“Claire… What? What are you doing here?” Ame asked.
The black-haired beauty didn’t answer the question. “I’ve gathered some of your things, Ame.”
“You’re coming back to the house with us,” Miss Poni added.
“What? No!”
“We brought you here because I wanted you to see that you’re mother’s all right. Now you’ve seen, and it’s time for us to go.”
“Mama needs me!”
“Not tonight, she doesn’t child.” Miss Poni’s voice was gentle. “You’ve taken good care of your mama, Ame. No one denies that, and no one denies how hard it’s been. But now it’s time to let the grownups care for grownup things while children rest easy.”
“I’ve never rested easy, Miss Poni.”
“I know, girl,” the old crone’s voice was gentle, almost a lullaby. “But tonight you shall.”
Ame eased against her mother, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. Eli helped her to a car parked in the driveway. Miss Poni sat up front, and the mysterious Claire took the driver’s seat. Then they were gone.
∞
Eli retrieved his belongings from the rental, and returned to the cottage.
Now he was alone with the woman who had haunted his thoughts for more than seventeen years, the woman who broke his heart. His father had been right, of course. She could break his heart all over again, and he would still be grateful for every moment he spent with her.
Gretchel was already in bed. For the first time since he had set out for Illinois, Eli experienced a moment of indecision. Then the moment passed. He slipped out of his clothes and under the covers. He breathed in the scent of strawberries, and gently slid his arm around her soft waist. She eased into his body and sighed.
“Tell me it’s all going to be okay,” she whispered.
“Everything is going to be okay. I promise."
EPILOGUE
Irvine, 2010s
Gretchel set a steaming plate of biscuits and gravy in front of Eli. It smelled rich and comforting. A colossal grin spread across his face.
The last few weeks had not been easy. Gretchel had accumulated a lot of new scars in the past seventeen years—some he could see, but some ran much deeper than he could even imagine. And Eli had had the opportunity to learn—to his surprise—that a couple of decades of being on his own had made him not entirely easy to live with.
Now, though, he felt like he was home.
“Coffee?” Gretchel asked.
He nodded, his delighted smile still ten miles wide. He took the cup she offered and stared at Gretchel as she sat down across from him. This was a moment he’d never dreamt of. In the past, when he’d thought of Gretchel, he’d seen Aphrodite incarnate, an unattainable goddess of grace, beauty, and love. Now he understood that she was also an alchemist, capable of transforming his leaden existence into the gold of passion—and the base matter of flour and sausage into what might be the world’s finest breakfast.
Eli studied her intently. He had worshipped her memory for so long, but there was still so much of her to learn. He was content to spend the rest of his life learning it.
“How long do you plan to stay in Irvine, Eli?” Gretchel seemed to have recovered the capacity to read his mind—or almost, anyway.
“As long as you’ll have me, Gretchel.”
“So, forever, then?”
“Forever,” he replied.
Gretchel’s smile matched Eli’s. She took a sip of her coffee and turned to stare through the kitchen window. Dawn had broken, and the brilliant colors of a Midwestern sunrise blazed across the horizon. Eli heard her catch her breath.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Gretchel waited a few moments before she answered. “Yes. I’m okay, Eli, but I’m still not well.”
His smile faded “What’s going on here, Gretchel?”
She sighed, and took another sip of her coffee. “I’m not entirely sure, but I would guess a little bit of karma and a lot of magic. I don’t understand it all, Eli, but what I do know is that for the first time in many years—well, since my time on Pringle Street—I feel safe. I don’t feel like I’m a threat to myself or anyone else, at least in this moment. I don’t feel numb, either. I feel alive and safe. Your presence heals me, Eli.”
“Do you still hear voices?” His tone was careful, delicate.
“Not since the night you arrived,” she replied.
Eli read between the lines. She was still struggling with the schizophrenia or possession or whatever the hell it was that compelled her to marry Troy and to cut herself and to beat the shit out an old pickup truck with a golf club. She was still struggling, but better, and she was better because he was there.
“I will never leave your side again, Gretchel. Never.”
Gretchel finished her cup of coffee and laughed. “I’m going to the studio now. It might be kind of hard for me to work if you never leave my side.”
Eli laughed, too. “I was speaking figuratively.” Then he fixed her with a stern look and added, “But don’t stray too far without me.” He tried to inject a little levity into his voice, but Gretchel could tell that he was serious—and more than a little afraid.
She dropped a kiss on top of his curls as she left the kitchen.
The truth was, Gretchel was more than a little afraid herself. She wasn’t being coy or mysterious when she told Eli that she didn’t know what had happened at Snyder Farms the night he had returned to her. She was so happy to have him back, but their new life together—and the peace it had brought her—was still fragile. Eventually, she would see what she could learn from Miss Poni, but, for now, she was mostly avoiding the old woman.
She had also been avoiding her studio. She wanted so badly to work, but she was terrified of where her imagination—her intuition—might take her. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and opened the door.
Ame had restocked the studio when they had moved into the cottage, hoping that her mother might find some solace in making art. Gretchel gathered an unused sketchpad, some pencils, and a box of pastels. Soon, her hand was flying across the paper.
Eli waited as long as he could before he went to check on Gretchel. He knocked gently before he entered the studio.
Gretchel looked up from her work, her eyes glazed and empty of recognition. She gave her head a little shake, and then she was back.
Eli set down the glass of iced tea he had brought her and looked at her drawings. There were three—intensely intricate sketches touched here and there with color.
“Gretchel, these are amazing. Did you just do these?” he asked.
“Yes. This is the first time I’ve sketched in ages.”
He sat next to her and they studied the drawings together.
The first was the old barn by the cottage, but the space he knew as the Wicked Garden was a riot of poppies. It reminded him of the painting she had shown him so long ago. Eli winced as he took in the rest of the scene. A young girl—naked, bloody, and grimacing in pain and fear—was bound to the old oak tree.
“Do you know who that is?”
“No,” she whispered.
A chill ran through Eli. He turned to the next picture. It was a clearing, and another naked girl. Her clothes were strewn about her, and a wolf stood guard nearby. Eli gasped.
“Do you know who that is?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she responded.
Eli had a sick feeling that he might know, too. He also knew that he didn’t want to know. He looked at the last sketch, and his skin prickled.
She had drawn a body trapped within a mass of flames.
“Do you know who that is?” he asked.
“Yes. And we will never be forgiven.”
Coming Soon: Book Two
The Witches of Snyder Farms
Go deeper into
The Wicked Garden…
You’ve met Aphrodite and Hermes, the Horned God and the Cailleach. Let Lenora introduce you to more mythic archetypes with her m
onthly newsletter. Meet fellow fans and discuss the themes of The Wicked Garden in a virtual discussion group. And look for updates on forthcoming volumes in The Wicked Garden saga.
Watch your step,
and never trust the fairies…
thewickedgardenseries.com
The Wicked Garden Page 23
