Ink and Flowers - 18. 18: Emmett

As the Tropical Garden was on Tuesdays reserved for students and guided tours, we set off on Wednesday. In the morning, because it was quieter then. The young man at the counter, probably a part-time student, looked like he was still half asleep as he counted Finley's coins.

The first greenhouse was only moderately heated because, according to the sign, the plants on display here were now entering a natural dormant phase. With all the bright colors, however, dormancy was not exactly what came to mind.

“Tell me,” Finley then began, breaking the comfortable silence, ”is Mike really straight?”

I snorted in amusement. “Because of the joke in the chat yesterday? I warned you, he likes to send confusing signals.”

He shook his head. “I mean, I'm not interested or anything, but it's not credible either.”

His expression made me laugh. “I'd say Mike is curious. How far he'd go? I don't know. I have no intention of finding out.”

With a raised brow, Finley looked at me. “You were chatting him up at a gay club, I heard.”

“That's right.” I laughed even harder, stifling a 'jealous?' at the last moment. That wouldn't have been fair. “I read a statistic the other day that 12% of all men are interested in men. Meaning gay, bi, pan etc. But: 36% of men said they had been intimate with another man, and it was explicitly stated that this meant more than just kissing.”

“Don't trust any statistics that you haven't falsified yourself,” was his first comment, then he made a thoughtful face. “But that's a significant difference.”

“What's the saying? Curiosity kills the cat, but doesn't necessarily lead to a coming out,” I replied with a shrug.

This, in turn, elicited a soft laugh from him.

Somewhere above us, two birds were fighting over some seeds and hurling very human insults at each other.

“Look.” Finley squatted down and leaned over the edge of the path into the flowerbed to run his fingers over a patch of moss. Under his touch, the light green became much darker.

“Oh. Pretty. Does it react to the wind too?”

“I don't know.” Shrugging, Finley straightened back up. “I saw a huge carpet of it somewhere in southern Africa, probably as big as the greenhouse.” He looked around briefly. “It was in bloom. Tiny little blossoms, about the color of your eyes.” If that was supposed to be a compliment, it lost a lot of its value, because deep sadness emanated from him. “When we departed there wasn't much left of it.”

Before I could say anything, he turned away and I stared at his back, puzzled. Perhaps, I thought as I followed him, it was a kind of therapy for him to work in Patricia's flower shop. Creating something beautiful out of something living and fragile, something that brought joy instead of killing and destroying; last night he had shown me half ashamed, half proud, a wreath he himself had made for a cemetery decoration order.

“Did Ben send the request?”

At the sudden question, I winced. “No. Not yet. Tony wrote him a report, but Ben said he's spoken to Dom and is meeting with the Druid of the herd soon.” At Finley's skeptical look, I could only shrug. “He certainly has more practical experience.”

“Probably,” Finley grumbled.

The arguing birds fluttered past us. Hearing a spirited 'motherfucker' from the beak of a plump sparrow was somewhere between hilarious and disturbing.

“I mean, I've never seen a soul wound before, but Tony's right, it did look kind of weird,” I said.

Now Finley indicated a shrug. “I can't see for myself. But I looked it up and personality changes aren't really a symptom of soul wounds.”

Of course, I could have argued with him about shields and why the something on Ben's shoulder couldn't actually be one, but since he didn't have any active magic and I didn't have much practical experience, I didn't bother. I could raise my own shields if I needed to, that would have to do. “Hopefully we'll hear what comes of it”, I said instead and got a small smile.

“You're a healer.” he said then, not a question but a statement.

I nodded simply. Finley could observe and draw conclusions, it would have been foolish to deny it.

“Why did the coven just let you go? Healers are valuable to a community,” he asked cautiously, and I grimaced.

“True enough. That's why my ex wanted to kidnap and sell me.”

Under different circumstances, Finley's angry, disgusted grimace would have amused me.

“But that's also exactly why most healers keep a low profile. There are more than you think. And healing skills aren't that rare in the coven, so I'm not necessarily needed.” There had been a long emotional discussion anyway, but I hated to think back on it.

Finley nodded slowly. “I hope I never have to see you in action.”

“I guess you got to see some really ugly stuff...” I returned, instead of thinking about how much damage would have to be done in order for me to officially reveal my abilities.

Again, he nodded slowly, brushing his fingertips over a leaf. “Joining the military as a healer requires a strong stomach.”

We strolled on in silence until a few innocuous topics came up. We talked about this and that, sometimes interspersing information about the plants we saw.

