. Linden
Linden
“It’s a little bit of a walk, Sparks,” I said as Cass and I teleported into the magic circle near the grove. “The snow’s probably a little deeper here.”
“I know a warming spell,” he grumbled, pulling his coat tighter around him. “I’ll be fine.”
I just nodded and set off in the direction of my home.
Over the past couple of days I’d gotten used to Cass’s seemingly constant bad mood.
I wasn’t sure if he was just like that, or if it was the situation he was upset with, and by extension, me.
Either way, I found it almost endearing in a way.
He was so much smaller than me, but so full of anger.
But after what Nerion and Teddy had told me about his family, I suppose it sort of made sense.
We made the hike in silence, only the crunching of our boots in the snow ringing in our ears. Above the sky was pitch black and littered with stars. And as we came to the top of a small hill, I could make out the northern horizon where green and red bands of light swept through the sky.
“Look,” I said, pointing a finger north. “Have you ever seen the northern lights?”
Cass, rolling his eyes at me, looked up and then his jaw nearly hit the ground. “Oh my god…” he whispered into the night.
The lights danced across his face, painting him in shades of emerald and rose, and I felt my stomach flutter as I watched him. He looked suddenly less angry, less guarded. He was just a guy seeing something beautiful for the first time.
“It’s incredible,” he breathed, still staring upward. His hand had dropped to his side, and I had to resist the urge to reach over and take it. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“The grove has a lot of magic,” I said quietly, not wanting to break the spell of the moment. “It draws things. The lights seem to come here more often than anywhere else in the region.”
Cass didn’t respond, just kept watching the aurora sweep across the sky in those hypnotic waves of color. I found myself watching him instead, cataloging the way his green eyes reflected the light, the way his mouth had softened from its usual hard line into something almost vulnerable.
This was a mistake, I thought distantly. Bringing him here alone. Nerion had been right about one thing. I was definitely attracted to this guy. And being out here, away from the greenhouse and the work and the weight of everything, made it harder to pretend otherwise.
“Come on,” I said, forcing myself to look away before he caught me staring. “The grove’s just through here.”
We descended the hill and pushed through a stand of younger trees.
The air grew warmer as we approached, and I could feel the pulse of my home thrumming through the earth beneath my feet.
The ancient oaks would be waiting, their roots deep and strong, their presence comforting in a way that nothing else could be.
But as we stepped into the clearing where my grove proper began, I felt something again. That strange presence I’d sensed back at the gas station weeks ago. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was definitely there. Watching. Waiting.
My hand instinctively went up, and the golden light of my magic flickered to life in my palm.
“What is it?” Cass asked, immediately alert. His hand came up too, and I could feel the air around us shift as his magic responded to whatever threat he was sensing.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But there’s something here that shouldn’t be.”
The presence seemed to pulse in response to our awareness of it, and then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone. The sensation vanished like smoke, leaving only the familiar comfort of my grove and the whisper of wind through the ancient branches.
“Are we in danger?” Cass asked, his eyes darting around the clearing.
“I don’t think so,” I said slowly, letting my magic fade. “I felt something similar before, before I went back to the academy. But it was in town, not here at the grove.” I turned to look at him. “Did you feel it?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “But I wasn’t trying to either.”
I frowned, studying his face in the darkness. The aurora had faded somewhat, but there was still enough light to see the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders had drawn up toward his ears.
“It’s probably nothing,” I said, though I wasn’t entirely convinced of that myself. “Just residual magic from the grove. Sometimes the earth gets restless in winter.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. The grove did have its moods, its seasons of activity and dormancy. But that presence had felt different. Intentional. Aware.
“Come on,” I added, deciding to push the concern aside for now. “I want to show you something.”
I led him deeper into the grove, toward the heart of it where the oldest trees stood.
These oaks had been here for centuries, maybe longer.
Their trunks were so wide that it would take five people holding hands to circle them.
Their branches stretched up into the night sky like they were trying to touch the stars themselves.
As we walked, I felt Cass relax slightly. The magic of the place had a way of doing that to people, drawing them in, making them feel safe. I could sense it working on him, loosening the knots of tension that seemed to be permanently wound through his shoulders.
“This is insane,” he murmured, looking up at the towering trees. “How old are these things?”
“Some are older than the academy,” I said. “Older than most of the buildings in town, probably. This grove has been here since before humans settled this region. My family has been tending to it ever since.”
I stopped in front of the largest tree, the one that was essentially the heart of my power. I pressed my palm against its bark and felt the familiar surge of connection, the way my magic and the tree’s magic intertwined like lovers’ hands.
“This is the heartwood,” I said quietly. “Where I draw my power from. I have to come back here every once in a while to replenish.” I looked up at the tree, feeling the buzz of the magic under my fingers. “My mother and father are both in this tree. And one day, I will be too.”
“So that cutting in the greenhouse,” he said, realization dawning. “That was—”
“From this tree,” I nodded. “From the family grave I guess you could call it. Except they aren’t dead. They’re very much alive, just unable to speak anymore. But sometimes, if I listen very hard, I feel like I can hear them.”
I could feel Cass processing that information, could sense the weight of it settling on his shoulders.
He reached out slowly and placed his own hand on the bark beside mine.
