“So what does Art think?” Nessa asked Jo. “He must be proud.”
“Oh, definitely.” Jo beamed. “Doesn’t hurt that he got some good news of his own today. His latest play is being produced! He met with the investors this morning.”
“That’s wonderful! I’m so glad things are turning around for you. I was starting to wonder if we’d all been cursed.” Nessa’s good cheer faded as she reached up to massage her temples. She was sure her brain was about to burst out of her skull.
“How are the migraines?” Jo asked quietly.
Nessa wished she could report that they were improving. But the truth was, she’d spent most of the day in her darkened bedroom. She’d been leaving Harriett’s potions unconsumed, hoping she’d finally understand the message that the headaches were trying to send her. The pain felt like a writhing ball of chaos, static composed of unintelligible voices. Sometimes, when she listened closely, it would seem as if a single word or thought might break through. But then, just as quickly, it would sink back under and be lost in the din.
Nessa looked up to see Harriett looming over her. She handed Nessa a tiny bottle of green gunk. “Drink it,” she ordered, and watched as her command was obeyed. Then she took a seat at the fire and turned her attention to Jo. The unearthly golden glow had returned to Harriett’s eyes.
“Did she mention the weeds?” Harriett directed the question at Jo.
“Sorry?” Jo responded.
“Claude,” Harriett said. “Did she mention the Scotch broom?”
“As a matter of fact, she did,” Jo told her. “Apparently, the plants have taken over the Pointe. Claude asked if you might be willing to help with the problem. I’d be really grateful if you did, Harriett. I know you hate the people out there, but I’d consider it a personal favor.”
“Are you able to contact her?” Harriett asked.
“Sure,” Jo said. She’d copied the phone number from Claude’s membership file into her contacts.
“Tell her to have someone meet me on Jackson Dunn’s dock at eight tomorrow morning.”
The Day Harriett Finally Opened Her Eyes
Harriett lay on her back in the garden, gazing up at the chaste tree. She’d watched it grow from a seedling, and earlier in the year, it had achieved a glorious adulthood. Only a few months before, it had worn a corona of lavender blossoms. Now those blooms had withered, fallen off, and returned to the soil. The berries had been harvested, and the tree had disrobed for the winter.
The air was warm for October, but a frost had settled over the garden the previous night, and the ground beneath her still held a chill. Her robe was close at hand, tossed over a nearby bush, but she never reached for it. Harriett liked nothing between her skin and the earth. That summer, she’d discovered that a different world lay beneath her. One busier than the city at rush hour, yet as tranquil and dark as the shore just before dawn. She could feel mycelium weaving a net just below the surface, the roots of the plants pushing ever deeper, and earthworms slipping like silk through the soil.
She’d purchased marijuana for the first time three weeks earlier. She’d smoked it with Chase many times in the past, but had never liked the way it slowed her down. Back then, she had enjoyed pot like a forced vacation—begrudgingly, one eye on the clock. But for the first time in decades, Harriett had nowhere to go and no one to meet. And all she wanted, more than anything, was to bring the world to a halt.
Harriett had pushed herself after Chase left in August. She figured she’d leaped higher hurdles than him in the past. She intended to throw herself into her work and make Max recognize her as the partner she’d long been. Then, before she could settle on the perfect words, the announcement was made. Max’s dream partner would soon be joining the agency. After months of pleading, he’d finally persuaded Chris Whitman to relocate to New York from London.