Being here with Sang, I fully understand it.
“Maybe it can,” I say.
Sang looks at me then, a small smile pulling at his lips. My heart beats faster, and my body is restless, standing in this small space with him. I look away.
Loose papers sit on the edges of tables and on the floor, under pots and stained with dirt. I pick one up and study it. It’s beautiful, a hand-painted illustration of wild larkspur. The species name is written in cursive, and different parts of the flower get their own close-up illustrations. Glass jars of brushes and watercolor paints are jammed in between plants and flowers around the room, and a large case of colored pencils sits underneath a table.
“Did you do all these?” I ask, holding up the picture.
Sang nods. “I’ve been really into botanical illustration since I was a kid. It relaxes me,” he says.
So that’s why his hand is always stained different colors. I smile to myself.
The pictures are all so intricate and detailed, beautiful but scientifically accurate. “These are amazing. You could publish your own textbook.”
“Maybe one day,” he says. “I mainly just do it because I love it.”
“You’re really talented.”
Sang looks away, but I notice the blush settling in his cheeks.
“So, what kind of research are you doing in here?”
Sang leads me to a table in the far corner. Rows of sunflowers are lined up under UV lights. Dozens of dead plants are in a bin beside them.
“I’m working on a better way of getting rid of harmful plants and weeds. Witches are so tied to nature that it physically hurts us to rip plants out of the earth, and even though we’re used to it, that kind of stress takes its toll. It’s the same for the plants; they’re still alive when they’re torn from the ground, and it’s incredibly jarring for them. Spraying them with chemicals isn’t any better. This is basically a more compassionate alternative to weeding.”
“If the Sun played favorites, I’m pretty sure you’d win,” I say.
“Says the Ever.”
“What have you come up with?” I ask, looking at the flowers.
“It’s basically reverse photosynthesis. If you extract the sunlight from a plant before it’s converted to energy, you halt the plant’s growth. The plant will die, but peacefully; it’s the equivalent of a human not getting enough oxygen and simply falling asleep.”
“How do you harvest the light from the plant?”
“That’s the tricky part. You have to ignore all the other sunlight in the area and isolate only what’s in the leaves. Once you’ve found it, you can slowly extract it. But the force of extraction must be exact in order for it to work, and the smallest variation can cause the light to flood back into the plant. I’m still working on it.”
“Incredible,” I say, studying the sunflowers.
“One day, I’d like to get my research published by the Solar Magic Association so other witches can adopt the practice. This would give them a way to remove plants without the pain and stress that goes along with it. I’m also seeing a lot of indicators that the soil becomes healthier with this kind of weeding. When a plant dies in this way, all of its nutrients are absorbed by the earth, creating a richer growing environment; it becomes its own kind of fertilizer. It’s still early, but I’m excited by the possibilities.” He turns away from the table and looks at me. “You’re the only person I’ve told about it.”
Now I understand why he brought me here. He wants to protect his reverse photosynthesis project the way I want to protect my ability to summon magic that’s outside my season.
“Thank you for showing me. I’m blown away, truly.”
“Thanks. It’s a labor of love,” he says with a smile.
This room is so small, and Sang is so close. It would be easy to let the back of my hand brush his, to let myself lean into him. I am pulled toward him like a magnet, and it takes so much effort not to let go and snap into him.
“Do you know what the most common use for these houses was?” His eyes find mine, and I can’t look away.
I shake my head. I try to remember what I learned in class, but I’m too distracted.
“People would come here to fall in love,” he says.
His eyes are searching mine, sending pulses of heat through every square inch of my body. I clear my throat and look down.
“I made something for you.” Sang walks to a table in the corner of the room. He picks up a small vial of liquid and brings it back to me.
“Is this some kind of potion to make me fall in love with you?” The words fly out of my mouth before I can stop them.
A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Why?” he asks. “Would it work?”
He’s trying to keep his smile small, but his dimples give him away.
“My resolve is rather strong.”
“Is that so?” he asks, stepping so close I can feel his breath on my skin.
I want to remove the space between us, closer and closer until we snap together.
Then I think about Paige and striking her with lightning. Paige and the way she looked when I ended things, betrayed and angry and broken.
I can’t do this.
I break eye contact and step back. “Are you going to tell me what’s in the vial or not?” I ask.
“It’s a dream elixir,” he says. “We don’t use them much anymore, but the earliest witches believed there was an elixir for everything. Talent, courage, strength. Different plants create different elixirs; they’re meant to be worn like perfume.”
Sang holds the vial between us, the amber liquid glinting in the light. “You don’t need a talent elixir,” he says. “You’re already talented.”
I will myself to
