The Enchanted Greenhouse(75)

“A shield?”

“Yes, like an invisible bubble that sits just within the glass.”

“Ah.”

She showed him the spell. Her notes were scrawled in the margins, but she’d copied the necessary syllables neatly to prevent any mistakes due to illegibility. “I think I isolated the piece of the spell that creates the bubble from the rest of it. Possibly.”

“Possibly?” Yarrow raised his eyebrows. He had expressive eyebrows, she’d noticed. “What happens if it fails?”

“That’s what I’m not sure about. See, the word for protection … There are a couple of different variations, depending on how you align it with the activation word—essentially, the verb. Honestly, it might be best if I cast this one by myself, and you wait outside?”

She was certain he wasn’t going to agree to that, and she was correct.

“No.”

She expected him to explain why, but that was all he said. “No?”

“No. I stay with you.”

“That’s nice, but if something goes wrong…”

“Then I’ll be here with you,” Yarrow said. “We talked about this.”

“Yes, but this is a different spell. A much less certain spell.” Terlu attempted again to show him the words, pointing to the ones that she was unsure about. “See here? It could create an entirely different effect if I stress the end syllable on the third line, as opposed to if I—”

He pushed the paper down and wrapped one arm around her waist to pull her up against him. Then he kissed her, even more thoroughly than he had before. She felt his tongue against her lips, and she opened her mouth. His breath was her breath.

Her thoughts scattered, and the spell slipped from her fingers. It fluttered to the ground, and she didn’t care. She wove her fingers through his hair. He cradled her back with one hand and her neck with his other. She tasted the honeyed heat in his kiss.

A few seconds, minutes, an eternity later, he drew back, and she could breathe on her own again. His voice rough, he said, “Cast the spell.”

“Okay. Yes. I can do that.” Terlu took a step back, out of his arms, and waited for her brain to begin functioning again. She picked the spell up off the ground. “Um, was that just to shut me up, or … Never mind. I don’t actually want to know. That was … nice.”

“Good.” He was staring at the ceiling, at the glass walls, at the flower beds full of withered, brittle plants, anywhere but at her.

“Right. Okay. You … um, the ingredients?”

Yarrow knelt by the basket and removed the items on the list.

“I think they should be … combined.” Why oh why did the word “combined” conjure up images that were not at all relevant to a greenhouse spell? She swallowed hard. “Yes, um, mix them.” Think boring thoughts. Boring thoughts. Like breakfast.

She thought of waking up so close to Yarrow, of the taste of honey rolls, of the way the sunlight bathed the naked wood of the cottage … Nope, not boring. How about dirt? Dirt is boring. Except when it was on Yarrow’s hands after a day of gardening, and he washed them off in the sink, meticulously rubbing each golden finger.

How about turtles? There was nothing sexy about turtles, right?

She thought about turtles for a while.

By the time he’d finished combining the ingredients into a sandy mixture, she was calm enough to take it from him. She walked the perimeter of the greenhouse, scattering it onto the ground, taking care not to allow more than a few inches of space between the grains.

Terlu felt Yarrow’s eyes on her as she walked, but she didn’t know what he was thinking about. Their kiss, or turtles? Returning, she handed him the empty bowl. “Do you prefer land turtles or sea turtles?”

“Sorry? Um, sea turtle? We have one, with the ocean plants.”

“I’ve heard some species of sea turtles can live up to five hundred years,” Terlu said. “There’s an island—aptly named Turtle Island—where the oldest sea turtles come to lay their eggs every year without fail. Its inhabitants have a festival every year to celebrate when the eggs hatch, and they have all these amazing myths about the Great Turtle, Marzipul, who created the Crescent Islands, hatching them from eggs she—”

“Terlu.” He looked amused.

“The spell. Yes.” She looked down at the paper, then took a deep breath. She tried to think of the syllables and only that. It was easier when she was looking at the words. She’d always taken refuge in words whenever anything was difficult or confusing or too much. They were both her shelter and her shield.

Calmer, Terlu read the words of the spell.

Around them, the air shimmered, wavering like heat over a stove but with colors in it: flecks of amber and emerald. She reached out a hand—it was so vivid that she felt like she could touch it. Yarrow caught her wrist. “You don’t know if it’s safe,” he said.

She withdrew. He continued to hold her wrist, softly, from behind her, his arm wrapped lightly around her waist. All around the greenhouse, the air undulated.

If Laiken were still alive, she would have had a very pointed discussion with him about his incomplete notes. When she’d finished airing her grievances, he could have described what a successful spell looked like versus a failed experiment so she’d know the difference.