The space below was transformed—clean, bright, orderly.Shelves lined with labeled jars.A worktable laid out like a laboratory.
“This,” I breathed, “is definitely not normal aunt behavior.”
Willow hopped onto the table and sat squarely over a locked drawer.
I dashed upstairs, returned with the keyring, and opened it.
Inside, a red folder.
A recipe.
Instructions.
Every ingredient listed plainly.
“Yes,” I whispered, relief flooding me.“Thank you.”
“Now you work,” Tani said.
“Tomorrow.”
The fairy yawned.“Every missed day widens the gate.”
I squared my shoulders, staring at Alice’s set up, at the tools I’d never asked for but now owned all the same.
“All right,” I said quietly.“Let’s get to work.”
Tani disappeared in a puff of pink glitter, abandoning me to the basement, the potion notes, and what was rapidly becoming the weirdest night of my life—which was really saying something, considering I’d recently met a fairy, inherited a flower shop, and been informed I was apparently responsible for a supernatural superhighway.
I spent the next stretch of time elbow-deep in jars and labels, muttering terrible Latin to myself and trying to figure out which dried flower looked the least likely to accidentally summon a demon.
Somewhere overhead, the house settled into silence.Down in the basement, I lined up bowls, bottles, and the mortar like I had any idea what I was doing.
Chapter Seven
Apinkcloudpoppedinto existence over the worktable, dusting everything in a faint shimmer.Tani appeared in the middle of it, grinning like she’d photobombed reality.
“I’m back!”she announced.
I jumped, nearly dropping the mortar.“You are going to give me a heart attack one of these days.”
“Please.Your arteries are fine.”Tani planted her tiny fists on her hips.“All right, hit me.What do you need, oh mighty Guardian?”
I shoved the red folder toward her.“You.Reading.Me.Doing.That’s the division of labor tonight.”
Tani hovered over the pages, eyes skimming the neat type.“Okay, okay.This is the gate-warding blend.Starter-level apocalypse prevention.You got this, chica.”She traced a line with one fingertip.“First, you need the daisy, the lily, and the gladiolus.Got that?”
I turned to the shelves, scanning the rows of jars until I found the Latin labels that now meant something thanks to Tani’s crash course.Thymophylla tenuiloba.Gladiolus callianthus.Lilium stargazer.
“Got ‘em,” I murmured, pulling each jar down and lining them up along the counter, glass clinking softly.
“How many?”I asked without looking up.
“Let’s see…” Paper rustled as Tani skimmed.“Four daisies, six lilies, and four gladiolus.And it says flowers, not petals.So full blooms, sunshine.”
“Excellent.”I unscrewed lids one by one, the faint ghosts of scent rising up—dry floral and something green and dusty.I counted the blooms out onto a clean ceramic plate.“Next?”
“Two bay leaves, a pinch of St.John’s wort, and a teaspoon of vervain.”Tani’s voice took on a mock-authoritative tone.“Add all that to the mortar with the flowers and crush until it looks like you murdered a garden.”
