Page 46 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

If I’d been thinking straight, I would’ve told her the most beautiful thing I’d seen was her. But no—what did I do instead? I rambled on about my collection of pinned moths and damselflies. Real serial killer shit. My mom hated them—called it creepy. Which, yeah… maybe. But they mattered to me.

She lit up talking about birds. Said she thought she saw an American Woodcock wobbling around the yard earlier. Chunky little bastard. And the way she said it? Like she’d discovered magic.

God, I’m pathetic.

But I couldn’t stop listening.

Ruby and Clover had returned maybe forty-five minutes later, basket brimming to the top with plants, mushrooms, and that crispy lichen stuff that grows on trees, rocks, anything in a damp cool area, it seemed.

“Find anything worthwhile?” I asked.

Ruby patted the side of the basket. “Yep. Lots.”

Clover placed a small, clear cut-crystal in Maggie’s hand. “Here, darling, maybe this will bring you a little luck. We found it out in the woods.” She said before heading inside.

Maggie examined it, holding it up to the light of the moon. “Graham!” She jumped up and held out the crystal. “Doesn’t this look just like the one on Portia’s brooch?”

“I—uh… I don’t know, I wasn’t really paying attention. Silas was insistent on flirting with her, and I was busy trying to get control of my body.”

She rolled her eyes at me and continued inspecting the tiny thing. “I’m pretty sure this is exactly like the ones on her brooch. In fact, I’m positive.”

“Maggie, you saw it for what, maybe ten seconds? What are you, a crystal expert too?”

“I might know my way around a few rocks.” She scrunched her nose at me then ran through the door, “Hey Clove—?” The door slammed against the half wall, rattling the stained glass panels.

That damn door wasn’t doing anything to keep intruders out. One panel was missing. Another ready to fall.

A moment later, Maggie rushed back out, her bare feet pattering on the worn planks. “Graham, you are staying tonight, right?”

“I—uh—well, my shift doesn’t start until tomorrow, but seeing as I have your uncle’s hand up my ass as a puppeteer, I probably better.”

“Please do, we can go into the woods in the morning and look for more clues.” Determination glinted in her eyes.

Then, before I could even do anything about it… Silas tugged me back inside. He was at the reins again, and I was stuck on timeout.

Maggie

Graham’s eyes flashed green, and a sour taste filled my mouth. This decrepit bastard was starting to piss me off.

I folded my arms, my voice laced in annoyance. “Impressive. You don’t even have to knock him out anymore, huh?”

He straightened—Graham’s body stretched tall, broad, yet proper. “Now look here, little miss.”

“No.” I shoved past him. “I’m done listening to a ghost with bad behavior.”

He huffed behind me, voice rising. “I don’t quite know who you think you are, accusing my dear… innocent Portia of these unspeakable things…”

“I never accused her.” I spun back to face him. “I said Clove found this.” I pulled the crystal from my pocket and held it up. “It matches her brooch. It was buried in the woods behind my house. That’s not an accusation. That’s a fact.”

He faltered.

“That crystal… It was a gift,” he said, quieter now. “We used to walk those trails together. She wore it sometimes.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s a pretty extravagant accessory for a walk in overgrown woods.” I muttered.

“Everything about Portia is extravagant,” he swooned.

“—and I bet she shits diamonds too.”

Katie and the aunts giggled in the kitchen, which only fueled Uncle Silas’s irritation.

“Maggie, enough! I shall not tolerate your speaking ill of the one woman who meant something to me. My memories are all I have left.”

I paused. Then nodded once. “Fine. But your memories don’t get to rewrite reality.”

The kitchen was warm, herbal, and humming with the clink of bottles. I let the heat settle into my skin. I needed it. Needed the grounding. Something real.

“So?” Katie asked, pouring the steaming potion through a strainer. “Learn anything from the body snatcher?”

I glanced over my shoulder. Uncle Silas was still watching me.

“Only that Graham’s still in there,” I murmured. “And that he’s trying to fight his way back.”

The front door clicked shut behind Uncle Silas.

“And he’s still pissed I’m even considering Portia could be involved,” I muttered, folding my arms. My heart still beat too fast, but I kept my voice even and calm. Like I hadn’t just been yelled at by the ghost possessing the man I might love.

“Ha! Portia isn’t quite the saint Silas would have you believe,” Ruby declared, spinning the metal ring from the mason jar in one smooth motion. Her silver bangles clinked with every confident movement, like she’d done this a thousand times.

