Page 54 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

WHAT’S LEFT BEHIND

Maggie

The soft glow of sunlight stretching across the floor in gold ribbons through my bedroom window was a welcome sight when I woke. The light filtered gently into a warm haze, wrapping the room in comfort.

Chester had curled up beside me at some point during the night, but was now wide awake—batting at dust motes dancing in the light.

I sat up slowly, my muscles stiff, my breath catching with the weight of my memories resurfacing. My gaze drifted to the chair by the closet— hoping. But it was empty.

“How did I get here?” I murmured.

“Well, my dear…” Uncle Silas’s voice floated in from the hall. “Your beefcake lover carried you.”

He appeared in a puff of green fog at the foot of the bed, arms crossed like he’d been rehearsing that entrance all morning.

“He spent most of your slumber right there.” Uncle Silas nodded toward the chair, where a tiny carved bird rested on the seat.

I blinked, leaning forward. “What’s that?”

“Looks like a member of the Strigidae family,” he said. “Graham carved it while you slept. He was very particular about the feathers.”

“An owl, really?”

“Yes, I’m amazed he got that far. It’s hard to whittle when there is a little fur ball on your lap pawing at every move of the knife. Besides, Ruby and Clover demanded he get some rest. They practically pulled him out of here by his ear.”

“I wish I could have thanked him for everything before he left.”

“He said something about having to clock in, but would return around 4 P.M.”

I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and looked at the clock—2:42 P.M.

“Did everyone else go home too? I have questions.”

“No. No… Everyone is downstairs. I invited them to make themselves at home—those two sisters certainly are.”

“Oh. How so?”

“Well, from what I can remember from my brief romance with Ruby… is that she’ll cook up a whole blasted town’s worth of food when she’s stressed. It’s amazing she’s kept her figure all these years.”

“How’s she going to do that? I don’t even have that much food in the house, and the stove… well, you know.”

“At 6 A.M. on the dot, she and Clover stormed out of here like two seagulls on the scent of a French fry,” Uncle Silas said with a grin. “They cleaned out Elsie’s Mercantile—meat, tofu, the works.”

“Aww, they didn’t have to.” I murmured, already kicking off the covers. “I need to thank them properly.”

Scooping up the little owl from the chair, I ran my thumb along the unfinished feet, then tucked it into my pocket and hurried down the stairs.

A wall of savory aromas hit me the second I reached the bottom step—garlic, rosemary, something buttery and spiced. My stomach growled on instinct, and I swear I started to drool.

I rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped cold.

The aunts and Katie were in a full-blown culinary spell craft—flour dusted across the butcher block, bubbling pots on every burner of a brand new range, and more food than I thought this house could hold.

“How did you…?”

Ruby stepped back from the stove, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, pride practically radiating off of her.

“I don’t understand…” I blinked at the gleaming black range, still stunned. “Why would you get me a new one?”

“Oh, child… we like you and all, but it wasn’t us,” Ruby said, stirring whatever concoction she had bubbling in the Dutch oven on the back burner. “It was your uncle. He sent that sweet man of yours to pick out and pay for this beauty.”

She ran a loving hand along the black enamel. “And I do say, he’s got taste. Black’s a power color—it absorbs negativity just by existing.”

Ruby giggled, then shrugged. “I just figured after last night’s little exorcism showcase, we all earned a proper meal. So Clove and I raided Elsie’s and brought back what felt sufficient.”

I glanced at Katie, who was elbows-deep in carrot peels, and mouthed, “ Thank you.”

She smiled softly, her eyes glistening with a care that said we were going to be great friends, and went right back to peeling.

“You really don’t have to do all this,” I said, already fumbling for an out. “I’ve got the makings of a decent turkey sandwich and some barbecue chips on the?—”

“If you think a piddly turkey sandwich is enough to feed that ox that’s been hanging around here— especially after what he’s been through—you’ve got a lot to learn,” Ruby said, chuckling as she stirred. “How do you think he got those delicious muscles? By eating a salad?”

She let out a snort. “I almost asked him to bring me a big ol’ hunk of venison for dinner, but by the time he got back, there wouldn’t be time to cook it.”

“What? When did he even have time to hunt?” I asked. “He’s been here almost every day.”

