"In the back. I can get her."
"That's alright. Actually, maybe it's better if I talk to you."
Chloe set down the chamomile jar. "About what?"
Paul moved further into the shop, his boots tracking mud across the clean floor. He stopped a few feet from her, hands in his jacket pockets, his expression shifting to something that looked almost like concern.
"People are talking," he said. "About the plants dying. About where it started."
"I've heard."
"They're saying it's connected to you. To your blood."
Chloe's spine stiffened. "People say a lot of things."
"I'm not trying to accuse you of anything." Paul held up his hands, placating. "I'm just worried. You've been working with the soil here, at Corin's place, touching everything with those hands of yours. And wherever you've been, things seem to be dying."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" His voice stayed gentle, reasonable. That was almost worse than if he'd been hostile. "You've got druid blood, Chloe. Everyone knows that. And druids have a connection to the land that most people don't understand."
"I don't understand it either."
"That's what concerns people." Paul took a step closer, and she resisted the urge to back away. "If you don't know what your abilities do, how can you control them? How can any of us trust that you're not affecting the soil every time you put your hands in it, on purpose or not?"
"Because I'm not."
"You can't know that for certain."
"I can."
"How?" His eyes held hers, challenging. "You've admitted yourself that you don't know how your gift works. That you can feel things but can't explain them. Some folks think you're pretending. That you know exactly what you're doing and you're playing innocent."
Chloe's hands curled into fists at her sides. "That's ridiculous."
"And other folks think that's even more dangerous." Paul's voice dropped, almost sympathetic. "A druid who doesn't know her own power? Who can't control what she's putting into the earth? That's a threat whether you mean it to be or not."
"I'm not a threat."
"Then prove it." He spread his hands. "Stop working with the plants. Stop touching the soil. Let us see if things get better when you're not involved."
Chloe stood frozen, her throat tight, her mind scrambling for a response that wouldn't come.
She'd heard whispers before. Had dealt with suspicion and sidelong glances in every place she'd ever lived. But this was different. This was someone standing in front of her, voice calm and reasonable, telling her that her very existence might be poisoning the town she'd tried so hard to belong to.
"That's enough."
Freya's voice cut through the shop with a sharp snap. She stood in the doorway to the back room, her green eyes blazing, her small frame vibrating with barely contained fury.
"Freya." Paul's tone shifted, conciliatory. "I'm just voicing what everyone's thinking."
"You're voicing ignorance and fear, and you're doing it in my shop." Freya moved to stand beside Chloe, her shoulder brushing hers in silent support. "Chloe has been working with me for a year. I've watched her with plants, with soil, witheverything green and growing. Her touch doesn't poison. It nurtures."
"Then why are things dying?"
"I don't know yet. But I know it's not her."
Paul's expression flickered, almost unseen. "I hope you're right. For everyone's sake."
