Page 18 of Where the Roses Bloom (Gospels & Grimoires #1)

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. ”

We walked in silence for a while longer. The trees got denser, the underbrush thicker. Vines coiled over old stones. I could feel the tension in Rhett’s body shift beside me.

“This land has always felt…different,” he said.

“Maybe it was,” I murmured. “Maybe it still is.”

“You feel it, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah…it feels good, but a little strange.”

“Makes sense,” he said, tilting his head down the path. “It’s just up ahead.”

A veil of willow branches shaded the path ahead of us. I followed the path toward the branches, reaching out to pull them aside…and there it was.

The Witch Tree.

The light changed instantly. Willow branches hung low all around. The air was thick and still, scented with ozone and honeysuckle.

Rhett pointed forward, hesitant. “There it is,” he said. “They say that’s where she died.”

He was pointing toward the biggest tree in the grove, its bark gnarled and split down the middle. Moss clung to its base. A few white mushrooms popped around the base of the tree and grew from its split trunk.

I walked toward it slowly, my fingers twitching.

“I don’t know what I expected,” I whispered, “but this…it feels old.”

“Most things around here are,” Rhett murmured. “But this is older.”

He let me go ahead while he circled the edge of the clearing. Maybe I should have been a little freaked out, the sensation that we weren’t alone overwhelming me…but I didn’t feel watched.

I felt remembered.

I knelt down near the roots, brushing back a patch of soft moss. The dirt here was dark and damp, and for a second, I thought I saw something glint.

“Hang on,” I said.

I dug carefully with my fingers, scraping away the earth until something hard and cold pressed back.

I frowned as I pulled it out and examined it: a bottle, small, sealed with wax.

Inside, I could just make out the coil of something that looked like a lock of hair and a bit of faded red ribbon. The glass was cloudy, smudged.

My breath caught.

Rhett came up behind me. “What is that?”

“A spell bottle,” I whispered, “or at least…that’s what it looks like.”

He crouched beside me. “From when?”

“I don’t know.”

I blinked—and for the briefest moment, everything around me blurred.

The wind was louder, the grove brighter. The tree before me was younger, smaller. A woman stood where Rhett had been, dressed in something homespun, hair braided down her back.

She turned, and I caught a glimpse of witch-gold eyes.

I stumbled back, only for Rhett to catch me before I hit the ground.

“Whoa, whoa…” he breathed. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I just…had a weird moment. Probably too much sun.”

He frowned up toward the sky. “Pretty overcast, darlin’.”

“Then maybe I’m just…weird.”

A smile ghosted over his face. “I don’t think that’s even remotely in question.”

I laughed softly, but it didn’t change the fact that my heart was still racing. Rhett reached over to cup the back of my neck with his warm, calloused hand, resting his forehead against mine.

“I feel like I’ve been here before,” I admitted. “But…that’s not possible. I’d never even heard of Willow Grove before this month.”

He didn’t pull away, just let his thumb move in slow circles at the back of my neck. “You know…not long ago I would’ve said this was superstition, but Hazel always said places remember, even if people don’t.”

I wanted to laugh it off—to say something rational, something that made sense. But I’d never felt this, whatever this was.

All I could think about was the flash of that figure’s eyes—my eyes—and the weight in my bones.

I turned the bottle over in my hand, frowning at the weight of it. The seal was cracked, the glass smudged, the contents strange and old.

“What kind of spell do you think it was?” Rhett asked.

“A love spell,” I said—but slower this time, not as certain.

The words came out before I could stop them, but even as I said it, doubt flickered through me.

“At least…it feels that way. But I don’t know.

I don’t know who left it, or why. Could’ve been Isadora.

Could’ve been Hazel. Could’ve been someone else entirely. ”

Rhett shifted, resting his arms on his knees.

“You think it has anything to do with the curse?”

I hesitated. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s something that got tangled up in it over time. Maybe it was meant to stop it, or…maybe it was meant for something else, and we’re just caught in the middle of it now.”

He raked a hand through his hair, watching me.

“And you think we’re supposed to finish it?”

“I don’t know what I think,” I admitted, my heart pounding. “But whatever this is…it’s working on us right now. I can fe el it. And I don’t want the land to keep remembering all the pain and loss. I want it to remember love.”

I shifted closer, my fingers trembling where they clutched the bottle.

“Make love to me,” I whispered.

He stared at me, startled. “You…what?”

“I want you to make love to me, Rhett,” I said. “Right here. Right now.”

“Are you serious?”

I nodded, though I felt the uncertainty flicker through me even as I did. “The land’s carried so much grief. Let’s give it something else to hold.”

Rhett stared at me. For a second, I thought he was going to say no.

But then he leaned forward, cupped my face with both hands, and kissed me.