“It was hilarious. I said yes while he was still coughing up fur. He claims it was ’dignified in a primal way.’ It absolutely was not.” Junie swerved around a pothole that would have rattled Lunaria’s truck to pieces. “Speaking of insufferable men—you have an official welcome ceremony tomorrow. With the mayor.”
“A ceremony.”
“He has a clipboard. Multiple forms. I watched him reorganize his desk for twenty minutes once because a stapler was at the wrong angle.” Junie waved her hand, searching for the word. “He’s very... official.”
“You’re making him sound insufferable.”
“Did I not lead with that? He’s completely insufferable. Very competent, very polished, very good at his job—and also insufferable. Has that whole ‘I’m in control of everything’ energy that makes you want to muss up his hair just to see what he’d do.” Junie shot her a sideways glance that held far too much speculation. “You two will probably hate each other on sight.”
Unlikely.She didn’t stay long enough to hate anyone. That required investment, and investment was a practice she’d trained herself out of years ago.
“What’s his species?” She asked the question more to keep Junie from reading too much into her silence than out of genuine curiosity.
“Lion. The Holts have been lions forever—old family, lots of history. His dad’s an elder.” Junie drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “Come to think of it, I’ve never seen Hux shift. Leo says he’s pretty private about his lion. Doesn’t let it out much.”
A lion shifter who kept his beast locked down. That spoke to control issues. Or deeper issues.
Not that she cared.
The road curved, and the forest thickened on either side. Through gaps in the trees, Lunaria caught glimpses of structures ahead—walls overtaken by climbing vines, the rusted spires of wrought iron gates, the suggestion of pathways long since surrendered to wilderness.
The Celestial Botanical Gardens.
Even through the car window, she could feel them. The ley lines beneath the soil hummed with dormant power, calling to the magic in her blood. Seven major currents intersecting at this point—she’d seen it on maps, studied the theoretical implications in texts older than the town itself. But feeling it was different entirely. The pull. The ache.
“The gardens have been dead for sixty years,” Junie said, her voice uncharacteristically soft. “Since Deia Tullio passed. She was the celestial witch who maintained them—basically a legend around here. No one’s had the magic to wake them since.”
“The job listing didn’t mention they were dead.”
“It said ‘extensive restoration required.’ That’s real estate speak for disaster zone.” Junie pulled off the main road onto a gravel drive so overgrown that branches scraped the sides of the convertible. “But you’ll fix that. You’re brilliant, and you have actual celestial magic, which apparently is rare enough that the town council spent three years trying to find someone for the job. You were basically their only qualified applicant.”
“Flattering.”
“I’m serious. The gardens used to be the crown jewel of Haven Shores. People came from everywhere to see them. And when Deia died, they just...” Junie trailed off, her usual manic energy dimming. “Everything stopped. The flowers died. The fountains dried up. The whole place just gave up, and nobody could do anything about it.”
The driveway ended at a small cottage—one story, weathered shingles, a porch that sagged slightly on the left side. Overgrown flower beds hugged the foundation, the blooms long since choked out by invasive weeds.
“Home sweet home,” Junie announced. “It’s not much, but it comes with the contract. The groundskeeper used to live here, back when there was a garden to keep.”
Lunaria climbed out, her boots crunching on gravel that hadn’t been tended in decades. The cottage faced the garden gates—massive wrought iron structures worked with celestial symbols that had oxidized to a deep verdigris. Moons and stars and planetary alignments, frozen in metal. The gates hadn’t been opened properly in years; rust and climbing vines had welded them nearly shut.
She approached them slowly, drawn by a pull she couldn’t explain. Her fingers brushed the iron, and a spark of recognition shot through her—not painful, not unpleasant, just undeniablythere. The gates had been waiting for exactly this touch.
They swung open without resistance, hinges silent despite decades of neglect.
“Okay,” Junie said slowly from behind her. “That’s... not terrifying at all.”
But Lunaria wasn’t listening. The magic beneath her feet was singing, resonating with the celestial gift that ran through her bloodline, and the garden was calling to her. Calling herhome.
“I should unpack,” she said, pulling herself back from the threshold. “Get settled.”
Junie’s gaze lingered on the open gates, her expression troubled. “Luna. The gardens haven’t responded to anyone in six decades. People have tried. Witches, druids, even a fae who specialized in botanical magic. Nothing worked.”
“Gates rust. Metal expands and contracts with temperature. It’s physics, not fate.”
“Since when do you believe in physics over fate?”
Since fate had shown her too many endings she couldn’t prevent. Since physics was cold and impersonal and didn’t ask her to care.
