Page 50 of Where the Roses Bloom

She looked at me, and for a second, I saw her not as the stranger who’d shown up in my driveway…but as the bloom Hazel had written about. The one the land had been dreaming of for generations. The one who would break the curse.

And as I looked into her eyes, I caught the faintest scent on the air.

Roses.

Blooming, out of season.

Calling us home.

CHAPTER 17

Willow

I dressed in layers,even though the day was warm. Something about it felt off-kilter. Willow Grove was becoming more a fantasy every moment.

It scared me…and it felt right at the same time.

Rhett didn’t say much as we got ready, just stayed close, brushing his hand against mine every few minutes. I stuffed my pockets with a few things—a chunk of obsidian, a small tin of salt—just in case. Rhett brought an old canvas pack slung over his shoulder, packed with a flashlight, water, and a few other things he insisted on bringing “because this ain’t a fairytale, baby.”

But…maybe it was. At least a little.

We set off around two o’clock in the afternoon, the sun high in the sky. Storm clouds gathered off to the west, over the dense tree line. We walked through Hazel’s garden then past the overgrown fence line and down the narrow path into the woods.

“You ever gone lookin’ for ghosts before?” Rhett asked about a half-hour into the walk, our shoes crunching in the gravel on the path.

I glanced over at him. “Not on purpose.”

“That makes one of us.” He shifted the pack higher on his shoulder. “When I was sixteen, Whit dared me and Beau to sleep out here one night. Said he’d seen a woman in white walkin’ through the trees. Thought he was makin’ it up—he was always makin’ things up.”

“Did you go?”

He huffed a laugh. “Dumb as we were, yeah. Hauled our asses out here with a couple o’ flashlights and a pocket knife, as if that would do a damn thing. Got about halfway before Beau swore he saw something glowin’ in the trees and bolted.”

I laughed. “Did you?”

“Stay? Hell no. Ran so fast I tripped over a root and bit halfway through my tongue.” He gave me a crooked grin. “Still got the scar, and Grandma Hazel thought I was scared mute. Nah…tongue just hurt.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “So the legend’s been around a while, huh?”

“Forever,” he said. “Hazel called it the Witch Tree, said it was in a clearing somewhere ‘round here and we were never to go there. Bet you can guess what the best way to get kids to go somewhere is.”

“Tell them not to go?” I guessed.

“Bingo.”

The sun filtered through the branches. The air smelled sweet and loamy. There were birds still singing, loud and clear.

“So this is where Isadora died?” I asked.

“That’s what they say.”

“I wonder if she died alone,” I said quietly. “Or if someone stayed with her.”

Rhett’s jaw worked, but he didn’t answer right away.

“I hope not,” he finally said. “I hope someone held her hand.”

I swallowed. “I hope she wasn’t afraid.”