“The tubers can be used to make a fantastic yellow color. It has a certain anchor function in magical recipes.”

“The spines from the cactus there are traditionally used as needles.”

“The blossoms are also found in red and are excellent in fire protection inks.”

“The berries are extremely nutritious, but don't ask how horrible they taste...”

So we wandered through the first and second greenhouse, accompanied by the quarrelling sparrows. I tried to block out their voices, but alongside their bickering, they shouted warnings at me.

“You're stupid to parade around with such a dangerous creature.” Or, “Can't you hear his stomach grumbling and calling for you?” The two of them were pretty annoying.

“Did Patricia actually say anything about Tony? My dear uncle is keeping quiet.” That wasn't quite true, but it was definitely the politer version.

Finley sighed. “The short answer is: give him a kick in the ass so he'll talk to her. Otherwise, it'll break her heart.” He gave me a critical look. “Tony's a widower, isn't he?”

“Yeah.” I had no idea what Tony might have told Patricia, but at least I could put Finley in the picture. “I mentioned that we have a strict marriage policy.”

He nodded.

“My parents really aren't a good match, and not necessarily the best parents, but as far as I know, Tony and his wife were at least friends. She was a healer like me and wanted to use her skills, he supported her when she left the village to do it.”

“It got her killed?”

I nodded. “I don't know the details, but I don't think it took long for her to disappear and then her body turned up. My cousin was three at the time, I think, but it was all before I was born. They tried to remarry Tony, he was still young, but he refused.” With a sigh, I ran my fingers through my hair. “He's had a few, uhm, flings since we left there, but I think Patricia is the first one where things could get serious. Even if he won't admit it.”

“Hmmm...” Finley said thoughtfully. “From what I hear, Patricia probably has the wrong image of him.”

“Possibly. He's not necessarily the most forthcoming and likes to come across as an adventurer,” I returned with a roll of my eyes and Finley nodded thoughtfully.

“Careless adventurers get eaten!” shouted one of the sparrows.

“May I ask,” Finley began curiously after a moment, ”what life in a coven is like when you're not a witch?”

I sighed exaggeratedly and made a gagging noise. “Fucking boring, believe me. Sure, I took theory classes, I loved alchemy, but basically... you're just there. You take care of everything that comes up. Childcare, repairs, housework, errands from further afield...”

“But you have magic,” he interrupted himself and when he didn't continue but made a kind of questioning gesture, I nodded.

“It's a bit complicated,” I said evasively. “Not all magic can be shaped... or should be shaped.”

Surprisingly serious and understanding, he nodded.

“What's it like at the academy?” I then asked back. “It must be exhausting when so much untrained power and aggression come together, especially when the hormones are exploding.”

To this, Finley gave a tired snort, a thick cloud of smoke rising from his nose. “Most kids who go there are drilled into it from an early age. But you're definitely right, it's damn tiring. And deadly. There are far more deaths than students who drop out of the academy for whatever reason.”

I swallowed uncomfortably.

“The guy I mentioned in my little story? Bomb killed him because he made a joke about it.”

“What?” I blurted incredulously.

Finley shrugged. “Bomb has a very, very strange sense of honor. Or it was meant to be a provocation, who knows.”

I shuddered a little. “Doesn't sound like you have this mystical twin connection...”

It was almost eerie to see his face go expressionless. “No.” Completely blank.

“Or like you have any kind of connection at all...”

Finley's shoulders stiffened, his jaw grinding. “It's hard when your twin's been trying to kill you since you took your first steps.”

That sounded awful and I shuddered again. My own relationship with my siblings, marked by a clear lack of interest, seemed harmonious by comparison.

“At first,” Finley began hesitantly after a short pause, “I defended myself, of course, the survival instinct. Nothing more than that.” Another pause. “When we were sixteen, Bomb... tried to perform a ritual. I was to be sacrificed in it.” His fingertips brushed across his throat. “Probably only survived because of my self-healing, I don't know. It wasn't a good time.”

Not a good time? I had goosebumps and didn't know what to say. How did you even come up with the idea of sacrificing your own twin?

“After that, Bomb stopped attacking me directly. Since then it's been provocations, always, everywhere, constantly. And often enough I've wished Bomb would just make short work of it instead of talking around.”

“Don't say that,” I begged, horrified. I could see old pain flitting across his face.

“But now?” Finley continued as if he hadn't heard me. “Now I would strike back if attacked. Not just to defend myself, but to kill Bomb.”

