Chapter Three
I tore through the house like I was looking for a secret level in a video game.
The letter had blown everything open. My death is not an accident. Find who killed me. It looped in my head as I checked drawers, cabinets, under cushions. Nothing. No hidden folders. No conveniently labeled “Murder File.”
When the walls started to feel too close, I gave up on the search and headed for the back door. The orange tabby—Willow, according to Owen—trotted at my heels like a tiny, judgmental shadow.
The greenhouse waited at the edge of the yard, just as I remembered it. A glass-walled, sun-soaked sanctuary. As a kid, it had been my castle, my spaceship, my secret portal to anywhere but Hickory Hollow.
I paused at the door, stroking Willow’s head. “Here goes nothing,” I murmured, and stepped inside.
Humidity wrapped around me like a warm, damp blanket.
The air smelled of earth and chlorophyll, green and alive.
Rows of plants lined the tables—daisies, daffodils, tulips, and dozens of things I couldn’t name.
Hanging baskets cascaded color from above.
On the workbench, a pair of mud-stained gardening gloves lay exactly where Alice had left them, as if she’d stepped out for a minute.
I swallowed hard.
It looked like time had simply… stopped.
I ran my fingers over the edge of the workbench, a memory rising sharp and clear—Alice’s hands in the soil, dark crescents under her nails, bright eyes dancing as she talked about bulbs that slept until the world was ready for them.
You’ve worked hard for this. Don’t let anyone in this town make you feel bad for leaving, Piper.
Thanks, Aunt Alice. I’ll miss you.
You’ll be back someday, Alice had said. I know it.
At the time, I’d chalked it up to wistful aunt talk.
Now, goosebumps prickled down my arms.
Something buzzed past my ear. I swatted at it, expecting a fly. It buzzed back the other direction. I swatted again.
“Hey, do you mind?” a tiny voice snapped. “Trying to fly here.”
I froze.
Willow sat primly at my feet, golden eyes wide. The cat meowed like she was commenting on the situation.
“Who’s there?” I asked, scanning the greenhouse. “Owen? Is that you? Because if you’re hiding in a fern, this friendship is over before it starts.”
“Me. I’m here.” The voice sounded equal parts annoyed and tiny.
A flutter brushed across my cheek—a faint puff of air—and then something zipped in front of my face and pinched my nose.
“Ow!” I stumbled back into the workbench, pots rattling. “What the—”
“Well, well, well.” The little… being… hovered at eye level, hands on hips. “Who’s the fancy-pants girlie?”
I stared.
Because there was no other word for her.
Fairy.
She was maybe six inches tall, wings a blur of glittering motion. Pointed ears peeked through short, choppy hair. Her clothes looked like someone had looted a Renaissance festival and shrunk it—tiny leather vest, leggings, and what was absolutely a miniature dagger at her hip.
I closed my eyes, took a steadying breath, and opened them again.
Still there.
“Okay,” I said faintly. “Either I’m having a full-on break with reality, or—”
“Or you’re rude,” the fairy said. “Staring is rude, FYI. Willow tried to warn me you’d be dramatic.”
The cat meowed, as if confirming it.
“You can… understand the cat,” I said.
“Obviously.” The fairy rolled her eyes. “And she doesn’t like being called ‘the cat.’ Makes her feel inferior.”
“Sorry, Willow,” I muttered, because apparently that was my life now.
I looked back at the fairy. “Who are you?”
“Wow, straight to the good questions.” The fairy zipped in a circle around me, inspecting my outfit like a critic judging a red carpet. “You must be Alice’s kid. You look like her. No wonder she hid you.”
“I’m her niece,” I said. “Piper.”
“Sure, sure. If that’s what you say.” The tiny eyebrows arched. “But yeah. Same eyes. It’s freaky.”
“No, it’s not,” I said automatically.
“Puh-lease.” The fairy thumbed her own chest. “I spent enough time with Alice to know. I’m Titania. You can call me Tani.”
“Tani.” My brain tried to recalibrate. “And you’re a…?”
“Fairy.” She flashed a grin. “Yep. Wings, tiny, devastatingly cute. What gave it away?”
“There’s no such thing as fairies,” I blurted. Part of me clung hard to that statement.
Tani snorted. “Right. And I’m a hallucination in good lighting.” She buzzed closer and gave my cheek a light smack. “I’m literally in front of your face, doll. Where’s Alice?”
Willow meowed again, tail flicking.
I dragged a hand through my hair. “Okay. Fine. Sure. Why not. Talking fairy. Talking cat. Next up, the roses sing show tunes.”
“So,” Tani said briskly, wings humming as she floated over to perch between two potted plants, “you never answered me. Where’s Alice?”
My throat tightened. “She… died,” I said quietly.
