"And it's not overwatering or underwatering."
"I know that too."
Freya straightened, wiping her hands on her apron. Her green eyes were troubled in a way Chloe rarely saw. Freya Bloom had been working with plants her whole life. She'd trained under her grandmother, one of the most respected nature witches in three counties. If something stumped her, it was serious.
"The roots are struggling," Freya said. "Like they can't pull nutrients from the soil properly. But the soil tests fine. pH is normal. Moisture content is normal. There's no fungal infection, no pest damage." She shook her head. "I don't understand it."
Chloe stared at the tray of dying seedlings. She'd planted these herself, tended them carefully, done everything right. And still they were failing.
"Could it be me?"
Freya looked up sharply. "What?"
"The whispers at the café yesterday. People are saying my... whatever it is... might be affecting the plants." Chloe forced herself to hold Freya's gaze. "What if they're right?"
"They're not."
"You don't know that."
"I do know that." Freya's voice was firm. "Druidic magic doesn't poison land, Chloe. It connects to it. If anything, your presence should be helping these plants, not hurting them."
"Then why are they dying?"
Freya didn't have an answer. The silence felt heavy as Chloe replayed other scenarios of how her gift had seemed to be more of a curse. She had to get out of her own head.
"Corin's orchard beds are showing the same thing," Chloe said after a moment. "He mentioned it yesterday. And his bees are acting strange too, according to Twyla last night."
"I heard." Freya moved to the sink, washing soil from her hands. "He stopped by the Book Nook last night to talk to Lucien. Wanted to know if there were any records of something like this happening before."
"Were there?"
"Lucien's still looking."
Chloe nodded slowly. Her mind was already turning, sorting through possibilities. If this was happening in multiple places, tomultiple types of plants and creatures, then it wasn't about her. It was about the land itself.
"I want to see his orchard beds," she said. "Compare notes. Maybe if we look at the patterns together, we can figure out what's connecting them."
Freya dried her hands, studying Chloe with that perceptive gaze. "You sure that's a good idea?"
"Why wouldn't it be?"
"No reason." But something flitted in Freya's expression. Amusement, maybe. Or knowing. "Work always does clear your head."
Chloe ignored the implication. "I'm serious. If this is spreading, we need to understand it. And two sets of eyes are better than one."
"Three, technically. If you count Corin's bear."
"You know what I mean."
The bell above the front door chimed, and Freya glanced toward the shop. "I should get that. Can you finish potting the chamomile cuttings? They're the only things that seem to be thriving right now."
"Sure."
Freya disappeared through the curtain that separated the workroom from the shop front. Chloe heard the murmur of voices, the creak of the old wooden floors, but she turned her attention to the chamomile cuttings lined up on the side bench.
At least something was still growing.
She was elbow-deep in potting soil when she heard heavy footsteps behind her. Not Freya's light tread. Something slower, more deliberate.
