Page 28 of Whispers of Wisteria (The Garden of Eternal Flowers #5)

Bianca glanced at me, then back to the small opening, before she ducked under the leaves and walked through.

I followed her into the grove.

The clearing was only around two hundred and fifty square feet, and across the outer edge was a small, clear stream that fed directly into a nearby lake. The ground was soft from the thick moss.

“What do you think?” I asked, my anxiety rising as her expression remained eerily unmoved.

I bent and held my palm up near her knee. “Give me your shoes.”

She finally looked at me.

“See.” I kicked off my shoes and rolled up my pants. “It’s nice to stand on.”

Bianca slipped off her flats and pushed them with her bare foot until they rested alongside mine.

Well, at least she was responding, but her silence was incredibly frustrating.

I took her hand and moved to the water. “Sit down.”

Bianca settled onto a large, flat rock and tucked her feet under her. Her attention stayed on the stream.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Bianca.” I pretended not to notice how she stiffened as I wrapped the stolen blanket around her shoulders. “Can you please talk to me?”

“I didn’t know you were from Texas.”

My heart stopped beating, and I almost fell, but I managed to catch myself just in time. I swallowed, trying to hold back my bile, as I slowly lowered myself to the stone beside her.

She watched me. “Are you?” she asked.

“Does it matter?” My voice was rough, but she didn’t seem bothered.

“No,” she said. She rested her cheek on her knee. “But that was the first time I ever heard you with an accent.”

Damn it. Why did we have to talk about this? “Miles has an accent.”

“I know.” The cloud in her eyes faded. “But he’s never tried to hide it. I like it; it’s cute.”

She was interested in this subject.

Fuck my life.

“What’s cute?” I was being snippy, but she had no idea. Nothing about Marshall was ‘cute.’

“Your accent,” she clarified. “Your mom doesn’t have one.”

She still looked at me in that unnerving way, and her mouth twisted. I had to give her something, or she’d probably come up with some outlandish theory.

I did not want this to be at the mercy of her imagination.

There was nothing remotely romantic about that part of my life.

“My mom doesn’t have one because she grew up here.

She went to medical school in Houston, then…

stayed with my dad. She wasn’t there long enough for it to stick,” I sighed.

I looked down at the water. I didn’t even bother to try to hide it now.

“Anthony and I were born there, though. Grew up there awhile, then went back and forth later. Ended up stayin’ with my mom. ”

“Oh,” was her quiet reply.

And it was probably enough—she didn’t often ask questions, so I knew she wouldn’t pry further.

But the dam in my chest threatened to break, and something needed to give.

I guess it didn’t matter. There’d only been one person, ever, who I could talk to. I relaxed, crossed my legs, and slumped forward. I rested my hands over my knees as I continued.

“The Reeds are an old ranching family. My dad’s a cowboy when he wants and a politician when it pays better,” I told her. “But he’s an asshole all the time.”

She rested her head against my arm. “Is he a necromancer too?”

“Yes…” I didn’t see where she was going with this. “The Reeds are well-known necromancers. They are one of the Great Necromancer Legions.”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Necromancers are organized into groups called Legions,” I explained. “Each has a different name and is family-led. The three largest Legions each hold a seat on the Council. They’re Kohler, Reed, an’ Graves.”

There was a slight pause, and I wasn’t sure which part held her attention. However, she soon decided, “But a cowboy necromancer?”

She was watching me with the utmost sincerity. “Yes…” I said again.

Her forehead wrinkled, and she appeared to be seriously contemplating something.

“It’s nothing like you’re imagining,” I warned her, not even needing to know the details. “Marshall is trash. Mom got out early. Anthony and I followed later. Changed our name as soon as we could. He didn’t fight it. We haven’t seen him since. Pops would kill him if he showed now.”

My grandfather had never liked him to start…

I paused, breathing in. Now, back to the topic at hand. “I’ve worked very hard to lose this accent. I’m sorry you had to hear it.”

“I’m not.” She snuggled closer. “It’s a part of who you are, and it’s not bad—because you’re not bad. That’s why you talk so slowly, right?”

My chest lurched, but she wasn’t wrong. “Right.”

“I get it.” Bianca began to pick at the blanket. “I have a stutter.”

I knew that, of course, but I was still startled. Despite being obvious, there’d never been a reason to discuss it.

This was the first time she’d ever brought it up.

“I had a southern accent once,” she said. “When I was really little.”

My heart was beating faster, and my palms itched.

I’d suspected. Her memories gave the slightest hint, but it’d been barely discernible. Plus, the comments she’d made about vegetation and wildlife.

