Page 35 of Inked in Bloom
“Don’t worry, everything was completely consensual.” Cherri grins and gives a little shimmy of her shoulders. Is that why her flowers bloomed so easily? A magic boost from getting laid? I scrunch my brows, trying to recall what they’d said yesterday about soil, sex, sunlight, and our magic.
“Meanwhile, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re looking pretty wilted,” Cherri says, wincing. “You’d think you were the one pulling an all-nighter.”
Nausea blossoms in my gut. She nudges me with her elbow, but when I don’t play along, her expression turns serious. “Did you get any sleep?” Her fingers loop around the thick fabric of my dress. Her dark-purple eyes widen, lips contorting. “Are those my bedroom curtains?”
“Mine were too sheer to use. I’ll get you a new set.” I withdraw my fingers from the dirt, wiping them on my makeshift outfit with a frown. “Considering where you were last night, are you really one to be judging me right now?”
She lifts her hands up in surrender.
Class breaks, and everyone has grown something in their pot—everyone except for me. Not that I’m surprised.
“Come on. Let’s fix this before Bloomology starts.” Cherri grips my arm and guides me into an emptyroom a few doors down. She softly shuts the door behind her and beckons me with her hands to give her the curtains. “Why didn’t you have Roxy or Kendrick help you get dressed this morning?”
“They were still in bed…” And I was still finding the words to ask the ridiculous question that’s been sitting on my tongue all morning.
I untie the ribbon and remove myself from the floral drapery with my back to her, the curtain scraping my bare nipples after having them pressed against the fabric all morning. I turn to face her, using my hands to strategically cover myself as best I can. “Something really weird happened last night.”
“Monroe!” Cherri lets out a strangled sound and looks away. “What the hell are you doing? Love you but not like that.”
“I know that!”But thanks for the confidence boost. “I’m trying to show youthis.”
I glance down at the tattoo, then back up at her, seeing the exact moment she realizes what I’m talking about.
“Oh.” Her hand cups her mouth.
“Whyoh?” I frown down at the beautiful flowers. “Is there something wrong with me? I figured I might have gotten a flourish mark early on accident or something.”
“No, it’s not any of that. I think it’s?—”
A knock at the door has us both jolting.
“Hold on,” Cherri says, dressing me in a pink lightweight sweater and a skintight black leather skirt before she rushes to the door and opens it.
“The rest of the class is waiting on you,” the dean says, glancing from the pile of floral drapes to my outfit to Cherri. Bending to grab the drapes, Cherri wiggles her nose and they disappear.
“We’re coming.” My roommate waves me forward and tugs me to her as we scamper to class. “Great rack, by the way.”
“Thanks.”At least I’ve got that going for me.“Are you going to tell me what’s going on with this?”
I point between my ribs.
“Yes, we’ll go see Kendrick after class. I have a feeling he’s the best one to explain. In the meantime, don’t tell anyone else about it.”
That isn’t the least bit reassuring. While I want to press further, when I see the dean at the front of the classroom instead of Briar, I decide to worry about it later.
“Professor Briar is under the weather today, so I’ll be teaching your Transformational Studies lesson,” the dean explains as we take our seats. “While he’s much more for the theatrics of the trial-by-fire method,” she scoffs, “I am a firm believer that knowledge and understanding is power.”
The projector illuminates, and she clicks the first slide. It’s a side by side of a harbinger and a bunny with the anatomy labeled. Using a long-stemmed lily, she taps from one side to the other, explaining how each part transitions between forms. As she talks, more and more of our classmates lose interest. Even I, someone who loves learning, am bored out of my mind.
The deanthwapsthe table with her pointer. “Now, now, quit your groaning. This is important stuff. Those of you who are able to master your harbinger skills in this course will join your fellow Blooms in the mortal realm next spring—under supervision, of course.”
Next spring gives me a few months to learn everything about being a productive and flourishing harbinger. While I can’t do a lick of magic, illustrated by the empty pot sittingamong the blooming buds on the table at the front, this is my shot at getting back. I have to take it.
A bunch of our classmates murmur to each other.
I lean over toward my roommate. “Is it unusual to go out and do spring right after the course?”
“Sort of.” Cherri doesn’t break her stare away from the presentation as the dean drones on. “Most Blooms don’t pass this course the first time out. Even if they do, it can take extra seasons to prepare.”
