Page 76 of Inked in Bloom
The corner of his jaw ticks.
“Maybe they aren’t Blooms,” I say, noticing that I’ve been tracing the tattoos on his upper arm, nail skimming each sweeping petal curled around his bicep.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I asked.” His palm rests over my hand, halting the motion. “They moved right through our veil. Beyond my reach once again.”
“I’m so sorry, Briar. I can only imagine how difficult that news must have been.” My attention goes back to the house and the oversized blossoms bursting from its planters. From the outside, everything looks dark and vacant, but I squint to see if anyone is home through the windows… “Can we go a bit closer?”
He nods quietly and follows me toward the flower beds framing the stairs leading up the front porch. I pluck one of the large white peonies whose petal tips are kissed with pink.
My brows lift. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner.
“Briar…” I wave him up the stairs toward the front door.
“What is it?”
“I’ve seen this house.” I gaze through the glass, peeking to ensure it’s truly empty. “Your sister—the one who’s still alive. Is her name Phoebe?”
“Yes.” His voice quivers, his chest vibrating against my back. He peers over my shoulder at the flower clutched in my hand. “Why?”
“Did you create these?” I hold up the peony and twirl it between my fingers. “They bloom each spring and stay alive in winter?”
His brows bunch. “Yes…”
“Ever Briars.”
I’m spun to stare into vibrant lavender pools.
Briar’s voice is a whisper. “What did you say?”
“Ever Briars—the name of the flower.” I take his hand, magic buzzing between our palms, and tug him toward the door. “Come on.”
He’s rooted to the spot, looking appalled. “I never go inside.”
“Why not?” Wasn’t one of the benefits of harbinger life being able to be unseen? I’d been dreaming of the day I could return and check on everyone. One door wasn’t going to stop me.
Fear pricks at the back of my neck.His.“Feels too personal.”
I thumb over the rose on his hand. “Will you make an exception just this once? For me?”
He nods, and lets me pull him forward. We zip through the door like it’s air. One at a time, I scan the rooms until I find what I’m hunting for.
“Here.” I tug Briar into one of the bedrooms. “See?”
Seated atop an easel is Phoebe’s canvas, plastered with newspaper clippings with flowers painted atop it. I run my finger over the paint. I never saw it complete until now.
“She’d been working on this the last time I saw her—the night before I died.” When I get to the photo of the house we stand in, I tap on the text. “‘The Ever Briars were a rare peony variant found exclusively on the property… Twyla & Abe Coleson named the flowers after their stillborn son.’”
My throat is thick, but I blink back tears, certain that if I look at Briar right now I won’t be able to stop myself. Swallowing hard, I continue reading.
“‘Seeing these each spring, right around his birthday, it’s clearly a sign he’s still out there, watching over us in his way.’” I read the quote from his mother aloud, then stepback. A tear plops onto my shirt as I read another headline. “‘Beauty blooms from tragedy.’”
Briar stands a foot behind me, not daring to go closer. After a few skips of silence, he finally speaks. “I-I had no idea.”
“They celebrated your birthday every year.” A smile lifts the corner of my mouth. “Phoebe still does it now with her own children.”
“They do?” He barely rasps the words. “How…”
“They pick a bouquet of Ever Briars and have a picnic at the base of the tree they planted for you.”