The fairy’s wings stuttered and stilled. She dropped onto the workbench, shoulders sagging. Willow let out a low, mournful sound.
“No,” Tani whispered. “No. No, no, no.” She put her tiny face in her hands. “I knew something bad was coming. I told her she was in over her head, but would she listen? Of course not.”
“You didn’t know?” I asked. Somehow, the sight of a sobbing fairy made it all feel even more real.
Tani sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “I haven’t seen her in days. I figured she was buried in orders or arguing with that ridiculous council again.”
“The… what now?”
“Never mind.” Tani waved that aside. “What happened?”
“Everyone says it was a heart attack,” I said. “But Alice…” I took a breath. “Alice left me a letter. She thinks someone killed her.”
Tani’s head shot up, eyes huge and shining. “She wrote to you? Of course she did.”
“She also left me everything,” I added. “The house. The shop. Apparently, I’m in charge now.”
Tani stared. “You?”
I bristled. “Wow. Try not to sound so horrified.”
“Do you know anything about what she was doing?” Tani demanded. “About the shop? About—” She snapped her mouth shut.
“About what?” I stepped closer, folding my arms. “Because so far? No one seems to be giving me the whole picture. Owen gets weird when I mention Enchanted Blossoms. You act like I announced I’m taking over a dragon lair. So, if you know something, now would be a great time to share with the class.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Tani said too fast, pacing a tiny track between the pots. “And you’re absolutely right. There’s nothing to running a flower shop. Easy peasy. Petals and potions and done.”
“Potions?” I repeated.
“Figure of speech.” Tani flashed a strained grin. “Anyway, you’ll be great. Alice said you would be.”
Willow meowed, a questioning sound.
“Yes, I know, Willow,” Tani said. “The cute guy coming by to feed you makes more sense now.”
I blinked. “He’s been coming here every day?”
“He has,” Tani said dryly. “Seriously, try to keep up, girlie.”
I filed that away for later. “Look, I need to get to the shop,” I said, backing toward the door. “Apparently there’s more waiting for me there.”
Tani’s expression softened. “You’ll be back,” she said. “You and I still have things to discuss, Piper Wakefield.”
Not ominous at all.
I stepped out of the greenhouse, the heat hitting me in the face again.
I jogged back inside the house long enough to grab my purse, then headed for Alice’s enormous Cadillac.
It was the opposite of my usual sleek city aesthetic—boat-sized, beige, and deeply uncool—but the AC worked and it was mine.
I slid behind the wheel. “Well,” I muttered, turning the key, “at least I’ll never have to worry about carpooling.”
The engine rumbled to life, and I steered out onto the rural highway on muscle memory alone. Hickory Hollow might have shrunk in my rearview for ten years, but it was still mapped under my skin.
Town Hall Street came into view, with its neat line of brick storefronts and lampposts trying hard to look charming.
The florist sat halfway down, big window boxes overflowing with blue roses in a shade not found in any garden or seed catalogue.
The sign on the glass read Enchanted Blossoms in deep blue script.
As I parked, something prickled along my arms. Not nerves. Not exactly. More like static in the air, as if the world was holding its breath.
Great. Add “weird magical tingle” to my growing list of concerns.
I pushed open the shop door. The bell chimed, bright and oddly soothing.
Inside, a man at the counter turned toward me, a vase of flowers in his arms. Behind the register stood a girl with black lipstick, a streak of purple in her short black hair, and enough eyeliner to smudge into next week.
Nose ring, choker, all-black clothes—goth chic in a town that still treated acid-washed jeans like a personality.
“That all, sir?” the girl asked, cracking her gum.
“Yes. Thank you.” He paid, nodded, and brushed past me on his way out, the bell chiming again as the door shut behind him.
Before I could figure out what to say, a familiar voice called my name.
“Piper Wakefield.”
I turned—and barely had time to register the voice before Halle Turner pulled me into a fierce, breath-stealing hug.
“Oh my God,” Halle said, laughing a little as she squeezed tighter. “You’re real. I was half afraid I imagined you.”
Halle smelled like vanilla and something expensive I vaguely recognized. She looked exactly the same—golden hair, green eyes, cheerleader smile—small-town beauty that came with a built-in spotlight.
“I heard you were back,” Halle said, pulling away enough to look me over. “You haven’t aged a day.”
“Liar,” I said, smiling despite the strange knot in my chest. “You look exactly like you did at prom. It’s suspicious.”
“I’m here picking up flowers for a client,” Halle said, then hesitated. “I saw you at the funeral, but… I don’t know. I chickened out.”
I blinked. That didn’t fit with the fearless girl who used to drag me onto any dance floor within a fifty-mile radius.
“Intimidated,” Halle admitted, cheeks pinking. “You looked so… New York. The magazine. The clothes. You got out. You did the thing.”
