Page 111 of Where the Roses Bloom
She giggled, soft and breathy. “You better not. I like you just where you are.”
But before I could say another word, something caught my eye: a light at the base of the Witch Tree.
The spell bottle we’d unearthed was glowing faintly…soft and golden. I frowned, holding Willow with one arm while I reached for the bottle with the other.
“What is it?” she murmured.
“The bottle,” I said. “It’s…different.”
She pulled herself off of me, kneeling beside me to look at the bottle as I righted my clothes. Her fingers closed around the glass, and the glow seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat.
And then—click—the wax seal popped free.
The top slid open like it had been waiting.
Willow inhaled sharply, looking into the bottle. I reached out to stop her, terrified of what it might do—but she tipped the contents into her open hand to reveal a twist of red thread, a dried rose petal…
…and a pale golden seed.
With asprout.
We stared at it in silence—me waiting for Willow to explain, Willow still reeling from whatever we’d done here. The grove seemed to go still with us—no wind, no cicadas, just the hush of moonlight.
And then…they came.
The fireflies.
Not drifting this time, not wandering. They rose in a spiral from the branches of the trees, glowing, dancing, lifting into the night. They swirled around Willow’s hair, kissed her cheeks and shoulders, circled the bottle in her hands like they were offering thanks.
And in that moment, I knew.
Knew what it meant when the wax seal popped free—knew what it meant when the spell released itself: that the caster’s hope had been fulfilled, that something wasbeginning. The magic had settled and now it was doing what it was always meant to: protect Willow, heal our hearts, bind us to kindness…and grow something new.
Willow looked up at me with tears in her eyes, and I saw it there—all of it. The ache she’d carried for so long, the wonder of what had just bloomed between us, the quiet, terrible hope that itmight actually last.
She looked down at the seed again. “It’s already growing,” she whispered.
I reached out to touch her. “Just like us.”
I kissed her then, slow and deep, tasting salt and magic andeverything we’d been too scared to want. And when I pulled back, I rested my forehead against hers.
“We should go back,” I said. “Before someone sends out a search party.”
She snorted. “You mean Delilah starts casting a rescue spell?”
“She’d drag the whole town down here with torches and pitchforks.”
“Do you think she’d save us cake?”
“I think Whit’s probably eating it right now with both hands.”
That made her laugh, the sound soft and warm as summer. “Come on, then,” she said, brushing off her dress and slipping her panties back on. “We should go cut a slice before my brother-in-law licks the frosting.”
I tucked myself back in, stood, and held out my hand. She took it.
We walked back through the fireflies, still glowing faint in the grass, still watching. Like they knew.
Like they were keeping guard.
