The Enchanted Greenhouse(46)

“You went with him everywhere,” the flytrap said to Lotti. “You were here when he brought us each to life, and you were here when he condemned us to a living death.”

“Death and darkness!” the morning glory cried.

Lotti shrieked, “I was not! I did not! I was dormant. It’s not my fault.”

The ivy slithered closer to the rose and circled her. “You helped him when he came to trick us. You lied to us.”

“I never lied,” Lotti said. “You’re lying.”

Dendy spoke. “Sheee doesn’t remember. It isn’t herrr fault.”

“See!” Lotti said. “Wait—what do you mean I don’t remember? I wasn’t here. Tell them, Terlu. You found me dormant in Laiken’s workroom. When I went to sleep, all of you were fine. The greenhouse was fine. Everything was fine.”

“Everyyy time she’s dormant,” Dendy said softly, “she fooorgets.”

Breaking off its song, the myrtle wailed, “I can never forget! The blue, blue sea! She has haunted my dreams! Salt on my leaves! Oh, the salt on my leaves!” It shook as if it were sobbing. Scattered leaves fell, and the daisy hopped its pot closer to console the shaking shrub.

Lotti flounced down to the walkway and plopped herself in front of Dendy. “I haven’t forgotten a single moment. We were friends! You seem to have forgotten that.”

The flytrap asked, “Where is he? Our betrayer—where is he?”

“We were friends. Family,” the ivy hissed. “Until you sided with him.”

They did not seem fond of the sorcerer.

Or of the little rose.

Terlu wasn’t sure who to comfort: Lotti, the newly awakened plants, or Yarrow, who was watching the drama unfold with a look of growing panic. He hadn’t had to handle any emotions but his own in years, and she thought it likely that he ignored most of his.

Lotti shrank into herself, closing her petals into a bud. “I don’t understand. Why are you all so angry? I didn’t do anything! I was dormant too! I was dormant first! You were all awake when I went to sleep! I wasn’t here when you were made to sleep!”

“Yesss, yooou were,” Dendy said, more kindly than the others. “Yooou’ve forgotten, but yooou were here when Laiken cast the spell to take our liiives from us. Yooou told us it waaas merely a waaatering spell. It would keeeep our soil moist.”

“You lied,” the ivy repeated, circling Lotti. “Liar. Betrayer.” It slithered tighter around Lotti, looping around her with its vines, while the little rose closed in on herself.

Smoke curled from the top of the fireweed.

“Please,” the thistle begged Yarrow. “Don’t let him make us sleep again.”

Enough. Stepping forward over the ivy, Terlu scooped the little plant up and cradled her against her chest. Trembling, Lotti clung to her shirt. “You’re scaring her,” Terlu scolded the plants. “She doesn’t remember any of this. Do you, Lotti?”

Sniffling, the rose shook her petals. “No! But … there are … gaps. I thought … He wouldn’t water me sometimes, and I’d lose days, weeks, months. He’d get angry when he had to repeat himself, when I didn’t remember … But I wouldn’t betray anyone! At least, I don’t think I would.” She wailed, “I’m sorry!”

From beside the shaking fireweed, Yarrow said, “It sounds like she was his victim too. All of you were.” A thread of anger laced through his voice. She felt it too, unfurling inside her, like boiling water in her stomach. If the sorcerer were here … You didn’t treat living beings this way. He’d brought them to life; that made them his family. You didn’t treat family like this.

Muffled, Lotti said into Terlu’s shirt, “We weren’t victims. We were beloved. He wouldn’t have hurt any of us. He loved us. He just wanted to protect us.”

Dendy sighed, curling his tendrils around his pot. “That’s what heee said when heee cast the spell, that it was for our own goooood.”

“He was a liar,” the ivy said. “A filthy liar.”

“One by one, we all fell aaasleeeep,” Dendy said.

“For our own good, he said.” As it spoke, the ivy was winding and unwinding around the nearest pillar, clearly agitated. “He never intended to wake us. Why are we alive again now?”

“Where is he?” the thistle asked, trembling. “Is he coming?”

The prickly pear sobbed louder.

Terlu glanced at Yarrow. He didn’t look as if he was about to answer, so she took the lead. “He’s not. He died a few years ago. It was Lotti who insisted we wake you all. She assisted with every step of the process. Whatever happened before, Lotti helped you now.”

Shifting in Terlu’s hands, the little rose peeked out from behind her petals.

“We are graaateful for such help,” Dendy said gravely.

“He’s dead?” the ivy said, withdrawing into a coil.

“He’s not coming back?” the thistle asked. There was hope in its voice.

Yarrow said firmly, “He’s not.”

Opening all its blossoms at once, the morning glory proclaimed, “The darkness lifts!”

That’s what they need to hear, Terlu realized. That they’re safe. Now she knew what to say, the same thing she would’ve wanted to hear.