We packed up and started back down the trail. But before we reached the car, Callan stepped off the side of the trail.
“Why’d you stop?”
“We’re surrounded by forest. No one’s around. And we’re off campus, so your magic isn’t blocked. Let’s see how you’ve improved over the last few months.”
“Don’t get your hopes up.” But I began to tap into the sensation of the trees around me, seeking their tissues and cells, feeling the water flowing in, the oxygen flowing out. Immediately, I was invigorated. Would this sensation of connecting with the plants like this ever become less than amazing? “What do you want me to do?”
Callan pointed to two small trees, barely saplings. One wasbirch and the other cedar. “Try a Floracantus to graft those two trees together.”
I shot him a look. “You can’t be serious. Grafting takes months. Years.”
“Not for magical botanists.” Callan walked toward two other trees, muttered a few words in Latin, and within seconds, the cedar and birch trees were fused together, the two types of leaves sprouting off the branches in a brilliant synergistic display.
“Show-off,” I mumbled. I hadn’t heard his Floracantus, but bringing things together was a common task in magical botany. “Colligate arbores.”
The two trees I was connecting with moved near one another in the soil the slightest bit, but nothing else happened. “I’m rusty,” I admitted.
“You’ll get there. Try again.”
We stoppedinto Vera’s Café on our drive home from Castle Crags. As far as I knew, Callan had never been here before, and I watched him take in the cramped, plant-covered space when we entered. His eyes went to the closest wall where the pasture painting hung.
“My mom did that painting,” I said, a beam of pride forming, as it always did, when I told people about it.
Callan stepped closer and studied it. “It’s beautiful. Enchanting, even.”
“I forgot you were an art critic,” I teased. “But yeah, it is.” We approached the counter, and I ordered two of the famous lavender scones then straightened a few of the fall leaf ornaments on the countertop tree. It was our cutting of Frank—the oldest tree in town—from last year’s harvest celebrations and resembled a Charlie Brown tree. I loved it.
“Is your aunt here?” Callan asked.
I shook my head. “She’s off today. She used to work seven days a week, but Bryce finally convinced her to take some time off now and then.”
“Smart man,” Callan said.
We received the hot, buttery scones, and I passed one to Callan, watching his face as he bit into it.
His eyes widened, and he studied the pastry. “Delicious. This could make Professor Sage jealous.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying! Vera’s is famous for these.”
“Can I order another one for the road?”
It was the best compliment someone could give. “Coming right up.”
I ordered a whole box of scones, knowing that Yasmin, Aurielle, and Coral would devour whatever Callan didn’t.
When we were back in the truck, a question occurred to me, and I pressed my luck, hoping Callan was sufficiently warmed up from the scones.
“Kaito said that if any of us had not accepted the invitation to the Root and Vine Society, you had ways of making us forget the location of the meeting place. What did he mean by that? How would he make us forget?”
“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to, local.”
I folded my arms across my chest and turned toward him in my seat, curiosity flaring. “Well, now I want to know more than ever.”
“The night you each received your summons to Evergreen Conservatory, we sprinkled something in your dinner.”
“Excuse me, what?”
“You asked.”
