The Garden of Edens

“Please come in, Professor Eden,” Dean Taverts gestures for me to sit down in an oversized leather chair across from his imposing mahogany desk. “Shall I make us some tea?”

“Eh, sure – thank you,” I adjust my tie and glance at him curiously as he sets to work steeping the tea in an ornate, silver teapot. “I must say, Dean Taverts, I was quite surprised that you invited me here. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve never heard of your university before.” 

Though his office is certainly one of the most impressive I’ve ever set foot in.

The room smells of tea and sage. The walls are papered in textured deep green, the plush decorative rug a shade of golden-brown so sparkling to call it beige would be offensive, everything carved from dark, glossy wood and engraved with gold. Plants in wicker baskets flourish even in the dim light despite the large window on the right side of the office that should be slanting in sunlight which seems to bounce off the glass instead. An arrangement of rocks and crystals sits proudly on Dean Taverts’s desk, which makes me think he’s some sort of geology professor. Maybe he’s in the market for a new chemistry professor and that’s why he asked me here – which would be quite unfortunate for him since I’m not planning to be on the job market anytime in the near future. Not to sound like a snob, but I would never trade in my tenured position at a Top 20 institute for this tiny university I’ve never even heard of.

“No offense taken,” he smiles jovially as he pours the tea into matching silver cups. “In fact, I would be surprised if you had heard of us before.”

“Oh. That’s a, unique, position for a school to take on.”

“Well, you’ll see that everything about our school is, unique,” Dean Taverts grins enigmatically, handing me the teacup of steaming, rich amber liquid. 

As I start to grip the saucer, he adds, “But you’re also a unique one, aren’t you, Kye?” and my fingers slip in astonishment, the teacup crashing to the polished hardwood floor with a metallic clatter. 

I freeze, heart pounding fast and hard in my chest, and I force my face to remain neutral and my magic to stay in check, telling a strained calm lie of, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Dean Taverts flashes a suspiciously knowing smile. “Professor Eden, I know that you are not just a chemist, but really an alchemist. But even that’s putting it mildly.”

I draw in a sharp breath, hearing the words I’ve never admitted aloud like a shock wave, the magic roiling and churning within me defensively. “I- I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammer, every supernatural instinct in me telling me to bolt out the door. 

Magic is forbidden in our society, and I’ve spent my entire life hiding the fact that my mother and I can perform witchcraft. That the books in our shelves are actually ancient spell books, that our garden of herbs and roots used in potions – which we colloquially call the “Garden of Edens” – grows lushly at my mother’s very command, that we can make things disappear or spontaneously combust or levitate with a flick of a wrist, that we can turn basic metals and rocks into gold and precious stones. That if anyone found out what we can do, we’d get locked up in a prison or a psych ward or a laboratory. 

Or a suspiciously secret university… 

With the same cunning grin, Dean Taverts retrieves a chunky piece of coal from his desk drawer and holds it out for me. “You know what to do with it,” he implicitly instructs me. “I know you are capable of it.”

No. No, it’s not possible. I don’t practice magic in public – it’s too dangerous, too risky to get caught – and there is no other way he could possibly know what I can do. He’s trying to trick me.

“Put it in a naughty kid’s stocking next Christmas? That’s Santa’s job – I’m sure he’s quite capable of it,” I feign blandness even though my heart is racing; I refuse to show any emotion. 

Dean Taverts sighs. “Professor Eden, this is not a trick, I assure you.”

I say nothing.  

“What can I do to convince you of that?”

“You can tell me what you actually want from me,” I demand, crossing my arms over my constricted chest. 

“Join our faculty,” Dean Taverts says simply.

“So, you do need an addition to your chemistry department? Because I am just a regular chemist.”

Dean Taverts pays no attention to my desperately false comment and continues. “Our university poses as a scientific institute, and we have many classes designed to appear part of a normal, human curriculum. Physics 3, Chemistry 4, Biology 2, Botany 2, to name a few. But sit in on any of our lectures and you’ll see that Physics 3 is really a course in flight – taken only by students who have successfully completed Physics 2, which is Mechanics of Levitation. Chemistry 4 is Advanced Potions, Biology 2 is taken by our more shape-shifting inclined students, and Botany 2 is all about teas and reading their leaves – which reminds me, would you like another cup of tea? Now I’m telling you all this, Professor Eden, to prove to you that we are truly a legitimate magic institution, one that if the authorities found out about, they would shut down and lock away all our students and staff. You realize the risk I’m taking in telling you this, see? If you indeed did not possess any supernatural abilities, your first move would be to go report us, and predicting your move, I would never divulge any of this information to you. Since I am, that must mean I absolutely trust you, and I could only do that if I had complete certainty in your magic. So you see, Professor Eden, tricking you would only do my school and me harm. And you would be far more protected here than anywhere else, free to express your magic, which by the way, I still haven’t had a chance to evaluate firsthand.” 

He takes a sip of his tea calmly and I can only manage to stare. Eventually, I look back at the lump of coal still on his desk and ask, “What do you want me to do?”

A slow, pleased smile unfolds on his face. “I believe the first lesson in alchemy is to turn something into gold,” he puts the plain rock in my hand. 

I take a deep breath, barely believing I’m about to do this after being so careful for so long. I peer at Dean Taverts one more time, making up my mind. “What do I look like, Midas?”

The magic simmers in my veins, ready to boil over, and I feel the pressure build up until the dull coal in my palm turns into a brilliant diamond. 

Dean Taverts gapes in awe as I drop the gem out of my hand and onto the varnished surface of his desk, the diamond leaving a scratch in the wood as it bounces. I watch him cautiously as he picks it up to examine, then extends a hand to me.

“Let’s draw up your contract. Would you like some more tea?”