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“Watch out for the tendrils. They will try to suck your blood out.”
So yeah, the work was okay, apart from the fact that you had to swat away creeper tendrils intent on sucking your blood out like leeches maybe twice an hour. It also helped if you pretended that the Venus fly-trap looking things with all the sharp teeth weren’t following your every move and sniffing at the air as you walked past. It was almost pleasant.
Almost, though, like I said. The garden had that delicate floral scent I’d come to expect from any place that’s packed with plants and flowers, though there was still that off-putting certain something underneath it all. A freshly fertilized flower garden might smell sweet, even if you can still make out the faint stench of manure past the perfume of flora. In this case, it was the cloying, ever-present metallic aroma of blood.
We broke for lunch at about noon. My phone had no reception down there, but at least it still showed the time. Florian and I parked our butts on an empty patch of grass and sat back to back as we ate, looking out for the sucker tendrils. Priscilla had very sweetly packed us a picnic blanket along with the array of treats she’d whipped up for lunch.
We each had a decently delicious seaweed salad, some sushi rolls with bits of fresh salmon, sticky coconut rice with mango for dessert, and the best eggplant parmigiana I’d ever tasted as a main. Priscilla had thrown in some pomelo wedges, too, I guess to serve as a sort of palate cleanser. Very refreshing. I admit, I’d never personally explored the extent of the kitchens that Priscilla kept behind that one copse of trees in Paradise, but she was obviously equipped to make actual culinary magic back there.
Partway through our appetizers, Florian cleared his throat, kind of pushing against my back with his, like he had something to say. I pushed back and grunted, I guess my non-verbal way of telling him to speak up if he wanted.
“So, this is weird for me.” He turned over his shoulder to check if I was listening, which I was. “You know what I mean? My whole thing is nature and nature magic, and Belphegor dumps us here and everything is just so – it’s just so awful and unfamiliar. It’s all tainted, twisted, corrupted. Belphegor hasn’t actually done anything to hurt us or whatever, but this whole situation is just super uncomfortable.”
I nudged him back, sighing, hoping it helped as a little bit of a soothing gesture. “I know what you mean, buddy. This is all pretty damn creepy to me, too. But it’s the last thing we have to do for him. Once we’re done, he’s out of our hair forever.”
Florian was silent for a second, then he nodded. “That’s true,” he said, his voice rumbling against my back.
“Think of it this way. It’s just a job. Once we’re done, you’ll never have to return to the Crimson Gardens. Ever. We’ll never have to see Belphegor again.”
That last bit was more wishful thinking than anything, but hey, the thought of it helped me tolerate our job that little bit more.
But no less than an hour after lunch, my stomach was grumbling already. Color me strange, but unless I get a little bit of meat inside me – and I’m not talking raw fish here – I can tend to get a little grumpy. Plus there was the post-lunch carb slump that made me kind of sleepy, too. It just wasn’t a great combination overall.
Still, by then Florian and I remembered that we still had Box with us, and that meant a third hand – or a mouth? – that could help with the gardening. And Box did his honest best, too, holding his jaws open as we loaded him up with ripped-up weeds, fallen twigs and branches, and dead leaves. It was all one huge salad bar to him, and Box was happy to chew and swallow between servings.
That kind of helped keep things a little entertaining for me. Plus Box would occasionally snap and snarl at the stray tentacles that tried to sneak up on my ankles, or Florian’s, for that matter.
By the time it was quarter to five, the half of the Crimson Gardens that Belphegor had assigned to us looked about as clear as it could be. The good news was that we’d finished a ton of work in record time. The bad news? We would have to come back to deal with the other half on a second work trip.
My nostrils were choked with the smell of freshly turned earth, not a bad odor as far as I was concerned, but way too much for one day. I unfurled my muscles, using a rake across my shoulders to get a good stretch, gathering up our tools to return them to the shed.
Box tottered along and nipped at my heels as we placed our armfuls of tools in their respective spots, rakes and scythes and shovels all lined up nicely with their siblings. Out of nowhere, Box suddenly started for the back of the shed, staring down, then audibly growling at something laying against the wall there.
“Down, boy.” Florian walked over, squatting and patting Box reassuringly. “See, it’s nothing. It’s just a rusty old hoe.”
The words came before I could stop myself. “You’re a rusty old hoe.”
Florian stood up and held his hands out to either side. “Whoa. Holy crap, what crawled up your butt and died?”
I shook my head sheepishly, scratching at my hair. That was confusing for me, too. “Man, sorry. I’m sorry. I like Priscilla’s food, but would it kill her to put a little bacon in there every once in a while?”
“So ask her. Don’t take it out on me. Geez. Gr
umpy, much?”
“Sorry. Sorry.” I got down on my haunches, holding out my hands. “Come on, Box. Come to Papa. Uncle Florian’s right, that’s just a rusty old hoe.”
A rusty old hoe that he seemed to be taking a little too much interest in. After a few more moments of sniffing and snarling that really didn’t accomplish much of anything, Box tottered back around in a semicircle and came clattering up the shed towards me.
I did wonder, though. Was it really the food or the lack of it that got me all grumpy? I gave the hoe one last look. Something about it, or something about Belphegor’s shed was making me feel all sorts of things. Bad things, mostly. Naughty things.
Box shrank back into the shape of a tiny cube, and I placed him gingerly in my pocket. Florian and I headed back out, the relatively fresh air of the gardens a good deal better than the shed’s stuffiness.
“I think we’re basically done. I’m out of here just as soon as Belphegor signs us out.” He gestured at himself, his shirt stuck to his body with sweat. “I need to change out of these.”
“You’re right about that.” I sniffed at myself and grimaced. “Cripes but I could use a shower.”
I slipped my shirt up and off my head, cool air rushing across my sweat-slick skin. This was too much. The workday had to be over already. I would have thought that the whistle that cut along the lawn was some sort of official signal that five o’clock had struck and we were done. It had, in fact, come straight out of Belphegor’s pursed lips.
