Their seeds, their plants, called to her. Or rather, the kernel of magic she’d unwittingly left behind in them did. An inherent pull that grew to a steady pulse, reverberating in her head.
An itch built at Eunny’s fingertips, magic pooling in her palms, just beneath the skin. It came to her without conscious thought. Like second nature, as it once had. Maybe it always would—did, had—if she had ever let herself notice.
Moving slowly and hesitantly, Eunny placed her hand beside Ollas’s, letting her pinky brush his. He stared at her, a sense of wonder morphing into delight. Happiness. Maybe even pride? Her trust hadn’t gone unnoticed, but then of course it wouldn’t. This was Ollas, and he was too good.
She couldn’t think about that. His magic had been enough to awaken the plants, to encourage tiny nubbins to form amongst the leaves, but it hadn’t carried them all the way. Maybe his magic was too weak. Or maybe they’d always needed something else. The touch of both the people who’d imprinted on them. The buds woke and hungered for the energy to be whole.
A rushing sensation coursed through Eunny’s mind. An understanding that a process had started that couldn’t be paused, only fueled or killed.
Eyes closing, Eunny let a trickle of her magic go. Let it spread into the soil a few droplets at a time. Felt the roots wick it up, her magic winding around the blinking rise and fall of Ollas’s own.
The tiny buds reacted with blazing speed, blooms swelling until they seemed to burst. Petals fanned out in Eunny’s mind’s eye; the shape of the plants formed in her head, lit up with her magic.
Beside her, Ollas tensed with concentration as he called for more of his own power.
But he wasn’t much above a mundane, bless him, his essence low and already down to the dregs with his efforts. The flowers stretched outward, hungry for more magic, shaking when they came up nearly dry.
Eunny’s magic responded. Through it, she felt the plants’ need for her light, thanks to those drops of magic fed so long ago when they were mere seeds. Her magic remembered, like drawn to like, eager to feed the dearth until all were equal. Easily done. All it required was magic, and hers had never left. Only been buried. Repressed for so long that there were little things she’d forgotten.
Nothing like recurrence to jog the memory.
Instead of a few drops of magic carefully meted out by her command, Eunny’s magic surged. Was pulled from her, rushing out into the dirt, watering the plant with her light. Her eyes opened. The cutting had exploded with small blossoms, their petals a stark crimson against the deep green of the foliage. They waved in the torrent of her magic, pinpoint sparks floating up and dissipating with an almost inaudible hiss.
Little bursts of gold, so reminiscent of popping bubbles.
When one landed on her skin, the minute crackle made her jump. It was different… yet so horribly familiar. The way her magic poured out of her, the rushing, slipping feeling, it turned her mouth sour. Panic rose in her throat as she remembered the last time her magic had surged like this.
Eunny flung herself away, wrenching on her magic. It resisted, her threads of golden-white light tangling with Ollas’s strands. His weaker magic called for more of hers, for help.
“No!” She slammed down on the connection, on the subtle warmth in her chest. Ripped herself free of their snarled mess of lines. Didn’t think of the consequences, her mind grasping on to a single imperative: away. Only banging into the rack of plants across the aisle stopped her from going further.
Ollas’s hand jerked as if he’d been stung. He turned to her, concern etched across his face at seeing her collapsed against the opposite rack.
“Eunny?” He reached out to comfort her.
“Don’t,” she bit out, flinching away. “Just— Oh, gods. Ollas!”
His skin, on the hand that had been in the dirt, the one that had touched her magic, was now an angry, inflamed red.
Icy fear washed over her. “Ollas, did I…?” she moaned.
He glanced down at his hand, blinking rapidly. His expression cleared. “No, Eunny, you didn’t do this. It’s from the blight. It’ll clear in a moment. This wasn’t you, see?”
Eunny shrank from his proffered hand, the metal edge of the shelf digging into her back. She didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to feel or know or?—
“Eunny, you didn’t lose control.” He spoke softly to her, as if soothing a wild animal. “Your magic is fine.”
She shook her head. Refused to understand his meaning. To believe. “No. It happened again, Ollas.” A humorless laugh fell from her mouth. “I’m the Healer Who Hurts. I can never take that back. I hurt you again.”
“You didn’t?—”
“You knew I still had it,” she whispered.
“You used it around me. It’s not much, but I do have some magic, remember?” he said, keeping his tone light as if attempting to ease the wall of tension rising between them. “I wanted to bring it up, I just didn’t know how. I thought if you were comfortable with me, eventually you’d tell me on your own.”
“I don’t want to be comfortable with it, Ollas! I don’t want to use it. I hate it.”
“Why?” he asked. He looked so lost, pleading with her for guidance.
