Anouk pressed a hand to her heart, wishing she could hear Luc’s soothing voice telling her once more that, just like in the stories, everything would be all right in the end.
Petra stopped before the hedge and squinted at it, then poked at some of the branches. “These are sentinel shrubs. They’re enchanted to keep everyone out except who we want in.” She looked back at them. “Get in the car and make sure your hands and heads stay inside if you want to keep them.” When no one moved, she added, “I thought you said you were desperate.”
“Right.” Anouk exchanged a long look with the others. They climbed into the car and shut the doors, peering anxiously through the windshield. Petra hunted through the branches until she found a certain one about a foot from the ground that curled in the shape of a corkscrew. She pulled on it, and when nothing happened, she kicked at it a few times with her boot until the hedges shuddered, and she grinned at them in triumph.
Incredibly, the branches started to move. They untangled themselves from one another, drawing back away from the road and then weaving themselves together to form an archway to allow the car passage.
Petra came over to Beau’s side and leaned in the open window.
“Follow the drive all the way to the porte-cochère. Don’t get out of the car until then. And above all, be careful of your shoes. We have swans. The little monsters crap everywhere.” She picked a thorn out of her sweater. “I’ll ride up front.”
“Where up front?” Beau muttered, but she was already climbing on top of the Rolls-Royce hood as if it were the most normal thing in the world, cradling the hedge clippers in one arm, resting a boot on the silver hood ornament. She tapped twice to signal them to go.
Beau didn’t move.
Anouk whispered, “What are you waiting for?”
“How about a sign that we aren’t about to drive straight to our deaths?” But he put the car in gear and they rolled forward slowly beneath the eerie archway of branches. They all leaned forward to get a good look at the rippling fields of lavender, bursting purple-blue in perfectly spaced rows. Nestled in the nearest valley was the château itself: sun-warmed stone and a terra-cotta roof with gables and a bell tower and a chimney at each end, though there was no smoke now, nor any sign of life in any of the windows. If it weren’t for the breeze stirring it all to life, the entire valley would look like a painting.
“I’m no gardener,” Beau said, “but didn’t Luc grow lavender in July?”
Cricket glanced at the calendar on her phone. “It’s October.”
None of them said what Anouk assumed they were all thinking: on the property of a witch, anything was possible.
As they inched along the gravel driveway, Anouk eyed the dark soil at the base of each row, half fearing a glimpse of the odd Goblin finger or decomposing foot. But everything was perfectly tended, lovingly cared for. Something as beautiful as these gardens couldn’t possibly grow in chopped-up Goblins. Could they?
Cricket sneezed.
As they neared the building, the lavender fields gave way to more traditional gardens dotted with fountains. Anouk cracked open her window and breathed in the smell of roses and lilac, cypress trees and the moldy dark odor of standing water. And the topiaries! Dozens of bushes had been clipped into the shapes of people, larger than life, with oversize leafy hands and heads. Their faces were nothing but green masks, blank, sightless, and yet Anouk couldn’t shake the feeling of eyes watching her.
Beau stopped beneath the porte-cochère. His hand hovered over the gearshift, ready to throw the car into reverse at the slightest sign of trouble. “It’s been a real pleasure knowing you both. At least before my death I got to eat those nice crepes and drive on the Autoroute Provençale. When we find ourselves churned up into potting soil, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Anouk smacked him lightly.
Cricket smacked him harder.
He unlocked the doors and they stepped out into the dying light. The sky was a soft wash of purple, mirroring the fields. Anouk pulled her jacket tighter to block the biting wind. As an afterthought, she grabbed the cat clock and stuffed it into her pocket.
Beau took a step toward the château and something squished under his boot. He groaned.
“I told you to be careful,” Petra said, sliding off the hood. “Swans, man. They crap everywhere.” She started toward the house.
Beau leaned toward Anouk. “Do not drink any cocoa that girl gives you.”
He looked back at the car longingly before following Petra through the gardens. Anouk stayed back a moment. There wasn’t a single yellowed leaf, not one bruised blossom, and as beautiful as it all was, the place felt wrong. Frozen in midsummer perfection despite the October chill.
Anouk hurried to catch up with the others.
“Where are the gardeners?” she asked, falling in step with them.
“No gardeners,” Petra said over her shoulder. “It’s only the Mada and me.”
And it was true, not a single person was out tending the fields. There was no one around but Petra, and she barely seemed to know which end of the hedge clippers to hold.
Cricket patted her pockets as if reassuring herself she still had her knives.
Petra started up a set of stone stairs overgrown with moss but stopped as the heavy wooden door was flung open.