She watches it, clenching her teeth. “That’s just it. You strong-arm your way through the world, taking what you want and shoving people around, threatening and yelling and demanding they obey you. . . . That’s not how earth magic works. You can’t just barrel your way into a living thing, exert control through brute force, and expect it to cooperate with you.” She reaches for my arm to push away the flame, but I hold it closer, tightening my grip.

“I’m running out of patience.”

“Plants are living things,” she says through a wince, her cheek flushed from the heat. “They breathe, they eat, they reproduce, and they suffer, just like we do. And the best way to understand how to move them is to make yourself feel what they feel!”

“Stop fucking with me and tell me how to control the goddamn—”

The plant stirs in its pot.

I turn toward the sound, going still as Fleur’s eyes take on a faraway look. No visions. No memories. Just the dark void of her irises, as if her mind has left and gone someplace else. My fire gutters out.

The plant stretches awake. A vinelike stem slithers toward me, reaching up for my free hand as I lower my arm to my side. I don’t move as it creeps over my wrist, coiling slowly around it, dragging its pot over the table inch by inch. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Nothing as impressive as the video footage of the earthquake Fleur started in Tecate or the entire grove of cedars she commanded to take down Michael. But as the pot scrapes toward me, a shiver crawls up my neck, and I’m careful to check my grip on her.

The vine climbs higher in a serpentine pattern, the pot sliding closer in small, predatory movements.

“This is Epipremnum aureum,” Fleur says as the plant circles my forearm, “commonly known as devil’s ivy. It’s nearly impossible to kill.” Her vacant gaze slides to my throat as the plant winds around the crook of my elbow. “Its heart-shaped leaves stay green, growing to surprising lengths, even when it’s kept in the dark. This species climbs by clinging to surfaces,” she explains. “It’s been known to cover entire forest floors, suffocating entire ecosystems. And its leaves, deceptively harmless in appearance, are deadly to weaker species. So you see,” she says with a menacing smile, “she doesn’t need you to command her. She’s perfectly capable of hanging you, suffocating you, or sickening you all on her own, with or without your consent or participation.”

The pot scrapes over the edge of the table. I turn in time to see it tip, then crack against the floor, scattering soil over the carpet. The roots of the plant dangle stubbornly from my arm. Tightening its hold, it drags itself to the crest of my shoulder, dangerously close to my throat.