He lay on his stomach, watching a large black beetle scuttle across the dirt. Though they’d both cleaned up before they ate—with Maura stomping around overhead and pointedly avoiding the main floor—he still looked like he’d spent the day at the river. His dark hair had dried in waves that he’d pushed back over his forehead, and his cheeks were tinged pink by the sun.

He glanced up to find Irene watching him.

“What’s this one do?” he asked, pointing at the bug.

“That’s a ground beetle,” Irene said. “It eats slugs and snails and caterpillars. Basically all the things we don’t want munching on the plants.”

Years ago, she’d shown Nate around the garden, and he’d stepped on one deliberately, as if anything he didn’t like the look of didn’t belong in his world.

“It’s cute.” Kaden poked it gently with the tip of his finger. The beetle paused and twitched its antenna before scurrying off.

“You’re not what I expected,” Irene said.

He turned onto his side. “How’s that?”

Irene gestured at him as if that explained it.

With a half smile, Kaden pushed himself up from the ground and offered her a hand. “I want to see more.”

Together they slipped into one of the nearby rows of ink-dark plants, Kaden trailing his fingers along the leaves as they went. In this part of the garden, the blooms still held their darkness, no fading color or wilted leaves. Irene filed the thought away for later as Kaden stopped in front of her and pressed his nose into a black hollyhock flower. He took a slow, deep breath.

“I was so afraid that I’d really taken that woman’s memories, or yours, or Clem’s, or this whole town’s. But maybe magic isn’t so bad if it can be like this.” He brushed the petals, then dropped into a crouch and eased his hand beneath the earth. “Hard to believe that this beauty could somehow be responsible for what happened at the funeral.”

Irene sat beside him and leaned her shoulder against his, the cotton of his T-shirt soft on her arm. “It’s strange, that’s for sure,” Irene said.

“Did you find anything earlier?” Kaden asked.

Irene nodded slowly. “Something’s definitely off,” she said. “But whatever the garden showed Addison, it didn’t show me.”

“You’re worried,” he said.

“I am,” Irene agreed. “But the garden has been here for generations. Whatever is happening, I’m sure we’ll get through it.” At least, she hoped they would. But with the problems of Addison’s magic, the warnings in the tea leaves, and now this, she feared change might have come for the Haywoods.