The woman leaned toward him, eyes soft. Her lips parted. A puff of black smoke escaped her mouth and hovered in the air between them. Kaden rubbed his eyes, and when he opened them, it was gone. But the bar seemed darker somehow.

“Maybe it’ll help,” he said. “Talking about the good times.” It was better than thinking about his disaster of a family.

The woman blinked. “The good times?”

“With your husband,” he said.

She shook her head slowly. “Not much to talk about.” She rubbed her temples. “When I think about him, my mind sort of comes up blank. You know?”

The warmth he’d felt in his chest disappeared. Kaden’s eyes widened. “You told me Bonner’s gives you all the feelings from your wedding day.”

She blinked. “I did say that, didn’t I?” She shook her head slowly. “It feels like there’s something there—something I forgot.” Then she laughed. “I don’t really remember much of it at all. I was married, he died. It’s sad when you say it out loud, but you’re right. It’s all in the past now.” She took another sip. “Want to grab dinner?”

“You don’t remember… any of it?” Kaden asked. Fear clawed at his throat.

“It’s like you said,” she mused. “I should just… forget it all.”

Chapter 4

Addison

Addison knew the shadow garden like an old friend. How it savored the sorrow the women in her family poured into its soil like a fine wine. The way it let anger slowly soak through its roots like a cat basking in the sun. Its habit of downing anxiety all at once, like a shot with no chaser.

Being here felt like home, and home made Addison’s heart happy. The ladybugs crawling across her knuckles were a testament to that.

The Haywoods’ healing powers made them uniquely suited to care for the garden. With their magic, they eased their neighbors’ suffering. Then, the shadow garden took that pain and transformed it into something more.

While Addison might not have any misery to offer the plants in that moment, she could help them in other ways. She pulled on her gloves and started weeding the rows of fruits and vegetables and herbs, the summer sun warm against her back. She pulled a snail from a vine of ink-dark chocolate strawberries. She gently squeezed black raspberries that hid just a hint of mint. She watered deep purple tomatoes infused with basil, oregano, and thyme.

When she’d finished her rounds, she wormed her hands beneath the dirt. Roots prodded at her fingertips. A blackberry vine started toward her. It spiraled up her arm, night-dark blossoms soft against her cheek, their touch feather light.