The Vampire's Gardener (ONC 2023)

1 - The Gardener

Tall iron gates, rusted and flaking with age, barred the entrance to a long gravel driveway. One section of a great stone wall, covered in moss, lichen, and dark green ivy, ran the length of the road and cut sharply towards the cliffside before abruptly ending; the other half dipped up and down a series of small hills before vanishing into a copse of trees.

Waverly Harris stepped up to the gate, gripped the stylized "B" in the center, leaned forward, and squinted. The landscape dipped sharply down, but she could just make out the tops of several roofs and a single turret. There was something else, something hidden from view—a garden. She could feel it in her bones. Her practical magic might be a dud, but Waverly could sense a large garden sleeping down there, just waiting to be brought back to life.

"What is this place?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at her grandmother.

"Bellbroke Castle," Nana replied, clucking to Frederick, her Pembroke Welsh Corgi. The tan and white stubby-legged dog whuffed and strained at his harness, poking his snout between the bars. "It's been abandoned for as long as I can remember."

"Huh," Waverly mused. She stepped back from the gate and clapped her hands together, shaking off flakes of rusted iron from her palms. As she moved, she glanced down at the gravel driveway. "Somebody's been here," Waverly pointed out, gesturing to a set of subtle tire tracks.

"Well, I'll be," Nana murmured in her soft English accent. She called to Frederick; the corgi reluctantly turned away from the gate and followed at her heel. "Myrna Jenkins did say she saw a strange black car here last week. Maybe someone bought it. Hopefully they don't change it too much." She shrugged. "Well, let's keep going, dear, it's almost tea time."

"Okay." Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Waverly fell into step at her grandmother's side. The garden called to her, but she had to turn away and ignore it. She sighed.

Nana glanced up at Waverly. "Cheer up, dear. There are plenty of nurseries out there."

Waverly flashed Nana a lopsided smile, tucked a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind one ear, and took a deep breath, inhaling the salt air. Her grandparents' village of Chepstow-on-the-Sea was, well, on the sea. Beyond the steel barricades was a steep cliff that plunged right down into the Atlantic Ocean.

"Not too many offer health insurance, Nana," she clarified.

"Mm," her grandmother replied, nodding noncommittally.

They continued walking in companionable silence with Frederick waddling between them. Chepstow-on-the-Sea was as quaint an English village as you could find: stone facades and tiled roofs, massive chimneys, roads barely wide enough for two cars to pass by, and no traffic lights. Just by walking around, Waverly could tell why her grandparents had chosen to retire here. It was calm, cozy, and friendly.

But she was here for an entirely different reason.

A reason she had to repeat every time Nana came across another one of her knitting circle buddies—like right now. Waverly leaned up against the older woman's stone fence and let Nana explain the situation this time.

Two months ago, Hollerstein Farms in Agawam, Massachusetts, the large garden nursery Waverly worked at, suddenly closed its doors. The staff, including Waverly, were completely blindsided when they showed up for work. They crowded outside the main barn and stared at the large, handwritten note left for them by Mrs Hollerstein. She explained that her son had wracked up a massive gambling debt and to pay off the creditors, she was forced to sell the farm, suddenly plunging over a hundred people into unemployment.

"I told my daughter," Nana was saying as Frederick sniffed around the woman's flowers, "to have Wavy come here for an extended visit." She glanced over at Waverly, who smiled thinly. "A few months by the sea and she'll be reenergized."