Legacy to Zero

14: This Mess I Never Made

Harlow

The polytechnic's greenhouse was an ideal hiding-hovel. Cast-iron plants brushed my nose; the leaves like seaweed, a rich green peppered with white spots the size of droplets. Beside it was the toothy copperleaf, heart-shaped and the colour of crimson, overgrown in a charcoal-grey circular pot. Plants of every size overtook the wire shelves in rows the length of the rectangular space.

Humidity dripped from the glass. The fans buzzed behind me in uneven intervals, having stopped and kicked off again without warning many times since I'd snuck in.

I really should have thought twice about wearing a sweater.

The warmth had been nice for a short while. Now I just wanted to get back outside, into the brisk pre-winter weather, so at least the air didn't feel sticky when I breathed.

With my back against the glass, I nudged the copperleaf to see the chain connecting the door, which was still firmly shut. The sound of the chain rustling wasn't loud enough to break past the fans when they were on—so I had to check the surroundings to make sure nobody else was here.

Skyla will come. Eventually.

Cultivating plants in the greenhouse was a community effort for influence sorcerers like her. I'd used it a handful of times, if that. Too much nonsense.

You're thinking like home.

I scowled. The Rift had a lot of influence magic. For them, it was a sacred power, transferred between families alone, not shared with the rest of the world.

I needed to stop it. Skyla was my ally here. The only sorcerer with a thread like mine that I talked to.

Eventually.

The archive papers pressed into my chest. Tingles took my grip hostage. The sweat dampened my palms. I kept my knuckles braced; the ink was old and wouldn't fade.

The fans whirred as a panel directly above the door shifted. I didn't know what it did, only that it had a role in the whole fan situation. Waiting a moment, I peeked around the leaves and spotted her. She swung a watering can shaped like a smiling snail and filled it from the hose perpendicular to me.

Peeling my legs off the wire racks, I crouched. She'd closed the door.

Sliding to the chain lock, I pressed my free hand against it.

Skyla froze. Her water pail overflowed, a cascade of droplets hitting the ground. She shut off the hose with a twist and set it down. Slowly, she said, "Harlow?" But it was as much a question as it was an acknowledgment.

"I needed to talk to someone," I said. I knew that my voice wouldn't carry outside the greenhouse, but I still didn't try much to fight the din from the fans. Couldn't risk having anyone try to come in.

"Okay." She swept her braids over her shoulder. "You are blocking the door, though."

"Not to stop you from leaving." That wasn't totally a lie. I wasn't planning on moving, even if she suggested that. Sure, it might have made it seem more casual, but if she tried to leave, I wouldn't stop her.

"Okay," she repeated. "Why not Lars? He's doing what he can for you. If you turn to anyone, it should be him."

Did she think I hadn't wanted to? "He's a traditional sorcerer. He can't help me here. It has to be you."