“Don't say that!” I pleaded again, but this time only in a shocked whisper. Finley looked at me in a way that gave me goose bumps all over again. I mean, it was nice that he had found something worth fighting for, but this was a little too extreme for me.

“Killing is all these beasts can do,” one of the sparrows called out and the other chimed in:

“You're next, can't you feel it? Run away, you moron!”

Because Finley remained silent, I then asked, barely louder: “You said Bomb has a rare magical talent. Are you sure you'd win?”

The answer was a small, humorless laugh with an almost desperate edge to it. “Since our last fight, we've both gotten stronger, learned more. But I have something that Bomb doesn't.” He didn't elaborate on what exactly.

We walked on in silence, entering the next greenhouse. The sparrows followed us, continuing to call out to me how dangerous my companion was, how stupid I was, that I should run away. I would have liked to shout a comment back, but I can't speak directly to animals. I understand them, but I can't reply.

And I mean, they weren't all that wrong. Finley was dangerous, strong. In the light, the necklace of his dog tags glittered again and again, and with every other breath he exhaled smoke.

A certain nervousness crept up inside me and his narrow, somehow sad smile, which was probably meant to be encouraging, didn't make it any better. To distract myself, I plucked a bud from a hibiscus bush and popped it into my mouth.

Puzzled, Finley looked at me. “You meant it literally when you said 'I don't just like eating flowers'...”

“I'm vegan, what do you expect,” I gave back, but because his look was really funny, I had to giggle. “I like hibiscus. And yes, I love caramelized petals.”

“Vegans are eating the food for my food!” I heard from the branches. “You're just an oversized snack for him!”

Just shut up! But I didn't send more than an annoyed glare upwards, I didn't want to have to explain myself to Finley.

“Can't say I've ever tried before.” Finley looked skeptical.

“What do you like to eat?”

He opened his mouth, but then paused. “I like to eat a lot of things,” he said slowly and thoughtfully. “The meatballs with vegetable mix from our base? Heavenly. The omelette we could have for breakfast at the academy? Fantastic.” His stomach growled to match, and I ignored the sparrows' comment. “Anything that's meat. Burgers. I love burgers.” With a wry grin, he poked himself in the non-existent waistline. “Exhibit A.”

I grinned back. “Homemade burgers can definitely be healthy.”

“My cooking skills are close to zero,” he sighed, however, and before I could comment that this could be changed, he asked back: “What do you like to eat? Apart from flowers.”

“Hmm,” I made first. “Sweets.”

“You don't see any of that.”

I snorted. “I honestly don't know. Food is... it's part of it. I loved cooking in the coven, with my dad, but here... I've lost the fun of it.”

“Why?” Honest curiosity spoke from Finley's face. “Because vegans tend to be ridiculed in normal human society?”

“Quite possibly.” I shrugged. “I didn't choose this diet. And I can sometimes understand Dex wanting to break out of those boundaries.”

“But witches do eat meat at certain celebrations...” Finley interjected with a questioning undertone and I nodded.

“That's true. But I just can't eat it. Tony likes fish, but... I mean,” I tried to explain with a helpless gesture, ”sometimes dairy products are okay. You know, Mike can't eat chicken protein and sometimes Jake bakes him something without eggs, but it usually has butter or milk in it. I'll eat a bit of that. But an omelet for breakfast? The thought alone makes me sick. But it's restrictive. And sometimes I feel like I'm missing out on something.”

“A medium-rare T-bone steak with volcano salt... yup, you're missing out.” Finley winked at me, but then became serious again. “I certainly understand Dex' point. Humans may often see themselves as boring, but... sometimes boring is very tempting.” His fingers brushed over his dog tags and I nodded somberly.

We strolled on. Finley told me that he liked reading, especially science fiction, and enjoyed sitting outside under the trees on the family estate.

But those damn sparrows wouldn't leave me alone and followed us into another greenhouse. And I noticed how my subconscious reacted. Noticed how I was looking at Finley differently, searching for signs of threat. My nervousness made me flinch as an elderly couple turned a corner and the obviously multi-impaired young man in the wheelchair they were pushing squealed happily at the sight of us.

Finley smiled and waved back, I was so startled I couldn't.

“Are you all right?” he asked carefully.

I nodded. “Just lost in thought.”

It was pretty obvious that he didn't believe me. “The complex here is much bigger than I thought,” he said to change the subject.

“The Fey Prince, who owns the castle, founded the Tropical Garden and supported it greatly,” I replied. “It said at the entrance that there was a fund.”