Yeah. About that.
My smile tightened. “It’s been… a ride.”
“I’m sorry about Alice,” Halle said, sincerity softening her voice. “She was wonderful.”
“She was,” I agreed, the ache flaring fresh and sharp.
“I should go—I’ve got a client waiting,” Halle said quickly. “But lunch this week? Please. We’ll do it right this time.”
She kissed my cheek, then scooped up the enormous vase on the counter, and disappeared out the door before I could find my footing again.
The silence that followed felt oddly loud.
“Awkward,” the goth girl behind the counter declared.
I huffed out a laugh. “You have no idea.”
“So, hey.” The girl gave me a chin-lift. “I’m Rylyn. Alice said you’d be the one.”
“The one what?” I asked.
“To take over. Duh.” Rylyn popped her gum again. “I’m the part-time help. Been keeping this place running since Alice kicked it.”
I flinched. “That’s… one way to put it.”
Rylyn shrugged, like death was an unfortunate scheduling conflict. “I figured you’d show up eventually.”
“Sorry it took me so long,” I said. “I only found out yesterday about the will.”
“Cool.” Rylyn stared at me. Intensely. Unblinking.
I shifted. “What?”
“You look like her,” Rylyn said. “It’s kinda freaking me out.”
“Everyone keeps saying that,” I muttered.
“No, like.” Rylyn leaned on the counter, eyes narrowing. “It’s more than ‘you have the same eyes.’ It’s like déjà vu. But, whatever.”
A little chill slid down my spine. For the first time, the casual comments about my resemblance to Alice felt less like flattery and more like… something else.
“How long did you work for Alice?” I asked.
“Long enough,” Rylyn said, which was apparently the default answer around here. “She was cool. Weird, but cool.”
“Was her death… unexpected?” I pressed.
“You think so, too, huh?” Rylyn’s gaze sharpened.
I dropped my voice. “Did you think she was murdered?”
Rylyn’s fingers tapped a restless rhythm on the counter.
“I don’t know. She was acting strange the day before.
Kept watching the front windows, muttering to herself.
Like she was waiting for something bad to happen—and already knew it would.
Then she’s dead in her garden and everybody’s, like, ‘welp, heart attack.’” She shrugged. “Doesn’t add up.”
Before I could respond, Rylyn snapped her fingers like she’d remembered something. “Oh. Right. Hang on.”
She disappeared through the door to the back, leaving me alone with the hum of the coolers and the faint chime of the wind bells in the window. Potted plants crowded the space, cheerful and oblivious. The blue roses in the boxes outside cast dappled shadows onto the floor.
Rylyn reappeared holding a large brown envelope and a small key.
She circled the counter and held out the envelope. “This is for you.”
I stared at my name on the front in Alice’s familiar handwriting, written in bold block letters. My fingers tingled as I took it.
“And this key,” Rylyn said, dangling the key, “Alice said to keep it until you came.”
I slid the key off Rylyn’s finger, my heart thumping. “What does the key go to?”
She shrugged. “No idea. She wanted me to keep it for you, so I did.”
Great. A mysterious key.
“How did she even know I’d show up?”
Rylyn snorted. “It’s Alice. She knew stuff. Like when Mrs. Jenkins was gonna come in for sympathy lilies before her husband died. Creepy in a helpful way.”
She turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked, clutching the envelope.
“Home. I’m done.” Rylyn shrugged. “I’ve put in enough OT for a lifetime. So, like, I quit.”
Panic clawed up my throat. “You can’t quit. I need you.”
“Alice said you’d know what to do,” Rylyn said. “So, I’m out.”
“I don’t care what Alice said.” I followed her to the door, heels clicking. “Rylyn, please. I don’t have the first clue how to run a flower shop. My last job was at a fashion magazine. I know hemlines and color stories, not… watering schedules.”
Rylyn hesitated, hand on the door. Her dark eyes narrowed, assessing.
“Stay through the end of summer,” I rushed on. “Six weeks. Teach me how not to kill everything. Then you can leave, and I’ll sign whatever glowing recommendation you want.”
Rylyn sighed like the weight of the world rested on her narrow shoulders. “Fine. But come Labor Day, I’m gone. Vanished. Poof.”
“Deal.” Relief flooded me so hard I swayed. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Rylyn said. “We still have to get you through your first funeral order without making the lilies look like a threat.”
I looked around the shop—at the flowers, the coolers, the secret envelope in my hand, the safe key burning a hole in my palm—and realized this was real.
I was no longer the girl who’d run away to the city.
I was the woman who’d come back to an enchanted flower shop, a dead aunt with secrets, a flirty almost-stranger who wasn’t a stranger at all…
… and a mystery that might be bigger than Hickory Hollow—or my world—could contain.