Page 39 of Bewitched by the Fruit Bat King (The Bewitching Hour #3)

Sanctuary

Willow

T he shop felt different when I returned—more alive, more aware.

The plants had continued evolving in my absence, developing a collective consciousness that pulsed with recognition as I entered.

They weren't just responding to my emotions anymore; they were anticipating them, reaching toward me with an almost eager sentience.

"I need your help," I told them, locking the door behind me.

The ancient jade plant by the window rustled its leaves in acknowledgment.

Of all the plants in Florence Botanicals, it was the oldest, having belonged to my grandmother and possibly her mother before that.

If any plant might remember the ways of Florence witches past, it would be this steadfast survivor.

I pulled Hazel's grimoire from my bag, setting it on the counter. The book seemed to hum with energy, responding to the botanical power that now filled the shop. The plants nearest to it extended tendrils toward the ancient leather, as if trying to absorb its knowledge.

"Show me," I whispered, running my fingers along the grimoire's spine. "Show me what Hazel knew about vampires."

The moonflower that had helped me discover the hidden text was now in full bloom despite the afternoon sun—another impossibility added to the growing list. Its silvery petals unfurled further as I approached, releasing a fragrant nectar that collected in its center.

I dipped my finger in the nectar and opened the grimoire to a section I hadn't fully explored—a catalog of plants and their magical properties.

As I brushed the nectar across the pages, new text appeared between the familiar lines, glowing briefly before settling into the paper as if it had always been there.

For the Drake affliction, when blood hunger consumes reason, prepare the following remedy:

Moonflower nectar (to open pathways between realms) Valerian root (to calm the savage nature) Black nightshade berries, properly prepared (to cool burning thirst) Bloodroot, harvested under full moon (to satisfy the craving for vital essence) Florence tears (the witch's blood, freely given)

Combined in equal measure, this tincture provides temporary relief from the blood hunger. It cannot cure what magic has wrought, but it can ease suffering until the curse finds resolution.

My heart raced as I read the instructions, hope blooming alongside alarm. The recipe was clearly designed to help vampires suffering from blood hunger—exactly what was happening to Kane and his people now. But the final ingredient...

"Florence tears," I murmured, running my finger over the words. "Blood freely given."

The jade plant's leaves shifted, drawing my attention.

When I looked at it, an image formed in my mind—a woman with my features but dressed in clothes from another century, pricking her finger and allowing drops of blood to fall into a mortar where herbs were being ground.

The picture was so clear it couldn't be my imagination; it was a memory, preserved in the plant's cellular structure and now shared with me.

"You knew her," I breathed, approaching the jade plant with newfound reverence. "You knew a Florence witch who made this remedy."

The plant didn't exactly nod, but its leaves trembled in what felt like affirmation.

Another image formed—the same woman administering the tincture to a man whose features were disturbingly similar to Kane's transformed state, his skin ashen, eyes reddened.

After drinking the mixture, color returned to his face, the predatory tension leaving his body.

"It works," I whispered, excitement building. "The remedy actually works."

I ran my hands over the grimoire again, searching for more information. "Show me everything, please. Show me how to help them."

Page after page revealed its secrets under the moonflower nectar, detailing Florence witches' long history of providing care to transformed Drakes.

It hadn't been just Hazel—generations of my ancestors had maintained connections to vampire communities, offering botanical remedies when the curse periodically strengthened due to various magical triggers.

What Kane was experiencing wasn't unprecedented. It was part of a cycle that had repeated for centuries, each time eventually subsiding when certain conditions were met. The grimoire wasn't specific about those conditions, but it did provide detailed instructions for treatment.

My mind raced with possibilities. If I could create this remedy, I could help not just Kane but all the affected vampires. I could provide relief while we searched for a permanent solution to the curse.

The ingredients were challenging but not impossible.

I had moonflower nectar already. Valerian grew in the small garden behind my shop.

