Page 20 of Inked in Bloom
“You have nothing to apologize for.” He sits back on his heels, and when his lavender irises flick up to me, they’re slashed with pain. “I’m the one who’s sorry.” He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but I hold up my finger, stopping him. He has nothing to be sorry about, and I don’t want his pity.
“As someone who teaches this course, do you think I could handle it?” I’ve never been one to need reassurance, but right now, I’m not sure I’ll keep upright with my world completely turned upside down. “My other roommates have said I should wait, that most people—most Blooms—do. But I don’t think spending my days wallowing is doing me any favors.”
Professor Briar comes around and sits beside me.
“Your roommates are right. Most Blooms wait. But you aren’t most Blooms, are you?” His gaze drops to the untouched plate of food in front of him, and he purses his lips, weighing his next words. “Someone with your intellect, who understands people as well as you do… The best harbingers are the ones who understand how their world works. You would have that advantage going into the curriculum and heading out to the mortal realm afterward.”
My cheeks heat, and Briar’s hands slip into his pockets.
“Thank you.” My training, my life, those would be assets in getting through the course. I hadn’t thought about it that way before. “It means a lot.”
My gaze darts to where Cherri is chatting with a guyfrom class now. She sees me out of the corner of her eye and waves with her hand discreetly at her side. “Excuse me, I need to go tell my friend something.”
“Of course, you go and enjoy the rest of your day with your friend.” The ball in his throat turns. “Have a great afternoon.”
“You too.” I bite my lip, staring at the way the ink moves as he does. “And thanks again.”
Pink stains his cheeks. “Don’t mention it.”
Retreating a few steps, I give him a small smile before turning on my heels and scurry through the crowd to meet up with Cherri. “I’ll do the program with you.”
“Yessss!” Cherri squeals, hopping up and down before dragging me in for a hug.
Maybe this decision is impulsive, but it could be good to throw myself into this training. Use my skillset to my advantage like Briar mentioned. It’s better than the alternative of screaming into my pillow.
After all, knowledge is power. Understanding what I could do with my magic and how to move through my world as a harbinger would make it possible to go back and see how everyone’s doing.
Besides, I have my doctorate, for fuck’s sake. How hard could making some pretty flowers be?
10
MONROE
The following Monday, we slip off our shoes, and I mourn my floral combat boots the moment they disappear. Tugging my pink bomber jacket over my fitted black dress, I follow Cherri down the Conservatory’s stony path for our first day of class.
The program is less than three months long and we’ll run with a regular weekly schedule with our weekends free until it’s done.
I can’t believe I’m back in school. After my doctorate, I thought I was done, but here I am at thirty-nine, about to take Afterlife 101 with a bunch of immortals who look as though they’ve been dipped in cans of pink, purple, and green paint.
The magic in this place lingers like its very own breeze, warm and welcoming and tingly against my skin and under my bare toes. Unfortunately, none of it flows through me. At least not yet. Even if it did, I’d still have no clue how to harness any of it.
Whether it’s watering the plants strewn about the cottage, summoning the kettle to the stovetop, or warming our blankets before bed, my roommates make it appear seamless. Simple.
“You may wonder why we don’t allow shoes within theConservatory grounds,” Kitt, our Botany professor, says from the front of the classroom. “That is because it is easier to draw your magic from the dirt. Once you have mastered the basics and graduate, you may not need to do this, but while you study here, you will always practice in bare feet.”
I frown.What’s the point of cute floral boots if I never get to show them off?
We stand in a circle around the table where a handful of empty pots are scattered, each filled two-thirds of the way with soil. Cherri listens with rapt interest, and a harbinger with a gelled-back mulberry-hued ducktail named Dani is on my other side. They keep their arms crossed, wearing a black leather jacket and an expression of annoyed boredom. Dani hollows their cheeks, blowing out a huge pink bubble they meet my stare and wink. Shoving their hands into their jacket pocket, they continue chewing and popping.
Guess I’m not the only one who’s not thrilled to be here.
I skim the back of Dani’s jacket as they twist over their shoulder to glance at the clock. It’s adorned with patches, a skull surrounded by blossoms and a dusky rose ribbon weaving across it withRescue Ridersin blocky white letters.
“Now, I want you to flatten your toes into the earth, one at a time.” Kitt demonstrates, wiggling his toes against the dirt. How the walls of this place aren’t coated in a film of it eludes me. “Now close your eyes and imagine pressing the balls of your feet into the ground, rooting yourself in place.”
I shift on my heels and tap my fingers against my thighs. Everyone else is already closing their eyes, so I follow suit, inhaling and exhaling. Dani smacks and pops their gum beside me.
Pressing my toes into the dirt, I twist the ball of one foot, then the other. This should be easy. I’m used to groundingmyself and teaching my patients how to when they do breathing exercises and body scans.