The moment his skin made contact, I felt his magic flare.
His wild, untamed weather magic that crackled through the connection like electricity and the air around us suddenly grew warmer.
The tree responded. I could feel it, a pulse of ancient power that seemed to acknowledge him, to recognize something in him that even he probably didn’t recognize in himself yet.
“It’s warm,” he said, his voice rough with something I couldn’t quite name. “The bark. It’s warm.”
“That’s the magic,” I explained, though I was still feeling the aftershocks of what had just happened.
His weather magic shouldn’t have resonated with a dryad tree like that.
The elements rarely played well together.
And yet here we were, his hand next to mine, both of us connected to centuries of life and power and family legacy.
And now, in a way I couldn’t quite explain, to one another.
“My parents spent decades cultivating this grove,” I continued, watching the aurora light dance across his face again.
“Just like all my ancestors before them, they gave their entire lives to this forest. I was the first to venture out of the grove to see what was out in the world. But I always have to come back. If I don’t, I’ll fade and die.
” I paused, choosing my next words carefully.
“That cutting at the academy was my attempt to see if I could cultivate another heartwood, one that I could carry with me or keep in a secondary location so I wasn’t always bound to one place. ”
I felt him flinch, felt the guilt wash through the connection we still shared through our joined hands on the tree.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to burn it down.”
“I know you didn’t,” I nodded. “I won’t tell you it’s okay, because it’s not. But I know it was an accident.” My fingers slid across the bark until they touched his. “And the cutting survived. It’ll recover in time.”
Cass was quiet for a long moment, his hand still pressed against the bark under mine. I could feel the warmth radiating through his skin, the way his magic was still humming through the connection, dancing with the ancient power of the tree.
“So what happens now?” he asked finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I destroyed months of your work. How does that just... get fixed?”
I turned to look at him and saw the weight of guilt and shame written across his features. It was strange, seeing him like this. Without the anger and defensiveness that usually armored him.
“It gets fixed the same way everything gets fixed,” I said slowly. “With time. With effort. With the willingness to do better.” I paused, considering my next words. “And maybe with understanding why you did it in the first place.”
His jaw clenched. “Because I’m a fuck-up. Because I wanted to impress people who don’t matter. Because my magic is out of control and I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Your magic isn’t out of control,” I said, and I meant it.
“It’s just... untamed. There’s a difference.
” I kept my hand where it was, still touching the bark near his.
“Weather magic is chaotic by nature. It feeds on storms and chaos and wild energy. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be directed.
Can’t be shaped into something purposeful instead of just destructive. ”
“How would you know?” he asked, but there was less bite to it than usual. “You’re a plant guy. Your magic probably just grows things nicely and heals stuff.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that. “My magic has nearly destroyed the grove more times than I can count. Dryads are connected to the earth, but that connection can be violent and unpredictable. When I was younger, I couldn’t even control my own growth.
I nearly choked out half the grove because I was so angry about something my father said.
” I turned to face him fully, my hand finally dropping from the tree.
“I learned to control mine, and I know you can too, Sparks. It just takes time.”
Cass was staring at me now, and I could see something shifting behind those green eyes. Something like hope, maybe. Or at least the possibility of hope.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” he admitted.
“Then I’ll teach you,” I said, the words coming out before I’d really thought them through. “If you want. We’re going to be working together for the rest of the semester, anyway. Might as well make it productive.”
“You’d do that? After what I did?”
“I’d do it because of what you are doing now,” I corrected. “Because you’re here, putting in the work, trying to make it right. And because I think there’s more to you than this grumpy facade you put on.” I stared at him for a long moment. “Why do you act so grumpy all the time?”
Cass was quiet for a long moment, and I watched as he wrestled with something internal. His jaw worked, his free hand clenching and unclenching at his side. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible.
“Because if I act like this, people don’t expect anything from me,” he said quietly. “If I’m difficult and angry and impossible to deal with, then when I fuck up, it’s not a surprise. It’s just... Cass being Cass.”
I felt something twist in my chest at that admission. I understood that kind of armor better than I wanted to admit. I’d worn my own version of it for years. I was always the nice one, the perfect student, always doing what was expected, never stepping out of line.
“That’s a lonely way to live,” I said gently.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, but there was no real bite to it. “It’s easier than the alternative.”
“Which is?”
“Letting people see that I actually care about shit. That I want things. That I’m terrified of disappointing everyone all the time.
” He looked away from me, his gaze drifting toward the ancient trees surrounding us.
“My parents have spent my entire life quietly telling me I’m not good enough.
Not smart enough, not disciplined enough, not the right kind of witch.
Every single time I’m proud of something I’ve done, they just seem like they don’t care.
So I figured, fuck it. If I’m going to disappoint them anyway, I might as well do it on my own terms.”
I nodded slowly, understanding more than I probably should have. But Cass just shook his head, turning his back to me completely.
“Sorry. Nobody wants to hear my sob story,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
I reached out, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him to face me once more. “No. I wanted to know,” I replied. “That’s why I asked.”
“Why?” he said, those beautiful green eyes of his staring up at me. “Why do you give a shit?”
Instead of answering him, I did something I never thought I’d do in a million years. I leaned down and kissed him.