Black nightshade was trickier, but I knew where to find it.

Bloodroot would require a trip to the woods during the next full moon, but I had a bit of it in my stock I think.

And my blood—that I had in abundance.

But creating the remedy was only the beginning. I needed a way to administer it to affected vampires, a safe space where they could receive treatment without endangering themselves or others. I needed... a sanctuary.

I looked around my shop with fresh eyes, seeing not just a retail space but a potential haven. The back room was large, with good ventilation and multiple exits. With some modifications, it could become a treatment facility.

"We're going to help them," I told the plants, already moving toward the shelves where I kept my botanical supplies. "All of them."

The plants rustled their approval, leaves turning toward me like eager assistants. They understood my intention and were ready to participate. I felt their collective knowledge flowing into me—centuries of plant wisdom about growth and healing, about transformation and balance.

I worked through the night, rearranging the back room, clearing space, setting up cots separated by dividers formed from living plants.

Ivy and morning glory vines wove themselves into screens that provided privacy while still allowing air to circulate.

Jasmine and lavender released calming scents that would help soothe agitated vampires.

Aloe and comfrey stood ready to provide healing properties.

By dawn, the transformation was complete.

What had been storage space was now a green sanctuary, filled with plants specifically chosen for their calming, healing, and protective qualities.

At the center stood a worktable where I would prepare the tincture, surrounded by the ingredients I'd managed to gather.

All except the fresh bloodroot, which would have to wait for the full moon, and the nightshade, which I'd harvest today. It would be enough to start testing, at least.

I pulled out my phone, staring at Kane's number. Despite our confrontation yesterday, despite discovering his plans to break our bond, I couldn't bring myself to hold back something that might help him. Whatever was happening between us personally, his people were suffering. I could offer relief.

But instead of calling Kane directly, I scrolled to another contact—Luna. If anyone would know how to connect me with vampires in need, it would be her.

"Willow?" Her voice was groggy with sleep when she answered. "It's not even six in the morning."

"I need your help," I said without preamble. "I've found something in the grimoire—a remedy for the blood hunger. It won't cure the curse, but it can provide temporary relief to transformed vampires."

She was instantly alert. "Are you serious? How does it work?"

"It's a botanical tincture, with... well, with my blood as one of the ingredients.

" I winced, knowing how that sounded. "I've converted the back of my shop into a treatment space.

I need you to spread the word to Kane's community.

Anyone suffering from transformation symptoms can come here for relief. "

Her silence spoke volumes. "Willow... do you understand what you're offering? Bringing blood-hungry vampires into your shop?"

"The plants will protect me," I said with a confidence I truly felt. The green guardians around me had grown dramatically in power along with my abilities. Nothing would harm me in their presence. "And the remedy will work. I've seen it through the plants' memories."

"The plants'... you know what, I'm not even going to ask." Luna sighed. "I'll reach out to my contacts, but please be careful. This isn't like providing hangover cures to werewolves. These vampires are dangerous in their transformed state."

"I know. That's why they need help." I looked around at my botanical sanctuary, feeling a strange peace despite the danger ahead. "This is what Florence witches have always done, Luna. This is our purpose—to help maintain balance when the curse flares."

After ending the call, I turned my attention to preparing what I could of the remedy.

The moonflower provided more nectar, which I carefully collected in a crystal vial.

The valerian root I harvested from my garden, washing and grinding it to a fine powder.

For the missing ingredients, I prepared substitutes that might provide partial effectiveness—foxglove in place of nightshade, dried bloodroot in place of fresh bloodroot which would make it more potent if the notes in the grimoire were correct.

It wouldn't be as potent as the original recipe, but it might offer some relief until I could complete the proper formulation.

The final ingredient was the simplest to obtain.

I pricked my finger with a sterilized thorn, allowing several drops of blood to fall into the mixture.

The response was immediate—the tincture changed color from pale green to deep crimson, then settled into a rich amber that seemed to glow from within.