Her two bodyguards stopped just outside her door—hovering. Isla turned, forcing a tired but genuine smile for her friend and Andrew.
“Well ... good night.”
Juliette pulled her into a warm hug, squeezing her tightly. “I’m just a knock away. I’ll pop over early for breakfast—we can burn toast together and talk.”
Isla chuckled. “Thank you.”
Andrew looked like he wanted to talk, his expression suggesting he had far too much on his mind and not enough words to untangle it. Before he could try, Isla gave them both a soft nod, slipped inside, and quietly shut the door. The gentleclickof the lock felt oddly sad. She wanted to escape. Wanted to be alone.
She heard Mrs. Harris, the caretaker, in the hall. “Now Andrew, you know you are not allowed up here without letting me know first that you are calling on the ladies.”
Isla chuckled. She couldn’t hear his response, just his tone of voice, no doubt charming the old dear as she escorted him back toward the stairs.
She looked around at her apartment, small but full of character, lined with shelves of weathered botanical texts and scattered with pots of greenery she tended with affection. A small settee as well as a single worn armchair sat by the hearth beneath a brass reading lamp, and a modest writing desk overflowed with lecture notes. On the windowsill, a lone goldfish swam lazy circles in its bowl—her only roommate. Her only family. A confidant to many late-night thoughts.
She exhaled slowly into the stillness, the door a barrier between her and everything waiting outside it. In reality, she didn’t actually want to be alone, but she feared that if people got too close, they would see the imposter she was. An orphaned girl with nothing to offer.
Isla walked over to Darwin and fed him a few fish pellets. He seemed grateful.
She sighed. “Ah, Darwin, you will never guess what happened today. But I am afraid my tale will have to wait; I need to lie down.” The fish didn’t respond, but he did swim around snatching up his pellets, so she guessed he cared that she was around.
Deciding to forgo dinner, Isla crossed the small sitting room and made her way into the bedroom. Her class marking would have to wait. All she wanted now was sleep. The space was sparse but peaceful, with a narrow bed tucked beneath the eaves and a cozy blanket folded neatly at its foot. A chest of drawers stood beside a low bookshelf filled with field guides and pressed plant specimens, their delicate forms faded between vellum pages. A single framed photograph sat on the nightstand—the cleaning lady from the orphanage, the one who had changed her future. The sight made her chest tighten unexpectedly.
Opening the bottom drawer of her nightstand, she pulled out a small box. Patchy looked back at her, the wooden spoon worn and odd looking. She lifted it into her arms and brought it to her chest. A single tear escaped, and she wiped it away. It had been a long time since she felt this fearful. This out of control.
Once in her nightgown and beneath the covers, she curled on her side, still clutching Patchy. The wood was awkward, but it offered its own familiar comfort. She worried she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Her head still throbbed dully, and her eyes drifted to the wilted plant she’d moved into her bedroom days ago, hoping to revive it. It had been a gift to Juliette, and she had returned it panicked that she’d killed it. Its once broad leaves were curled and crisp at the edges, brittle and pale with veins like paper. The stems sagged under their own weight, the soil dry and hardened with neglect.
A pang of guilt pricked her as she realized she hadn’t watered it today, but she felt too exhausted to climb out of bed. Her eyes fluttered shut, and sleep took her—deep and sudden.
Chapter Four
October 26th
Isla woke to the scent of jasmine, damp earth, and something disturbingly alive. She blinked up, expecting to see the ceiling, frowning when she didn’t. For a moment she lay still, confused. The harsh headache that had dulled her thoughts last night was not so bad.
She sat up slowly, her nose bumping ... was that a leaf? The smell and texture indicated it was. She brushed it aside and gasped in shock. It was ... thriving. Rampantly. The plant hadn’t just revived; it had erupted. The once wilting thing had overtaken the room entirely. Vines cascaded from the pot, sprawling across the floorboards and winding up her bookshelf. Tendrils curled possessively around the chest of drawers, and one green arm had wrapped halfway around the bedpost.
Bright blossoms had burst open overnight, and the air was thick with the scent of too many flowers. Plants she didn’t even own were in her room. Even the ceiling wasn’t safe—delicate creepers had scaled the wall and begun weaving overhead like living crown molding. Her whole room was a jungle, her various plants covering the entire space.
“Oh no,” Isla whispered.
One of the vines gave a lazy stretch toward the bedpost.
“Oh no, no, no—”
She brushed aside the leaves surrounding her and banged hard against the wall, knowing Juliette’s bed was right on the other side.
“Juliette!” she yelled, hysteria making her voice sound strange even to her own ears. “Juliette!”
There was a crash inside the apartment, then Isla heard footsteps and her friend’s voice. “Is it shadows? Are we under attack? Do I need to burn something?”
Juliette burst through the door of her bedroom, one slipper on, a dressing robe half tied, and a fireball already glowing in her palm.
“Where are they—?” she began but stopped short, her jaw dropping as she took in the plant gone rogue.
Isla blinked. “No—it’s the plants.”
Juliette lifted her dropped jaw and grinned. “I can see that, Isla . ... Blimey,” she said, extinguishing the fireball. “I guess it’s safe to say what your Aetheric powers are.”
