I turned down a narrow path between overgrown hedges, still lost in thought, then stopped.
Hawthorne stood directly in my path, those obsidian eyes fixed on my face with a focus that made my skin prickle. I stumbled back, an apology already forming on my tongue.
“Hello, Hawthor—”
He shoved something at me, thrusting it against my chest with enough force to nearly knock the breath from my lungs. Then he turned and simply strode away, moving past me and disappearing through the garden.
I stood frozen on the path, heaving for breath as I clutched the object he had forced upon me, my heart thudding from the shock of the encounter.
I glanced down, still trying to process what had just happened.
A single red rose, politely de-thorned, rested atop a leather-bound journal in my hands. I stared at the flower for a long moment, frowning, before sliding it to the side. Gold foil text gleamed across the front, the sunlight dancing over it like an enticement. A date was carved into the leather from nearly two years before.
It had to be one of Dr. Ambrose's journals. One of the research volumes I had seen lining the shelves in his study, each spine marked with dates creating a chronological archive of his work.
I turned, searching for Hawthorne again, but the garden was empty.
Why did he have it?
More importantly, why had he given it to me?
I glanced down at the date again, frowning. It seemed significant, though I could not recall exactly why.
Read it,my companion said.Secrets, secrets, secrets.
I clutched the journal tighter, my fingers pressing into the leather, and turned back toward the house, my walk forgotten.
The voicesnickered.
Chapter 12
HAWTHORNE CREATION JOURNAL
March 12th, 1845
M. has discovered something extraordinary in the old churchyard. A vine unlike any I have encountered—bioluminescent, fast-growing, with properties that defy conventional botanical classification. We need to collect the specimens, though the location makes procurement… delicate. The plant grows exclusively on graves, specifically fresh ones.
If this vine truly possesses the properties we have observed, we may have stumbled onto something revolutionary.
March 18th, 1845
Initial cultivation of what we have dubbed “Specimen V” (M.’s suggestion—she has a flair for dramatic nomenclature). First attempts failed—the seeds remained dormant despite optimal conditions. M. theorized the seedsrequire specific mineral composition found only in the cemetery. We will need to investigate further.
March 25th, 1845
M. went back to the cemetery and collected soil from one of the graves.
The seedlings are now thriving. Both of us are staying late in the greenhouse most nights, too excited to sleep properly. The growth rate is remarkable—nearly twice that of comparable climbing species. Most extraordinary is the bioluminescence. Even at this early stage, the leaves emit a faint green-gold glow in darkness.
M. suggested we call it Verdant Vespera. “Green evening,” for how it lights the night. I agreed. It is perfect.
April 3rd, 1845
The vines are spreading faster than anticipated. We had to relocate them to another greenhouse. Since propagation in the cemetery soil was a success, M. has theorized something quite disturbing about the vines—they seem drawn to sources of organic decay. We tested the theory with a dead mouse, and within hours, the vines had extended tendrils toward it.
We are both fascinated and unsettled by the implications. Whatever this plant is, it is unlike anything in conventional botanical literature.
April 15th, 1845
