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EPILOGUE

There would never be a house built on that swampy stretch of land again. No tulip would sprout from the soil. The creek broke its banks and made jagged, fractured paths through the place where the garden once stood.

But from time to time, the spring air still chilled and sharp, someone wandering the shoreline of Rabbit Cross River will happen upon a single rare tulip sprouting from the dirt. If they’re smart, if they’ve heard the rumors, they will leave the tulip right where it grows. But if curiosity nags at their thoughts, they will pluck it from the ground, bring it to their lips, and breathe in its sweet, intoxicating scent.

Before they’ve staggered back from the river’s edge, their heart will begin unraveling from the safety of their chest.

The Goode family curse, like many fables, is something that cannot simply be washed away by a strong rain. It changes. Becomes something new and strange. More mercurial. More dangerous.

It is the way of all things.

So if you happen upon a tulip growing where none should be, petals white, streaked with red… walk the other way.