“Don’t you know anything about him?” Ruby asked, raising an eyebrow. “He practically told you his life story out on the porch last night. Lives out in the woods on Crescent Cove. Probably gets deer walking right past his woodshed every night.”

She smirked. “Keeps a rifle on the wall, I’d bet—and probably a side piece on him… somewhere.”

Shit. That did sound familiar.

But most of our porch conversation was a blur. I was pretty high.

“About last night…” I paused. “Why did that work? I mean, why did it have to be me?”

Clover pulled the rolls from the third oven and set them on the butcher block.

“There’s power in wanting to protect someone,” she said, almost absentmindedly.

“But the kind of power you used last night?’ She glanced up at me, that slow, squinty smile tugging at her face. “That comes from something deeper.”

I looked to Katie for answers, but she didn’t offer any—just kept peeling.

A flicker of unease crept in.

“Wait… where’s Derek?” I asked, scanning the room.

“Passed out in the sunroom,” Katie said, not even looking up. “He and the delivery guy nearly came to blows trying to hook up that range. He didn’t sleep a wink. He and Graham tag-teamed pacing your bedroom like guard dogs.”

She smirked—there was definitely more to that than she let on.

“It wasn’t until Silas sent him to grab the cash for the range that he finally peeled himself away. I swear he was about to wear a hole through the floorboards.”

“Really?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Katie scraped the peels into a mixing bowl they’d found in one of my unpacked boxes, then went back to slicing the carrots into thick coins.

I had to talk to Uncle Silas.

The lawyer said debt collectors and hospital bills swallowed every cent he had.

That’s what everyone said—that there was nothing left.

And I believed it. I’d gotten so used to scraping by, to assuming there’d never be a backup plan—never a safety net.

That the thought of something more was a foreign dream I barely remembered.

But a brand-new range? Cash for upgrades?

That kind of care didn’t come out of thin air.

I climbed the stairs and called out, “Uncle Silas?”

A swirl of green fog curled down the hallway, and a moment later, he materialized in front of me, looking entirely too smug for a ghost.

I crossed my arms, trying not to sound like a kid who just realized Santa might be real.

“What’s this I hear about you having a secret stash of cash? I thought it all went to pay your debts.”

“Oh—silly girl. Haven’t you figured out by now that I’m a man of mystery?” He crossed his arms and hovered proudly in front of the attic stairwell.

I hesitated, then cleared my throat. “Is it… would you mind showing me where it is?”

I tried to keep my voice light, but the truth was already clawing at the edges of my thoughts. If there really was anything left—anything at all—it might buy me time. Enough to catch my breath. Enough to choose what came next instead of scrambling.

“Actually, Maggie,” Uncle Silas said, his tone softening, “I was saving it for you . I’d been keeping an eye on you from afar before my passing. Annie and I had some rather lengthy conversations about you over the years.”

I blinked. “Annie? You… you knew her?”

“Well, I didn’t know her per se… ” he shrugged. “I’d seen some newspaper articles, did a few internet searches to see what she was all about… but other than that, we kept our conversations focused on you.”

“So… you know about my… problem?”

“Which one is that, dear?” He replied, gliding past me toward the guest room just off the attic stairwell.

It was the one with the rose wallpaper—the room I’d mentally dubbed The Rose Room . I never had the chance to look at it, other than dumping a few unpacked boxes inside.

“Are we talking about your love life, your career, or your familial problems?” He asked, turning back to look at me.

“Oh, God—I’m a mess, aren’t I?”

“Well,” said Uncle Silas, smug as ever, “at thirty-six, most folks have some idea where their life’s headed. But you? Not you, dear. You like to take life by the horns… and then let it steer.”

“Great. I’m a rodeo clown with commitment issues.” I crossed my arms. “Thanks for that.”

But underneath the sarcasm, I felt it twist. That didn’t sound like me. Not really.

I stayed at the bakery because it was safe. Predictable. Not exactly the sign of a wild spirit.

Okay—maybe I’d ridden a few bulls for fun when it came to my sex life. But come on, that wasn’t exactly rare. Plenty of women had a lineup, and most didn’t get haunted for it.

As for family… Annie was it. And she always made sure I had what I needed. At least, the basics.

“You know how Annie always had extra cash?” Uncle Silas said, waving a hand. “And had you selling your little concoctions. Enchanting the locals to drum up more business?”

