“That garden belongs in your hands,” Sylvia said.

“I’m glad you think so,” Addison said, “but I don’t think my family agrees.” Even if they put a stop to Nate, she doubted she’d be trusted with the garden again. The rosemary reacting all wrong, the emptiness in the soil, it had happened under her watch. With her unable to give the garden the pain it needed to thrive, it was starving. After what she’d taken from River, what she’d almost taken from the woman in the shop last week, she’d never be able to support the shadow garden on her own.

“Come on,” Sylvia said, gently tugging on her arm. “Why don’t you forget about leaving so soon?”

Addison’s chest warmed, and when she exhaled, the air grew just a tinge darker. She glanced at the still-open door. It wasn’t like this night could possibly get any worse.

“One glass,” Addison relented. If any of them could put a stop to what Nate had already set in motion, it was Sylvia. Maybe Addison could do some good after all. Find a way to fix this mess.

“This way,” Sylvia said.

She led Addison down a long hallway lined with portraits. Sylvia, Christian, Nate, and… Kaden was noticeably absent.

“My father,” Sylvia said with a nod to the next painting. “My grandfather. All the way back to the Bonners who set up the first still.”

Though Addison didn’t recognize their faces, they all had the same dark hair. The same strong posture, heads held high, brown eyes full of secrets.

Sylvia stopped short at the end of the line and pulled open a thick wooden door with a metal handle. It led to a set of concrete steps that descended into darkness. Sylvia flipped a switch.

“This way,” she said as she started down.

Once they reached the bottom, Addison found herself surrounded by bourbon. One large row of barrels ran down the center of the room, stacked three barrels high. On the closest wall she saw bottles upon bottles, complete with a sliding ladder—like some sort of library. The floor was a rich wood, and it glowed golden in the warm yellow light.

In the center of the room, framed by all that oak, sat a plush leather couch and two chairs. A barrel had been sawed in half and fitted out as a small, circular coffee table, and two end tables.

“This is beautiful,” Addison said, a little breathless.

“My own private cellar,” Sylvia said. “The Bonners who built this house had it custom made. Of course, I updated it a few decades back.”

“You can keep bourbon like this?”