Girl of the Night Garden

I haven’t seen wing nor tail of Poke and Wig today. I suspect they’re staying away while I’m in human company.

Or, at least, that’s my hope. If they’ve left me…

The thought of parting ways after so many years of just we three shoves a jagged rock into the center of my heart. I know that when I return to Amaria with Declan, Wig and Poke cannot come with me to the island—it isn’t safe for them to go through the wards.

But the separation won’t have to be forever, just until I figure out how to resist Mother’s call outside the wards or I learn enough of Father Cooper’s magic to sneak Wig and Poke through the perimeter safely. I doubt the priest will teach me how to breech his defenses, but if I follow him, study him, and spy to see how he weaves his spells, surely I can sort it out.

I’m not a witch, but I am a witch’s daughter, the most magical of all plantings. I have more magical aptitude in my little finger than any human. I’ll find a way for Wig, Poke, and I to be together again.

If only they’ll trust me.

And help me.

On the sand, I take off my boots and walk barefoot where the water meets the shore, watching the giant swells rise and break. As I thought, setting off in a tiny boat right now would be foolish and possibly fatal, at least for Declan. I can turn into a dolphin or a seal and swim to safety.

If he’s a planting, he should be able to shift, too, but I have no idea how to teach him. For me, the ability is as instinctive as breathing. I’ve known how to shift since the moment I was cut from my sisters. It’s the same for Wig and Poke and all the other nightmare creatures that travel.

But maybe not all. Maybe only for those grown to maturity in the garden. If Declan was stolen away before he was fully formed, could that inhibit his abilities? Or his awareness of his abilities?

I don’t know. But I know that telling Wig and Poke that Declan is one of us will change things. Nightmares stick together. Even the plantings forbidden to consort with us for fear of Mother’s anger are never unkind. They lift a wing as they pass and whisper good tidings and gossip from the garden to Wig and Poke in the shadows.

We are a tribe. And now Declan is part of it.

“Wig?” I call when I reach the end of the long beach with still no sign of them. “Poke?” I shield my eyes from the sun and scan the cliff behind me, looking for a flash of black feathers or the scamper of a swift little mouse. I look for any sign of life—they might have changed forms, after all—but there’s nothing.

Nothing but a white albatross reeling in slow circles high, high above. But it moves like an earth-born bird, lazy and relaxed, not something grown in the garden.

Heart sinking, I call for them again and again, my throat feeling smaller, tighter each time.

As I retrace my steps with heavy feet, the trek up the rocky path takes twice as long as on the way down. By the time I emerge onto the clifftop, the sun is sliding lower in the sky.

Back at the ruins, the picnic has been packed away and Adrina is shaking out the blanket.

“There you are.” Her eyes crinkle at the edges as she smiles. “Perfect timing. I was just getting ready to yell for the boys. We should get home to help with dinner and evening chores. Goats are clever, but they can’t milk themselves.”

I force a smile, doing my best to put my worry for Wig and Poke away until later. There’s nothing more I can do now, and at least my friends know to look for me at Adrina’s house.

“I’ll go fetch them,” I offer. “Where did you last see them?”

Adrina motions toward the top of the hill, not far from where Declan and I were talking before. “Up there. They were digging for old weapons. Sometimes you can find the tips of spears and pieces of old swords and things if you look long enough.” She laughs. “I always lose patience and come back to the blanket to read. A book is a guaranteed adventure, and my fingers stay clean.”

“That sounds like more fun,” I say. “I would like to learn to read.”

I’ve never had any use for human words or their stored knowledge before, but now I find I hunger for it. I want to devour their thoughts. I want all the information Mother withheld from me when she painted humans as simple villains and victims, leaving out all the complexity that makes them so interesting. Fascinating, really.