“Yeah…” I muttered, already bracing for wherever this was going.

He drifted into the guest room toward the radiator beneath the window facing the woods.

“Move this out of the way, dear.”

I stared at him. “It’s a radiator. ”

“Trust me,” he said, eyes twinkling.

I did as he suggested, and to my surprise, the radiator wasn’t even real. Just a hollow shell dressed up in pipes. Behind it, tucked just under the windowsill, was a small metal button.

I pressed it.

With a soft click , a section of the floor popped up.

I stared at the hidden compartment, then glanced at Uncle Silas. He gave a simple nod.

I knelt down, heart hammering, and lifted the wooden boards. The hinges groaned like they hadn’t moved in decades.

Inside was an old shoebox, weathered and wrapped with a brittle piece of twine. I slid it loose and opened the lid.

My breath caught.

Bundles of cash. Tight, organized, stacked like it had been packed with intention. The entire box was full—absolutely full.

“There’s approximately $450,000 in there, give or take,” Uncle Silas said casually, like we were discussing tea leaves.

I dropped onto my ass, the shoebox still clutched in my hands, eyes wide.

“Four hun-dred… and f-fifty… thousand?” I blinked at him. “You did say thousand… right?”

“Yes,” Uncle Silas said. “I tucked a little in here and there, but most of it came from Annie. She sent something every month. The months you used your enchantments? Double. Sometimes triple. So I’d say… you earned it.”

The weight of the box in my hands was almost too much—not because it was heavy, but because I was.

After the past few weeks—death, accusations, possession, fear—I’d taken hit after hit. And I was tired. Bone-deep, soul-level tired.

It was strange, really. How something as trivial as a shoebox full of cash could make the air feel lighter.

Or maybe it wasn’t even the money.

Maybe it was the idea that I could stop clawing for survival and start choosing .

I wouldn’t live forever on $450,000, but it was enough. Enough to take a breath. Enough to pick the kind of work I actually wanted.

Enough to hold onto this house for a few years while I figured out how to stand on my own damn feet.

“Thank you, Uncle Silas. You have no idea how much weight this lifts off my shoulders.”

“Oh, I think I do, my dear,” he said with a ghost of a smile. “Wasn’t long ago, I was the one paying the taxes on this place. Ten thousand a year, by the way.”

My eyes nearly popped out of my skull. Every ounce of spit in my mouth vanished, and that weight? It was back, planted firm as ever—right on my throat.

“—dear girl… you don’t have a mortgage. That’s been paid for ages,” Uncle Silas said, drifting around the Rose Room and nosing into the boxes filled with washi tape, scrapbook paper, and half my collection of inks and dyes.

“I was thinking of turning this into my crafting room,” I said, pulling out my latest journal from a half-open box. The cover was unfinished velvet, the spine bursting with paper and thread.

I flipped it open and ran my fingers over the page labeled Great Horned Owl— a rough sketch, some scraps of ephemera, a receipt from a trip with Annie, and a red-stitched oak leaf.

“I like birds,” I said quietly, smiling.

“Very clever,” Uncle Silas murmured.

“Making these helps me think. Organize the mess.”

“Then, my girl, I suggest you get to organizing.”

Maybe I could ask Graham for access to the files. Maybe I could piece something together. It wouldn’t take the weight off my chest, but at least it’d give my hands something to do—besides Graham.

“Say… do you know anything about Jonathan Belvedere?” I asked.

“Other than that he died about six months before I did and frequented the occult shops—not much. Why do you ask, dear?”

“Graham said Portia mentioned he had a habit of studying people he thought had magical bloodlines. Said he carved them up and removed the hearts. Like some kind of ritual.”

“Oh yes, I caught wind of that,” Uncle Silas said, tone carefully neutral. “I figured it was just a rumor. Chopping up the deceased like that—simply horrible.”

“The deceased?”

He gave a small shrug. “Belvedere was rumored to be a body snatcher. Digging up corpses to examine their parts. Claimed they differed from ‘normal’ folk—allegedly.”

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting. The thought of someone dissecting me like a specimen made my skin crawl.

“You don’t think he had followers, do you?” I asked. “Maybe someone’s trying to study you and now… me.”

Uncle Silas grew quiet.

“His house was boarded up after his death,” he said eventually. “If no one’s been inside… well… you might find something there.”