Page 77 of Inked in Bloom
His brows lift. “I have a tree?”
I turn toward the window and survey the tree line, squinting to make out any markers. “Not sure which one from here, but we can take a closer look.”
He brought me here to show me that the people I cared about would be okay without me. Maybe he was right. But he’s spent years thinking nothing he did mattered to the ones he left behind. He was wrong. His love was louder than their loss.
Mine could be too.
“Maybe some other time.” His voice is gruff, and when I face him again, he takes off his glasses and wipes away a tear. “We’d better get going. You should be back in Lisse by now.”
The last thing I want to do is go, and that scares me because it has little to do with being within reach of the people I’ve missed.
I blink at the harbinger before me, and skin across my collarbone pricks with heat. “Oh. Well, in that case, thanks for the field trip, Professor.”
It was illuminating but not in a way I think either of us expected. I know he’s looking at me, but I can’t meet Briar’sgaze. The more I learn about him, the harder this all will be later.
We head out the door and down the porch stairs, I admire the soft petals of the Ever Briars. “How do you keep them thriving in winter?”
A slight smirk breaks across his face. “I have help from a Frost friend of mine. He infuses the seeds with magic each winter so they won’t die.” Briar holds out his hand, waiting for me to give him the one I plucked earlier. When I do, he looks over at my ear. “May I?”
I silently nod.
He brushes back my wavy mint strands, tucking them behind my ear. If I had a heartbeat, I think it might stop. Sticking the Ever Briar into my hairline, he uses my glasses’s frame to hold it in place. As he steps away, he appraises my newest accessory, then his eyes meet mine.
There’s a question in his stare I’m unable to answer.
One Ishouldn’t.
But for the first time, I think I might want to.
MAY
32
MONROE
The next eight weeks I serve out my punishment. With my transport privileges revoked, there’s not much else to do other than keep focused on providing the best spring I possibly can.
Radix Corrigan’s visits become more spread out by the week and Briar doesn’t show up at all. It’s a blessing. I remind myself of that daily.
Dusk spirals into dawn, and before I realize, it’s already time for the summer changeover.
I take in the cotton-candy puffs of clouds, the smears of pink and purple painting the sunrise, and the bursting blossoms I nurture. I never kept a plant alive in life. But in death, pride unfurls in my chest at witnessing this growth.
I still miss helping my clients and grief group. Their progress wasn’t always visible, like the flowers and trees budding around me, but tending to them fulfilled me in a way my new duties never will. Nevertheless, the wonder in people’s eyes as they admire my creations makes me feel as though I’m lifting their spirits, and in turn it lifts my own.
The visit to Briar’s earthside home gave me a new appreciation for my Bloom abilities. They are more useful than I believed. I trace the edges of the peony tucked behind myear. True to its namesake, it hasn’t wilted, a reminder of the loudness of love in the face of loss.
Trying to savor my last moments here, I watch a little girl toddle around the garden, a crooked dandelion stem gripped in her chubby hand. Her mother kneels next to her, instructing her to blow on its round puff of seeds. It takes her a few tries, but I savor her squeals as tiny white tufts fill the air.
Turns out, a harbinger’s work is more rewarding than I could have imagined. And now spring’s work is done.
I can’t believe summer’s already here.
There’s a forty-eight-hour window where the veil’s thin enough for us to move through. After that, it closes for Blooms. We’ve been warned repeatedly not to miss that window, and from the few glimpses I’ve caught of the Storms preparing to take over, I can see why the Blooms aren’t fans.
They mostly remain skybound, nearly blending into the sunlight in their harbinger forms. At night, though, it’s a very different story. Their skin is lined with neon branches, lightning curling around their bodies, eyes glowing in the darkness. They don’t approach us or give a polite nod from afar—not that I mind the distance. They’re a prickly bunch and that’s not reserved exclusively for when they’re in their earthside bear forms.
Skylar yawns and climbs off her bike. “Time to get back, solstice, and sleep, am I right?”