“Hasn't the castle been empty for decades?”

“A few employees live there.” I shrugged, stroking a pretty pink flower that hung over the path.

The sparrows continued to chirp merrily, half arguing, half shouting in my direction. They thoroughly spoiled my mood and I scolded myself for being so sensitive as to listen to them at all, but I knew Finley was dangerous and animals simply have a much greater awareness of threat.

“Is there actually something - or someone - you're afraid of?” The question burst out of me so suddenly that Finley looked at me, perplexed.

“Uh...” he said, caught off guard, but then I could literally see a thought flash through his mind. “Scenarios.” The word almost fell out of his mouth. “Possible scenarios, yes, but people or objects? No.”

“But your comrades must be - not all, but some, I mean - incredibly powerful,” I objected.

“That's quite true. When I look at the disasters Messy and my sister regularly cause, I wouldn't want to be in the middle of them, but it doesn't scare me.” He gave a small shrug. “I have a pretty high resistance to magic.”

“Fair enough,” I dodged a gardener with a giant pair of pruning shears on his shoulder, ”a dwarven stone whisperer can't harm you directly. But if he drops the Himalaya on your head-”

“-I'm still mush, I know.” Finley grinned. He didn't seem too worried about that. “But that's what I meant: it's a scenario. I know some really chill dwarves.”

“Dragon mages. They say nothing burns hotter than dragon fire and dragon fire can incinerate magic.”

“I know a dragon mage.” Something flitted across his face that might have been unease. “That's the kind of power that deserves some serious respect. But fear?”

“What about Bomb? You said-” here I stumbled briefly, because I noticed that Finley phrased everything in relation to his twin in a way that didn't require pronouns. “You said Bomb has a rare magical talent. You used to fight a lot-”

“Bomb doesn't scare me anymore,” he interrupted me harshly, almost bitterly. But there was also something glittering in his eyes that I couldn't put my finger on.

A fine frown crept onto my forehead. On the one hand, Finley's attitude was quite pragmatic, realistic and probably characterized by a lot of experience in dealing with what normal people would call dangerous and frightening. On the other hand, it seemed a little arrogant, as if he didn't take me seriously or took himself a little too seriously.

The memory of him describing himself as powerful and dangerous with a shrug gave me goosebumps.

“Run away, man, you still have time!” The intrusive chirping of the sparrow made me wince.

“There's an orc clan which exists within the army, so to speak,” Finley said. “They're not pureblood orcs, more like a special breed“ - I shuddered and tried not to think of my home village - ”and that's why they produce a relatively large number of powerful shamans.”

“Considering where orcs originally come from, that's pretty remarkable,” I muttered. The experiment Fey and Merfolk had conducted had created a race that could live in the swamps as intended, but instead of obedient farmers and workers, they had become aggressive warriors who didn't have magic, but didn't need it given their nature. Later in history, this experiment led to the First Elemental War.

“Science is much scarier than magic. At least these days with all the genetic knowledge.” Finley literally shook himself. “Anyway, the shamans all have more or less access to the elements, don't they, and they can all heal a bit.”

“All-around talents.” I nodded. Shamans exist among other races, too, and are generally popular for their versatility.

“One of them is...” Apparently unable to find the right words, Finley gestured with his hands to show something very large and powerful. “A special talent for storms. It's a sight to behold, I tell you. I'm lightning resistant, but I have the utmost respect for this man.”

If an orc shaman had sounded interesting at first, now all I could think of was: “I'm afraid of thunderstorms.” At Finley's surprised face, I blushed. “Some kind of primal fear, I guess.” Ashamed, I shrugged a shoulder. Completely irrationally, as a child I had always hidden under the dining table when it thundered.

“Lightning is pure energy, it's not to be trifled with,” Finley said seriously, before carefully putting an arm around my shoulders. “But I'm serious, I'm lightning resistant, you're safe with me.”

I wanted to return his shy smile, to not ruin this delicate little attempt at flirting.

But the sparrows intervened: “Aaaaaaaaaaaaand he's got you! Now you're fucked! Why didn't you run away when you could?”

“I'm here to protect you,” Finley continued over the sparrows.

Thinking that something sounded strange about his words, I flinched in response to the sparrows and embarrassed, he let go of me.

“Run!” it chirped excitedly. “Run away! Before he roasts you, you can see the smoke! Run!”

I saw the smoke, saw golden flecks in his normally light brown eyes, felt his strong presence.

And I ran.