“What do you mean?” I asked, stepping closer to the butcher block.

“Six years before Silas and Portia started their brief romance,” Ruby said, handing me a strawberry daiquiri and picking one up for herself, “she was involved in a scandal with Mayor Halliwell.” She sipped the red drink through a glass straw.

“It never made the papers—too messy—but the rumor was she tried to… remove his wife from the picture. Take over.”

My stomach turned. “What?”

Clover, still gently stirring the pot on the stove, offered a quiet: “She’s always been ambitious. And dangerous women have a certain… magnetism.”

“The mayor and his wife didn’t press charges,” Ruby went on, “but the story? It’s been whispered through this town like wind through a graveyard.

He kept his seat. She kept her claws.” She cackled, but it couldn’t hide her bitterness.

“Can you imagine? The man supposed to uphold Port Grey’s morals tangled up with Silas’s mistress. The irony is almost poetic.”

Then, a deep, guttural growl ripped through the room, and I swear it vibrated my bones.

“Lies!”

I turned. Uncle Silas stood in the doorway, his face twisted with fury.

“You never could stand that I chose her over you, you old hag!”

Ruby didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. She flicked her wrist as if swatting a fly. “Oh, Silas, darling. Still so sensitive? Maybe if you weren’t so easily tempted, none of this would’ve happened.”

The air pulsed with tension as he stormed down the steps, closing the distance between them until they were toe-to-toe.

“I heard it went on for months,” Ruby hissed, her tone sharp now. “They say they were seen at that little café on Cedar Street. Sharing more than just coffee.”

The room went still.

Their eyes locked—his, burning with betrayal. Hers, filled with something far older. Not just hurt. Not just bitterness.

History.

Pretty sure she wasn’t talking about Portia and the Mayor anymore.

Uncle Silas brought his hand to her face, as if he were going to caress her cheek or apologize.

But before he could touch her, Ruby caught his hand in hers and dragged a small silver blade across his index finger.

The blood came quickly.

She held it steady over the jar, letting each drop fall with intention.

“Wretched bitch!” He spat, cradling his hand as he recoiled. His eyes blazed with fury.

Ruby didn’t flinch. She met his rage with scorn. “Maggie,” she said without looking at me, “let this be your lesson. Be careful who you let infect your heart.”

Then she turned and left, retreating into the dining room where the sounds of muffled sobs bled into the air.

I stood frozen.

Clover, cautious yet determined, lifted the bowl and poured the shimmering brew into the jar, the blood swirling with the rest. Her voice was low and measured.

“Drops of crimson, let them be… swirled with spirits… known to thee. From this moon, and from this hour, weaken Silas—give Graham his power.”

My pulse thundered. “Wait—” I stepped forward, but it was too late.

Clover splashed the contents of the jar onto him.

The potion hit his skin like fire and shimmered with an ethereal gleam.

“What have you done?” Uncle Silas growled, his voice twisting beneath the weight of something ancient. The illusion cracked—his face contorted, shifting. For just a moment, it wasn’t Graham’s face anymore. It was his. The real Uncle Silas. And the look in his eyes chilled me to the core.

He staggered, gripping the butcher block, breath ragged. “You promised Maggie. You said you wouldn’t banish me.”

“I’m not banishing you,” I whispered even though I didn’t have a fucking clue what the aunt’s potion would do. “I just want Graham back.”

His fists clenched, jaw tightening as veins strained along his arms. The darkness inside him surged. I could feel it. Like something trying to claw its way to the surface. Rage. Power. Regret. All twisted together in an uncontainable storm.

“You’ve made a grave mistake,” he hissed.

He stepped toward Clover, his eyes narrowing, voice dipped to a razor-edge whisper. “You always were the dangerous one.”

I opened my mouth to shout—but no sound came.

Derek and Katie moved in beside me, and I grabbed their hands, steadying myself. My body was frozen, but inside—I was screaming.

Not in fear.

In hope.

In desperation.

What if this was the only shot we had?

What if I’d just damned us all?

My heart pounded as Uncle Silas raised his hand, a surge of energy cracking through the room. The air shifted—vibrated—charged with a power struggle I could only feel.

Graham’s body jerked like he’d been hit by lightning. His back arched, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white, veins straining against his skin. A choked roar tore from his throat—raw, animal—rattling the windows and cutting through the air like it wanted to tear the room in half.

He dropped to his knees.

Hard.

The floor shook beneath the impact.

He screamed again—head thrown back, muscles seizing, cords standing out along his neck.

Then the light came.