Page 63 of Florescentia

“Your rules don’t work in a place with even ground,” he said, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “But you didn’t listen, did you?”

“It . . . has to stop.” I began to shake, heat at the back of my neck burning in panic. “You can stop it.” I bit out the words, salivating from the overstimulation alone.

“I said that once the Otherside latches on to you, there’s a chance it will never let you go,” he reprimanded.

“Wait—”

“If I leave you like this now, as the mess you are, you will be suspended in nowhere, to be used for this energy, kept alive only as food. Reduced to nothing but a producer”—his claw dragged along the side of my face—“part of an ecosystem.”

“I don’t want this, damn you!”

He tugged my chin up, forcing my face to his. “What do you want?”

“Help me, please,” I sniffled. I could barely keep my eyes open.

“Have you learned your lesson?”

The flower jerked, like it was getting a better grip on me. The pain of fullness made me flinch, the wetness never-ending down my trembling thighs. “Yes! Yes! I’ve learned!” I sobbed.

He raised his palm, then closed it into a fist.

Everything froze.

The only thing still moving was my trembling body.

The plant deflated, slipping out and wilting right there on the floor, the nectar rushing out of me. My face grew hot, the embarrassment of the entire ordeal burning back to my foggy mind.

“You could have stopped it earlier,” I accused him.

“Do you understand why I suggested against using random entities for your harvest?” If he had an eyebrow in this form, it would’ve been raised to his hairline.

“Take me back”—I blew hot air through my nose—“since you’ve rendered my closing incantation useless.”

“Not me,” he pointed out. “Your incantations only work in the world that made you. You are in unfamiliar territory.”

“Take me back,” I repeated, a stronger demand.

He sighed, raising his hand again.

I blinked, and suddenly I was on the floor of my library, midday light heating the humble space through the windows. I was in a wet puddle on the floor. And my library was normal, the same as when I’d last left it. No strange flowers or tempting fruit. Just the disorderly messes of my own creation.

Chapter Eighteen

The Nova

The call came at the witching hour, my brother’s voice ragged on the phone, absolutely elated.

“Be decent and ready outside in twenty-five minutes,” Maxim panted, a clattering in the background, the jingle of keys.

“Where are you calling from?” I mumbled. “You’re bold for asking me to be decent in such infant hours of the morning.”

“You’ll understand the need for modesty. You’ll be happy about it, I promise,” he laughed. “Go be ready, I’m coming.”

Maxim wasn’t the type to be sporadic. He had rigid routines, was a rule follower, unable to step off the ant line he’d drawn for himself. For him to be this manic, whatever it was must have been important. It worried me, but his attitude seemed in good spirits, so that dampened my concern.

I dressed in day clothes, not bothering with putting my hair up. I heard a wagon pull up as I laced my boots, fluffing the skirt and putting on gloves before I went to see.

My brother sat on a covered wagon, his horse no more awake than I was.