Page 12 of Dead Love

He leaned on the tree trunk next to him. “The myth goes that Persephone was distracted by the narcissus until the earth opened up and swallowed her down into the underworld.”

I touched the damp dirt hidden under the stems. “Why would the underworld swallow her?”

“Because Hades wanted her.”

My stomach twisted into knots. I dug my fingers into the dirt, unsure of what to do. I had never spoken to a man like this before. The only two men I had ever had conversations with were my father and Andrew, and they didn’t seem to count. This was different.Hewas different. The way he kept looking at me, lit my skin on fire. But I wanted him to keep going.

“How do you know so much about flowers?” I asked.

“After working with your mother for ages, I’ve learned a few things. I’m sure you have too.”

My mother. That’s why we were here, wasn’t it? For him. For his funeral home.

“So you’re searching for the Middlemist Red camellia?” I asked. “Like my mother told you to?”

“I’m here for you.” A violent flash of heat coursed through me and disappeared as quickly. My heartbeat thumped in my chest, my skin turning red. He must have read the panic on my face because he grinned and added: “You inspire me, flower. I’ve been using you for my art.”

I reflexively tucked my hair behind my ears, even though it was all tied in a bun. Was it flattering that I inspired his art? Or strange?

“So you’re an artist?” I asked.

“Not really.”

I blushed, the color creeping across my neck and cheeks. How was it that he made me feel like this, just by answering a few questions?

“What are you, then?”

“No one,” he said. A chill ran through me. Those were the same words he had said all of those years ago. He chuckled, his dark gaze scrutinizing me like a test subject. The sun hid behind a cloud, covering the meadow in a shadow. His form grew black in the darkness.

I turned back to the daffodil, holding the remnants in my palm. They would be withered and dry soon, and then, like Nyla, they would be gone. A single tear fell down my cheek.

“How long did you know her?” he asked, his voice softer than before. He already knew about Nyla then.

“Two years.”

The wind blew through the leaves, rustling the fir trees, the piney scent swirling around us, mixing with the pungent flowers. The torn petals scattered in the wind. This was the only place on Mount Punica where I had never been sickened by the bursts of sulfur from fissures, the only place where we could forget that this soil was rich, only because of its potential to destroy everything around it.

“I’ll take good care of her,” Vincent said.

I narrowed my eyes at him, daring him to make my friend into a joke. But for once, there was no ridicule behind his words. As if he took pride in his work, in preserving her memory for me.

“Is she going to be buried?” I asked.

“Embalmed for the viewing. Her ashes buried on the grounds.”

A tree burial would have been better, but the current plan seemed like what her parents would have wanted.

“Kora!” Shea screamed, her words splitting through the quiet. My eyes watered and I turned to her.

“Yes, Mom?”

Her eyes softened for a moment. I rarely ever called her that, only when I knew I needed her on my side.

“You know better than to talk to strangers,” she whispered. She stood behind me, grabbing my shoulders. “Why are you speaking to my daughter?”

“Mount Punica isn’t private property.” Vincent smiled, extending a hand. “My business often seeks your assistance. I’m Vincent Erickson.”

“Oh,” Shea said, her cheeks turning red. “I’m sorry, Mr. Erickson. I had no idea that you would actually—”