Chapter 55 Augustin #3
Komal slides her tiny hand around my arm, and I lead her through winding hallways and open ritual spaces to a small wooden door. I press my hand to it, expecting nothing to happen, for it to be locked to me now, but it swings open in greeting, as though my mother had only left it behind yesterday.
The smell hits first – a wall of scent like a thousand bouquets thrown by a thousand brides all whacking you in the face at the same time.
My mother designed the garden to appeal to the heightened senses of Upyr – as a sanctuary of light and colour and scent and texture and beauty within our stone fortress.
She understands in a way so few do that when one lives forever, the beauty of nature is one of few things that can still stir the heart.
Although now her garden lies before me, unkempt, untended, neglected without her expert hand.
My vines itch with frustration as they sense the distress of their fellow plants, crowded together in their beds, fighting with their neighbours for light and nourishment.
The stone path is barely visible beneath the weight of branches and shoots and thick vines, as nature reclaims what had once been so lovingly tended.
I wave my hand, my fingers weaving magic in the air, speaking the languages of plants. I uncoil knotted stems, pull back encroaching weeds and unfurl long closed petals. Beside me, Komal gasps as the mass retreats, revealing the path at last.
We step onto the path together, and despite itself, my foolish heart skips to be in this special place with her. As we move deeper, the plants recognise me, scenting my mother’s blood. The breeze whispers my name.
The garden remembers me.
Vibrant blue flowers pop up between the cobbles, and red blooms unfold from the weeds, bending towards Komal to waft their gentle fragrance on her.
Komal gazes at the garden, and I gaze at her, drinking in her reaction. As I peel back the layers of neglect, my mother’s vision once again becomes clear. The winding paths, the whimsical statues, the magical alignments and ritual grottos that make this place not only beautiful, but powerful.
We walk the garden, sometimes having to stop while I dig in deep with my magic to untangle the weeds and vines. The plants respond to my attentions, purring and twitching with delight. They love to be loved – pruned, touched, tidied, fed.
I show Komal the ritual circle where my mother performed her more complex magic, and the hollowed tree where Dante, Isabelle and I used to hide. And then, as we wind our way along the most forgotten path, near the west wall, we come to a tall, iron gate.
“I was never allowed in here.” I grin as I touch my hand to the lock, which drops open.
“Why not?”
“My mother thought I wasn’t advanced enough in my magic. It’s a poison garden. Everything in this area can kill you. So don’t touch anything.”
“But not you, right?” Komal frowns. “Unless it contains that one poison that affects vampires.”
I hadn’t even considered that. “Actually, it could. My mother used to keep books of notes. They might still be here…”
I make Komal wait outside while I shove my way into a small hexagonal glasshouse.
Even with my magic, pushing my way through the poison plants is difficult.
The air has a different scent – rich and cloying, sickly sweet, aniseed and wild garlic and death.
I place my hands on the potting bench and use it to clear a path forwards, stems breaking and vines giving way before me.
I step over a large, rotting tree stump, the surface blooming with mushrooms.
“Are you still alive?” Komal calls from outside.
“Yes. Are you touching things?”
“I’m not. I promise. But please hurry. It turns out the poison garden attracts huge, scary bugs.”
I reach down to a wooden drawer. Locked. I press my hand to the lock. It pops open. Thank you, Dulcina, for your blood and your trust.
Inside is a small notebook, bound in discoloured leather. I tuck it under my arm and extract myself from the tangle of plants.
“Seriously, Augustin, is that a bug or a dinosaur? I want to go back to the creepy statues.”
I take her hand as I exit the poison garden. The gate clangs shut behind us. I show Komal the grimoire in my hands.
“My mother made notes on what she studied here.” I flip it open.
It’s old, the pages stained from water and dirt, the drawings by her own hand faded, her slanted handwriting stabbing at my chest. “It’s not as creepy as you might think.
Many of these plants are medicinal. Used with blood magic, they can create powerful spells. Maybe we can find—”
Komal’s hand closes over mine, shutting the book. “Augustin, you’ve done enough for today. Maybe we save finding the husker until we’ve escaped the creepy statue castle with Hannah.”
“We?” My heart dares to hope.
Komal shakes her head. “I didn’t mean that. I came for Hannah, but obviously, I know that we’re not a thing anymore, that we’re never going to be a thing. I’m not pining for you, Durant. I’ve moved on.”