Page 9 of What Blooms from Death

I darted out of sight, hiding in the nearby hedge to watch my companion work.

After his death and near-resurrection, he’d gained the ability to shift his not-quite-solid body into different shapes. At first, they were mostly his same lanky, canine form—only larger or smaller, depending on his mood. He’d grown more talented at it as the years passed, though, and now he was constantly surprising me with the different forms he managed to twist himself into.

He was brilliant tonight, as usual. First, he shifted into a vaguely-human shape—that of a hunched-over old man,convincingly pitiful enough that Lord Roderic’s servants heaved one of the doors open after only a brief glance through the curtains.

Then, as soon as the door opened fully, shadows engulfed the porch and everything around it.

When the darkness fell away, Phantom was transformed again, his shape now that of a hulking wolf with its fur bristling, its mouth open and breathing out cold, sparkling fog.

While the servants scrambled away from him in panic, I slipped inside and crept quickly in the opposite direction.

More servants soon arrived to aid the others; the sounds of their clashing with Phantom echoed loudly through the house, and I had to fight through the sudden surge of fear that tried to grip me and slow me down.

I wasn’t sure what I would do if anything happened to him. Over and over, the grim, sobering fact played through my mind:He’s the only family I have left.

I couldn’t stop thinking of it, even once I shook off the fear and pressed deeper into the manor.

I’d never recovered my father’s body, no matter how many times I’d risked sending my spirit-self back into Rose Point to search for it. My mother still lived, but in the same way that most who had been at our home on that horrible night seven years ago ‘lived’—that is, she stood like a cursed statue. Still breathing, but otherwise unmoving, her pulse a barely-there fluttering beneath her pallid skin. Her eyes remained wide-open, too, as if the darkest depths of Hell were the last thing she’d glimpsed before the curse settled…and even after all these years, she still couldn’t pry her gaze away from those depths.

The halls and grounds of my old home were full of bodies in similar poses—bodies of both my family and our court, as well as most of the guests who’d come to celebrate my birthday.

Phantom and I were the only two members of our kingdom who I knew had escaped this fate; I’d spent years searching for others with no success. They existed, I believed, but nobody wanted to admit they’d been at Rose Point that night. To admit they’d been exposed to the cursed shadows that still twisted throughout the grounds to this very day.

I gave my head a shake and carried on. Tonight, I just had to steal this last ingredient. Then I would be able to go where I needed to go. To fix what I needed to fix.

I continued toward the center courtyard as quickly as I dared, pausing only to occasionally run my fingers over the rose-shaped beads of the bracelet that helped channel my projection spell, sending the spectral version of myself ahead to check my route.

As long as that projection of my essence stayed within a few dozen yards of my body, the side-effects of separation were minimal; I could move while simultaneously seeing the path ahead through my specter self’s eyes—eliminating any chance of being ambushed by stray servants or, worse, by Lord Roderic himself.

Within minutes, I was pushing open the glass door to the atrium, bracing myself as awhooshof hot air rushed over me.

The stifling air reeked of ripe and borderline-rotten fruit. The tree I sought was said to be especially pungent, its smell similar to that of burned flesh. This proved accurate; once inside the glass-walled room, I could have found the way to my target with my eyes closed.

The ground turned uneven and spongy beneath my boots as I approached the tree. With a slightly trembling hand, I reached up and plucked one of the lowest-hanging fruits. They were bright red with appendages that seemed to be alive, moving like scrambling spider legs.

The seeds in the center of these legs were the edible parts, but only when properly prepared. Without proper preparation, they were poisonous—which was likely the main reason behind this tree’s near-extinction. Well, that and their known association with the world of the dead; they supposedly bloomed only in soil where bodies were buried and carried the essence of the underworld in their crimson blooms.

Which was, of course, why I needed them.

Lord Roderic loved to boast about his chef being able to prepare edible dishes from the potentially fatal seeds; the fool’s careless bragging was what had led to the rumors that ultimately brought me to his doorstep.

I plucked a few more of the spidery, waxy-skinned fruits for good measure. Carefully, I placed them in the special container Orin had provided, then secured that container in the canvas bag slung across my body.

The vastness of the central courtyard was more apparent now that I truly,physicallystood within it. I couldn’t help pausing for a moment to take it all in. My gaze swept over the abundance of colorful, rare plants—most of which I couldn’t identify. Insects, equally colorful and unusual, buzzed loudly around my ears. The air no longer smelled purely ripe and sickeningly sweet; now, there was an undercurrent of salt and a tinge of smoke. A scent that felt familiar, though I couldn’t say what it was.

My eyes kept returning to the crimsonlith tree. To its pale roots that rose above the ground, crisscrossing the dark soil, intertwining like skeletal fingers. To its silver leaves and the blooms I’d plucked…

Blooms that had already been replaced by new ones, several of which were starting to unfold, their flashes of crimson burning in the moonlight that filtered in through the glass roof.

My pulse skipped at the incredible, impossible sight. The air above the tree’s roots flickered. The soil between the pale fingers seemed to shift, veins of sparkling, bluish black popping up through it.

I blinked, and the sparkling colors disappeared.

My skin crawled as I thought again of the legends surrounding this tree—the claims that its supernatural flourishing came from soil filled with decomposing dead. Even knowing the legend, something about witnessing that flourishing in real time was unnerving.

I breathed in deep and exhaled slowly. Calmed my racing pulse. Settled the magic that had begun stirring in my blood and smoothed the chill bumps from my skin.

I would not allow myself to be unnerved by anything concerned with death.

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