“It bothered Kieran. He tried to teach me to speak without it.” She continued to pick at the blanket. “Then I lost it when I learned to talk again.”

“There’s nothing wrong with an accent, darlin’,” I told her. “Everyone’s got one somewhere.”

“I know that.” Bianca looked at me, confused. “That’s what I was telling you.”

Was it?

There was something else she’d said that stood out more.

“You learned to talk twice?” I tried to keep my tone nonchalant.

My excitement faded into disappointment as her expression shuttered closed. She chewed the inside of her cheek. Even though it’d come up naturally, I’d pushed too hard.

But Bianca surprised me.

“Yes.” She pulled the blanket around her shoulders. “I wasn’t able to anymore after I got hurt. She taught me to talk again.”

“She?” I asked.

“Chaya,” she said.

The name didn’t mean anything to me, but maybe the others might know.

“I—” Bianca began, seeing my reaction. “I knew her from th-that place.”

She looked away.

“Are you okay?” I nudged her. “I heard you had a rough time yesterday.”

Bianca pressed her mouth against her knees. “I’m fi-fine.”

“Tell me.”

She shook her head.

“But you’re afraid,” I pointed out.

She didn’t argue.

“Do you want me to help?” I asked, lifting my hand.

She looked at me, knowing, without words, what I was offering. “Y-yeah,” she replied in a voice I could barely hear.

My face flushed with uncomfortable heat. I’d half-expected her to refuse. She rarely asked for help.

But not this time.

“Okay.” I trailed my fingers across her shoulders, pulling her closer.

She gripped the front of my shirt as I held her against me. Nothing else felt more perfect.

I closed my eyes, pulling my senses until I could feel only her, and Bianca relaxed against me. We stayed that way as the early morning sunlight finally pierced through the trees.

The sound of the stream rippling over stone lulled my senses until I, too, allowed myself to drift into darkness.

My face was pressed against something soft that smelled of oak and wisteria. I curled my fingers around it.

Fabric…

I opened my eyes and sat up. Bianca’s sweater had been balled up under my head, and the afghan fell from my shoulders.

But where was she?

My pulse spiked, and I was already moving to stand before I saw her.

She sat at the edge of the stream. Her hair was swept into a wild mess behind her, and her moss-colored skirt was bunched above her knees. Her stare was on her feet as she touched her toes over the top of the water.

I should have gone to her immediately. I was supposed to be taking care of her. But I didn’t.

I couldn’t look away.

She’d never looked more fae.

My pulse raced and the hair on the back of my neck stood. We’d been like this before, although the memories hadn’t completely caught up yet. Things could maybe be the same again.

I needed it to be. So, so badly.

But then she looked at me and my heart sank.

Not yet.

This world had almost succeeded in breaking her.

I choked as a fury threatened to swallow me whole.

I would kill them. Each and every one.

“Julian?” she said softly, and my resolve steadied. She was far from okay—from being who she was meant to be.

“Did you get enough sleep?”

“How long was I out?” I asked.

Bianca pulled her phone from her pocket. “Three hours,” she said, looking down. “I told the others you were fine and to leave you alone.”

I scowled. I’d told them to stay away. “They asked?”

“No.” Bianca was still looking at the screen. “But I told them anyway.”

That still didn’t make it any less annoying.

She finally glanced up. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” I replied, studying her.

She still looked exhausted. And it was still there—

The pain she was always hiding.

“How do you feel?” I asked. “Honestly.”

Bianca had been fidgeting, and at my question, she froze. I didn’t need to clarify; I could tell by the deer-in-headlights look that she knew.

Her pale lips parted, and my pulse roared.

I expected denial, or even another ‘I’m fine.’ Although I always hoped for something different.

But she surprised me.

“Better than I did,” she replied. “Still not great. But I like it here.”

I held my breath.

I’d underestimated her. Sometimes, her strength surprised me. It would be easy to just give in to the instinct to protect what was mine.

She was mine, but she was also Mu. That made her more.

My body felt lighter as I held my hand out for her. She moved to her knees, and our fingers touched. “I like it here too,” I told her.

I pulled her to her feet.

Her sharp breath echoed in my ears, and I was hyper-aware of her racing heartbeat and the way her pulse jumped under my fingers. The more we were around each other, the harder it was to ignore.

I thrived on these details—even the ones she tried to conceal.

“Do you want to get a late breakfast?” I asked instead. “I know a place close to here.”

“Okay,” she replied, confused.

I wasn’t about to explain.