FAZER LOGINSaturday morning began with a peace lily accusing me of attempted murder.“Bad water!”I stopped beside the recovery bench. “Good morning to you, too.”“Bitter! Burning!”“I haven’t watered you yet.”“No more!”I sighed and set down my coffee. The peace lily Rebecca Shaw had brought in yesterday looked considerably less cheerful than it had when she arrived. Several leaves drooped over the edge of the pot, and a yellow patch had spread across one of the larger fronds.I’d isolated it from the other plants and replaced the saucer beneath its container. I hadn’t watered it again, partly because the soil was already damp and partly because the plant seemed determined to hold me personal
Friday mornings at the nursery were usually predictable. We received deliveries, prepared weekend displays, and dealt with customers who had spent the previous evening watching gardening videos and developed ambitious plans that bore little resemblance to their available space.Today, Noah was attempting to explain why a customer couldn’t grow a mature apple tree in a twelve-inch decorative pot. “Technically,” he said, “you could put it in there.”I stopped beside the register. “Noah.”He glanced at me. “What?”“Please finish that sentence.”He sighed. “But it would be a terrible idea.”“Thank you.”The customer looked disappointed. “I saw someone do it online.”“Was it a bonsai?” I asked.She considered that. “Maybe.”I smiled and guided her toward our dwarf fruit trees. By the time we’d found a suitable option, Noah had reorganized the outdoor display and Gerald the skeleton was wearing a scarf.I stared at him. “Why?”Noah looked offended. “It’s cold.”“He doesn’t have skin.”“Exac
The first thing I did Friday morning was call my mother. This was a mistake.Not because I didn’t love my mother. I loved her dearly. But Elaine Faylan had a remarkable ability to turn a perfectly ordinary conversation into an interrogation, and I had already endured more than my share of those lately.“Good morning, sweetheart.”“Morning, Mom.”“Everything all right?”“Yes. I was wondering if you and Dad wanted to come over for dinner Sunday.”“Oh, that sounds lovely.”“Great. I’ll make lasagna.”“Will Adrian be there?”I closed my eyes. “Mom.”“What?”“I&rsqu
Thursday morning began with a customer who wanted to return a cactus because it had developed an attitude. I stood behind the register, examining a perfectly healthy golden barrel cactus.“Could you explain what you mean by an attitude?”The woman folded her arms. “It keeps poking me.”I looked at the cactus. Then at the woman. “Have you been touching it?”“Well, yes.”I considered my options. There were several ways to approach this conversation, and most of them would result in a complaint.“Cacti have spines to protect themselves,” I explained. “They’re not particularly fond of being handled.”“I thought it would get used to me.”The cactus offered its opinion. “Hands. Always hands.”I pressed my lips together to suppress a grin. “Unfortunately, they don’t become less prickly with affection.”The woman looked disappointed. “Can I exchange it?”“Of course. Would you prefer something without spines?”“Maybe something friendlier.”I directed her toward the African violets. Behind me,
By Wednesday morning, I had decided that Reginald was no longer trustworthy. This was unfortunate because he was approximately the oldest living thing I knew, possessed a remarkable understanding of Fae magic, and had been one of my closest confidants for seven years.He was also an insufferable busybody.“Good morning, traitor,” I said as I entered the greenhouse.“Good morning, child.”“Don’t child me.”“You appear well rested.”“I’m considering relocating you to the compost heap.”“An empty threat.”I sighed. He was right, which made it worse. I checked his soil and adjusted the grow light above his display.“Cam called me twice yesterday evening.”“How attentive.”“He wanted to know whether Adrian had any living grandparents.”Reginald rustled. “A reasonable inquiry.”“Why?”“Family history is important.”“He’s a veterinarian, Reginald. Not a candidate for the throne.”“Your father is thorough.”“My father is a menace,” I muttered.“Which one?”I considered that and grinned. “Both
I had always believed that Reginald possessed a certain dignity. He was ancient, knowledgeable, and occasionally capable of delivering genuinely profound observations about the nature of magic. He’d survived millennia of human civilization, witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms, and apparently known my biological father long before I’d been born.Unfortunately, he was also a terrible gossip. I discovered this on Tuesday morning when I entered the greenhouse and found Cam standing before Reginald’s display, looking deeply offended.“Good morning,” I said. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon."Neither acknowledged me. Cam folded his arms. “Three dates?”I stopped. Oh, no. Reginald’s leaves shifted with unmistakable satisfaction.“Four,” he corrected.I closed my eyes. “Reginald.”“One dinner. One walk. Several kisses.”“Reginald!”Cam turned toward me. “Kisses?”I considered fleeing. Unfortunately, the greenhouse only had two exits, and my father was standing near the more conve







