For the first time since I found him stuck in the mortuary, I rise before Ember, the sky just beginning to streak with the dawning rays of sunlight. I take advantage of the sparse quiet time, taking my coffee to the back porch. The patio doors creak behind me when I step out, my coffee mug warming my hands.
Louisiana doesn’t reallydocool mornings, but this morning’s heat is less intense than usual. The thick humidity wraps around me like a blanket, pressing in on my lungs.
I love it.
The sun is beginning its ascent, spilling honey-colored light across the garden and waking the flowers up gently.Everything is peaceful for once. No grief or chaos. No phoenix demanding coffee and toast. Just pure, sweet quiet.
I take a slow sip from my favorite mug that saysWorld’s Okayest Necromancer, and let myself breathe. When I first got here, the garden was barely holding on. Weeds choked anything that tried to grow, and the soil was either bone dry or oversaturated. In short, it was a mess.
Now?
Rows of flowers stretch out in uneven patterns.
White lilies for sorrowful goodbyes.
Soft pink carnations for love that lingers.
Deep red roses for the dramatic ones who refuse to go quietly.
Baby’s breath is woven through everything to add some lightness.
Marigolds.
Irises.
Delphinium in shades so blue they almost don’t look real.
It’s not just a garden anymore. It’s inventory as much as it is comfort. It’s the last thing people see as they say goodbye to someone they love.
I take another sip of coffee, and that’s when I see it.
At the far edge of the garden, near the wrought iron fence where the sunlight hits last, something is… off. Not wrong, but different. Everything else glows because of the sun, but that patch is glowing despite not being touched by it yet. The lights look like they’re coming from inside the flowers themselves.
That’s the spot where I scattered Ember’s ashes. The soil had been weak, so nothing really grew there except for weeds, but now it’s thriving. The roses there are deeper, like someone turned a vivid filter too high. The lavender’s purple is so bright, it’s almost blue. The marigolds look like they’ve caught fire.
I step off the porch. The grass is cool with dew, damp between my toes as I cross the yard. The closer I get, the more I notice the air getting warmer. The scent seems stronger too, almost overwhelming. I crouch down in front of the flower bed, reaching out hesitantly to touch a rose, afraid it might burn me or something. My fingers brush along the petal. It’s flawless.
Behind me, the screen door creaks open, and footsteps shuffle across the porch and down into the yard. Ember’s jaw cracks with an obnoxiously loud yawn, but I’m too preoccupied to acknowledge him. His footsteps stop beside me, and I hear his low intake of breath. He finally noticed the glowing flowers.
“Is this where…” he trails off, admiring the beauty.
“Mhm,” I affirm.
The soil is darker and richer than anywhere else in the garden. The flowers are dense, but not overcrowded. It looks like every plant has exactly as much space as it needs.
“They look smug,” Ember says, nudging a marigold with the toe of his slipper. Actually, it’s my slipper, but I’m so used to him stealing my things that I barely notice it anymore.
“They do not,” I huff out a quiet laugh.
“They do too. Look at that gold one. That’s a smug flower,” he says.
I shake my head, smiling despite myself. He’s ridiculous. “So,” I say, staring out at the glowing garden, “my uncle was right to make a deal with you.”
Behind me, Ember makes a small, unimpressed sound. “The ashes were meant to breathe life into the soil,” he says. “Not… start a resurrection-themed landscaping project. I’m pretty sure that your weird house has something to do with this.”
The house pops and settles, clearly loving his astute observation.
I laugh out loud and push to my feet, hands settling on my hips. “My uncle was a genius setting this deal up the way he did.”
