Page 82 of Foresyth Conservatory
“And what do you think, Ms. Blackburne? You’re a fan of the scientific literature; do you care to opine on the topic?” The Meister turned to me.
Aspen sat up, folding his arms on his knees. His eyes shone as if saying,Care to dance with me?
I gritted my teeth. If I didn’t offer up my thoughts, I wouldn’t hear the end of it. Someone had to put him in his place.
“I’ve read the study Aspen is referencing, but I wasn’t convinced. It’s been shown that conscious thought can rewire our brains—there’s a growing field of cognitivebehavioral work to support this. Granted, if someone is in possession of their full faculties . . .” I paused. “Then they can rewrite themselves to make the decisions they choose.”
“Yes, but the only reason you’re able to decide is because your brain is written into a configuration that allows you to. You only have the perception that you can change things, but in fact, the path before you has already been predetermined.”
What was he even trying to say? That I was predetermined to kiss him through some cosmic force? That tapping into Sophia’s powers was inevitable, and we were all puppets to the Meister’s plan?
“Then why use the cards at all? If everything in life is preset, embedded into our spiral helix, why even pretend to play magician? Pretend to have power?” I knew he was antagonizing me for the fun of it, but my frustration was building to a crescendo, pouring out against my better judgment.
“Even our illusions of control are fated. We must act our part in the play called life.” He feathered his fingers into a steeple, letting me know he wasn’t going to budge.
My mouth opened, but no words came out. I wanted to refute his argument, but there was a part of me—the part that worshiped the truth—that knew that that night in the kiln, I hadwantedto kiss him. That it had beenmychoice, and my choice only. His countering of free will was edging me to my stance, my conclusion.
Maybe the magick had given mepermissionto do it, to go after what I really wanted, but it was all me in the end. That was the truth, the proof point of my free will, that I couldn’t share with him.
I swallowed all my unsaid words, burrowing myself deeper into the chaise, and let someone else take the argument. If I couldn’t say what I wanted to, then I shouldn’t say anything at all.
*
I walked into Sequoia’s room an hour later, greeted by the scent of rosehip and hibiscus and the flicker of candlelight, a dozen or so candles lit and sprinkled throughout her room.
“I made some tea,” Sequoia said, splayed on her bed, her hair pooling around her nightgown like spun sugar. The floral scent of the tea caressed my nostrils like soft ribbons before tying a knot in my throat.
“I’m fine,” I said, recalling my first night at Foresyth, nursing a headache from ingesting a graciously offered potion of herbs. Aspen had said he wasn’t the one who poisoned me—could it have been Sequoia? Or was he just deflecting blame away from himself?
“Oh, come on, Dahlia, there’s nothing in here.” She turned, reaching for something next to her dresser. “Unless you want there to be.” She smiled, twirling a dark vial between her fingers.
I raised my hand, rejecting the offer. “Really, no thanks.”
Her features fell for a moment, but then she perked up, reaching her arm out again. I took her hand without another thought and followed her to the bed.
Magick is an intimate affair.I recalled my first day at Foresyth, offering a reading at the dinner table. My cheeks burned at the memory. And yet, I now found myself in Sequoia’s bed for the second time, for more magick.
“You’re going to have to guide me . . .” I said. I considered if I should ask for Leone’s pen first before getting into the cards, but based on her excitement, I didn’t want to risk her turning me away.
“You brought your deck?”
“Of course,” I said, pulling out the Skorn deck from my satchel. I went through too much stress with the Council not to always have it on my person.
“Good, you should do your normal preparations.” She poured herself a cup of tea, the bright red liquid swirling into her cup. She started humming a tune as she mixed milk with the tea, turning it into a pink pool.
I obliged her request and shimmied the cards under my seat, as if preparing to do a reading. Sequoia sipped on her tea and let out a sigh of enjoyment into her cup. “You really should try this tea.”
“No, you really should,” another voice rumbled behind us. I didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Aspen entered from the doorway, creaking the door closed behind him. “It’ll relieve the tension in your shoulders, make the magick more permeable.”
I stood abruptly, shaking the bed such that Sequoia’s teacup spilled a drop of the rose liquid onto her white sheets. “I’m sorry—”
“No, I am. I startled you,” Aspen said, rounding the bed across from us. He eyed me up and down, his gaze pausing on the new blouse I had donned, and at the seam where it met my waist. I felt foolish suddenly, embarrassed by the clothes, by finding myself so vulnerable with Sequoia, and for wanting to kiss him last night.
I felt like he read it all on my face at that moment. I was so mortified I wanted to bolt out of the room, but his stare kept me nailed in place.
“I know you only asked for Sequoia’s help, but I’m here to offer mine as well,” he said.
“I don’t want any more of your help.” I was almost turning before I felt Sequoia’s grasp on the sleeve of my shirt.
