Page 47

Chapter Forty-Seven

T he day after Christmas, I bundled into my warmest jacket and gloves and headed to the SCC campus.

I was still feeling festive, so on impulse, I peeled a pink rose from my cutting of Rosie and tucked it behind my ear.

There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, giving the streets the appearance of frosted sugar cookies.

The lampposts along the sidewalk in Weed were adorned with light-up wreaths, and window art decorated the glass panes of a few of the businesses along the way. None of the displays rivaled the festiveness of Vera’s Café, but they were magical all the same.

When I arrived at SCC, I headed straight to the prop design lab.

While the fall semester had ended, prop design was a two-semester commitment so that we would all be available to finish the designs and assemble the set when the play went live in the spring.

I was beginning to see posters for the spring production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream cropping up around campus and felt a little swell in my chest that I would be a small part of it.

The instructor was offering open lab hours for any of us who wanted to work on projects over the break. I found my instructor in another room, working with clay on a kiln .

“Go right ahead, Briar. I’ll be in here if you need anything.”

I thanked her and went to the worktable where Yasmin and I usually sat.

My goal for the day was to create the fake quill needed for our trip to the tree conservatory.

I pulled up the pictures Callan had provided me and examined them closely.

Once I had a feel for the overall look, I reopened my bag and removed the feathers I had tracked down to serve as the quill’s base.

Thankful for the solitude, I slipped in my earbuds and put on some melodic music to help me create.

I checked the door occasionally for signs of my instructor or anyone else, but for a solid two hours I was left alone, and I worked diligently to modify the feather, completely in the zone of creating something new.

I stretched the bounds of my power, implementing many of the strategies from my growing defensive skills to subtly shift the appearance of the feather.

When I finished the process and was satisfied with the result, I started again on a new feather. This had to be perfect, and I would make sure that it was.

After moving from drawing to painting to prop craft, I realized it wasn’t necessarily just art that I loved… it was creating .

By the time I said goodbye to my instructor and exited the prop room that evening, I was hopeful that what I had made would suit our needs at the tree conservatory.

I checked my watch and realized that it was almost time to meet Petra.

We were squeezing in one last field studies session before she returned to Italy for an extended winter holiday.

I turned my car toward Evergreen Academy.

For the first time, we were meeting on my school’s campus.

Petra had recently become concerned that the shield she was creating in the cabin on Mount Shasta wasn’t close enough to the actual conditions at the academy to make our tests valid.

With most of the students gone for the break, it was a good time to test if any of our antidote combinations worked on the academy grounds .

Petra was waiting in the flower garden when I arrived, sniffing a cluster of snowdrops. “Good evening, Briar.”

“Hi, Petra. Have you been here before?” Since Petra was from Italy, I didn’t know whether she had reason to visit Evergreen Academy before today.

“A couple of times,” Petra said. She held up her hand, showcasing a beautiful ruby on a delicate silver bracelet—her gemstone that gave her access. “Enough to know that the Perilous Grove will be a discrete place for us to practice.”

I nodded, and we walked toward the luscious grove, stars twinkling overhead in the twilight sky.

“What’s this flower?” Petra asked.

I touched my ear, having forgotten the bud from Rosie was there. Miraculously, it had managed to stay in place the entire time I had worked on the quills at SCC.

“You know, that’s a good question. It’s been in our family for generations, and we’ve always referred to her as a rosebush. One of my friends from the academy saw it and pointed out that it doesn’t have any thorns. So now I’m not so sure.”

“May I?” Petra reached out a hand, and I gave her the flower.

“Hmm,” she said. “I’m unsure about it, too, though flowers aren’t my specialty. Have you had any of your instructors look at it at the academy?”

“No, not yet. Maybe after the holidays. Here we are.” I stepped into the Perilous Grove.

Petra handed me back the flower, removed her backpack, and began settling mason jars of antidotes we had concocted onto a log that was covered in moss.

“Which one would you like to test first? I brought some tea to soothe your stomach between tests, if needed.” She pulled a travel carafe from her backpack.

“How about the sweet clover mix?” That had been the only time I thought I had noticed a small difference, even though it had turned out to be a hallucination.

I took a swallow, and we began testing my powers. After an hour and four different recipes, I shook my head. “The plants here still feel as blocked off as ever.”

Petra’s forehead creased. “These were my top candidates for antidotes against the abrin and black walnut effects that are impacting you. There must be something we’re missing.”

“Maybe the stories are right, and the poisoning of my powers was irreversible.” I tried not to show her how much that idea disappointed me.

I was headed to a magical botanical conservatory within days for a mission with the Root and Vine Society.

A small but overly hopeful part of me had thought there was a chance we could unlock my powers before then.

If we could, I would be much more of an asset on the mission.

Petra extended a hand toward the flower behind my ear again. “I wonder… You said it’s been in your family for generations?”

“Yes,” I said slowly, wondering where she was going with this.

“The poison used on you when you tried to charge the verdant shield latched onto your magical pathways, inhibiting your abilities. I wonder if something you have a strong connection to might be able to force the inhibitors off those pathways.”

I held up the flower. “You think this might be that connection?”

“It’s too risky to have you consume it without knowing what kind of plant it is. Do you mind if I take it with me? I can study it over my travels the next few weeks. If I can identify it, then we can attempt a concoction.”

“That sounds great,” I said. This was good news. Even though it meant I wouldn’t get access to my powers before the conservatory trip, there was still hope that my condition wasn’t permanent. “Is there any way for me to continue our research while you’re gone?”

“I have a feeling you’ll be busy enough without me assigning homework,” Petra said, beginning to put away the glass jars.

For a moment, I held my breath, wondering if she somehow knew about the mission we were planning .

But the fleeting concern passed as she asked, “Ready to walk back?”

“I think I’m going to stay out here for a bit,” I said, having an urge to draw for the first time in a while. With the empty grove in front of me, this felt like the perfect way to clear my head and mentally prepare for the mission to the tree conservatory.

“Very well then. You’ve been very resilient through all of this, Briar. Enjoy your break, and I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

“Have fun in Italy,” I said.

When she was gone, I turned to the variety of plants that made up the Perilous Grove, searching for the right vantage point to sit and sketch. I found an angle that felt right and took a seat on the log.

I considered everything I had been asked to do with Petra so far these few months.

We were attempting something that had never been done before, at least not according to modern records, and there was a thrill in the testing and discovery.

I mentally worked through the steps of creating an antidote as I sketched the view in front of me.

Study.

Assess.

Change.

Create .

These, I could do.