“Projectile killing spores!”
It bent to the ground and shot a stream of small orbs at the dirt.
“They listen like your best friend”—all the flowers turned to him at the same time—“never need to sleep, know friend from foe after justoneintroduction, and have a long striking distance for a quick or torturous death, depending on which they deem worthy. They have different kinds of poisons—all natural,of course. This is a purely organic flower. No chemicals or preservatives.”
“Besides the original formula to grow them,” Indigo added.
“Well, yes, besides the formula I injected into the soil thrice daily,” Edgar amended. “All natural.”
“Except for the magic,” Indigo said.
He nodded. “Yes. Except for that.”
I rubbed my temples. “How does a flower decide the speed of death?”
“With its flower brain,” Edgar replied.
“It has an actual brain?” I asked incredulously. “Like…a human brain?”
“No, silly. It’s a flower. Why would it have a human brain?” He laughed, and Indigo joined in, but I stood there, feeling uneasy and more than a little perplexed.
“And if it isn’t introduced to someone?” I lifted my eyebrows.
“Its instinct is to kill first and ask questions later.” Edgar put his hands behind his back and blinked asynchronously. It was like he wastryingto get weirder.
I should probably thank him for allowing me to feel normal.
“Right,” I said on a release of breath, willing patience. “So, the difference between this flower and the last three versions is that it decides how quickly or slowly to kill its foe?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t take my notes from the last versions, when I told you that the flowers shouldn’t kill unless they weresurethe person was a foe and not a random stranger?”
“Oh.” Edgar tilted his head at me. “Was that a note or a wish?”
I stared at him with an open mouth. “It’s the same thing, Edgar. A note is a wish. A wish is a request.” My voice rose, out of my control. “A request is a barrier against using this flower until it’s safe for strangers. We can’t randomly kill wayward hikers,Edgar. It’s a huge wood. They get lost from time to time, and they shouldn’t be killed for their lack of directional sense. It’s bad enough that the basajaunak scare the hell out of them and send them running for their lives. Wecannothave killer flowers here. I’ve told you this.”
“Ah.” Edgar held up one spindly finger. “But these flowers won’t go in the wood.”
The flowers started swaying and dancing, shaking their leaves and somehow wiggling the petals on their “faces.”
“And where will they go?” I asked.
“They will go along the walkway to the house.” He smiled as if that solved everything. Indigo nodded, totally fine with this plan.
I turned to Tristan and held up my hands. He didn’t so much as step forward to help.
“Right,” I said, tired, wanting to slip into the bath, utterly at a loss.
“Great!” Edgar beamed. “I’ll just?—”
“No. That wasn’t acceptance of putting lethal flowers at the front of the house. A wayward hiker iswayless likely than a stranger delivering a package. Or a Girl Scout selling cookies. Or a new shifter stopping by with a message.”
“Oh, well, the shifters should know better. Do we really need packages and cookies?” Edgar asked.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that he wasn’t joking.
“Yes, Edgar, we need those things. But more importantly, we can’t kill innocent people. That’s the main takeaway.We cannot kill innocent people!Not to mention, the flowers are dancing. There are still Dicks and Janes living in this town. There arealwaysDick and Jane tourists passing through, and they often brave Niamh’s rocks to look at Ivy House. We can’t have obviously magical flowers in the front yard. That’s not how things work. I really feel like you should know that.”
