greg the florist: aconitum

The next morning, Greg cooked eggs and bacon for breakfast. John sat in the warm kitchen, sipped tea, smelled the familiar scents of cooking, and still couldn't shake the thought that it'd been more than a dream. He could feel the fur and the hot breath on his neck. 

After breakfast, they walked along the edge of the property, past a lake, a crumbling stone tower, and through a forest where the trees wove so closely together than they almost blocked out the sun.  

"It goes on for miles," Greg said. "I was looking at the maps. If they're still right, at least. Some of it might've been sold off. Maybe I should sell some of it off."

"Don't do that," John said, before he could stop himself. "Sorry. I know it's your place. But it's just… It's amazing here. And if you sold it, anything might happen to it."

"Might have to at some point, if we really do get all the repairs done." Greg grinned. "But since we can't get anyone to come and do the work anyway, we're fine for now, right?"

"I tried the next town over. They're all 'busy' as well." He stopped short. "We should look at the library, right? If everyone thinks this place is cursed, there must be something about it in there. There's a whole stack of leather bound journals and letters and things."

"You think one of them's going to be along the lines of Dear Aunt Milly, I hear you are cursed and there may be demons inhabiting your house and/or person, what can we do to help? Love, John?"

"There might be! At least it's something to look for. Something to do."

"Yeah, all right. You go on, I'm just going up to the point there." He nodded to a jut of rock that stuck out into the lake. "I'll be back in time to drag you out of the books before lunch."

John didn't like it, but there wasn't any logic behind the sharp tug of worry in the back of his brain. It was the middle of the day. All Greg had to do to get back was follow the shoreline.

"Okay. Just...be careful."

"I promise not to get eaten by trees. Go on."

It took the best part of an hour to walk back, and he went directly to the library, and to the journals. He picked one up at random and flipped through it. It was a woman's handwriting, but there was no name inside the cover. Most of the entries concerned the management of the estate, but pressed leaves and flowers also made their way between the pages, labeled with common and scientific names and with the location in the forest where she'd found them.

The book ended abruptly with a faded blue flower. This one had no name. The text under it was a quick scrawl that took some effort to decipher. It read: Georgiana found it near the point. I hope to God it's not all starting up again.