18

Things Told in Confidence

My mother’s garden felt different with Talia beside me; more intimate, wilder in its magic. A wedge of waxing moon surveilled us as we walked along the pavers, a secretive face set in three-quarters profile against a curtain of damask dark. The primroses went oddly quiet when we walked by them, then broke into racing whispers like a rumor passed behind hands. And a wind had spun up, smelling not just of cold and fall but of proper Halloween, the way it only ever smelled in Thistle Grove—like restive spirits, and the darker, deeper magic of things teetering on the brink of death. It felt, for the first time, like Samhain was nearly upon us.

That smoky smell made me want to spend the whole night outside, standing under that watchful moon with my mouth wide open, breathing it all in. I suddenly felt like I couldn’t ever inhale enough of it, even if the night somehow stretched on for centuries.

“Cute,” Talia remarked, startling me out of my reverie as she skimmed her hand over a primrose that had angled itself to follow her like some cheeky little spy. The flower froze under her touch, then recoiled vehemently away, quivering with indignation. “Who’s the animator?”

“My mother. They’re usually a lot more whimsically charming than this,” I added, feeling weirdly like I had to apologize for the flowers’ chilly reception. “And less . . . salty.”

“No big deal. Animated plants never really vibe with me.” She shrugged, unfazed. “I don’t take it personally; it’s that Avramovs feel anathema to them. It freaks them out to feel the veil thinning so close to them when one of us is around, life being antithetical to death and all that. Or at least, that’s what Linden thinks, and she’d be the expert.”

“A bummer, but I guess that does make sense.”

I unlocked the door and let us both in, bracing myself for the wallop of love that Jasper delivered whenever we were reunited; whether I’d been gone for five hours or five minutes had no bearing on his level of enthusiasm. True to form, he came galumphing over, nearly tripping over himself as his claws scrabbled on the wooden floor, before colliding with my legs in a rapturous frenzy.

“Easy, bud, easy,” I managed through helpless laughter as he leapt up to lick my face. “Talia, meet Jasper, my mustachioed prince. And don’t worry if he’s standoffish at first, he can be a little . . .”

I trailed off as Jasper thumped back onto the floor, snuffled at Talia’s hand, and then proceeded to throw himself at her feet, rolling onto his back as she knelt to rub his exposed belly. He received the scratches with such over-the-top ecstasy it made me a little miffed; my prince was supposed to be a one-woman dog at heart. And she hadn’t even given him treats.