“I’ll pass. I’d like to know what your real name is.” Ame was adamant.
“All right. I’ll give you a hint.”
Ame rolled her eyes. “Oh great, another riddle. As if my life wasn’t already riddled with riddles.”
When Eli saw the look in his father’s eye, he didn’t know if he was delighted or mortified.
Diana, seeing what was coming, was clearly the latter.
The man known as ‘Peter’ stood up, turned his backside toward his granddaughter, and dropped his trousers.
After a brief moment of horror and befuddlement, Ame saw it. A birthmark shaped like a phallus. Right there on her grandfather’s ass.
“Graham Duncan!” she shouted. “You’re Graham Duncan!”
Gretchel stood. She stared. And then she lost consciousness.
EPILOGUE
Gretchel hovered above the frantic scene in the living room. She saw her unconscious body on the floor. She saw Eli, Ame, Diana and Graham Duncan—Graham Duncan!—bent over, trying to revive her.
Then she saw the phoenix, and the scene inside the cottage faded away as she followed it. The shimmering bird led her to a field of poppies before it soared into the emptiness above.
Gretchel knew this place. She had painted it before she ever saw it. Now she understood that it was the Wicked Garden as it once had been. She stood just beyond its borders. It was beautiful—an ocean of orange and green—but she was still afraid of it.
Suddenly, there was someone standing next to her. She turned to see…
Ame’s boss?
What was a metaphysical-bookstore owner doing in Gretchel’s dream or vision or whatever this was?
“Claire?” she asked tentatively.
The raven-haired woman smiled. “Yes, I’ve been called that.”
Perfect, Gretchel thought. Does everybody I know have an alias?
“Is that what I should call you?”
“That will serve as well as anything else. Your kind tend to think it unwise to call me by my true name.”
“Fine, Claire. What are you doing here?”
“You have work to do, Gretchel, and I’m here to help you get started.”
“What work?”
Without a word, Claire pointed to the poppy garden.
“Oh, no,” Gretchel said. “I’m not going in there, not ever again.”
Claire tilted her head. “So you’re choosing fear.”
“What other choice do I have?”
“Redemption.”
The word filled Gretchel with longing.
She thought of her own terrible regrets. She thought of all the women in her family who had been unable to save themselves—or their daughters. She thought of the prophecy.
Shaking, Gretchel took a step among the poppies.
She had expected the malevolent energy of the Wicked Garden. Instead, it was soft, comforting. She ran her fingers, gently, along frail petals, translucent in the sun.
Gretchel felt something cool and smooth move along her bare skin as it touched the ground. She saw a snake, weaving itself in and out of her feet like the sign for infinity.
“I remember you,” Gretchel said. “I know you, but I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”
Then she was startled by a thundering in the distance. This was familiar, too. Gretchel quivered with anticipation. The white horse was coming.
Claire spoke. “She won’t approach now. She won’t come back again until you’ve done the work.”
The sunlight went brittle. The wind that blew through the poppies had a cold, stagnant edge.
“This is wrong!” Gretchel cried. “I shouldn’t be here!”
“You should,” Claire insisted, “if you have chosen redemption.”
Then there was a shovel in her hand. She offered it to Gretchel.
With shaking hands, Gretchel took it. She began to dig.
Go deeper into
The Wicked Garden…
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Book Three
Beltane 2014
The Witches of Snyder Farms (The Wicked Garden Series) Page 16