The Crescent Moon.

The Garden of Healing.

~Aria~

Aunt Lenore had been busy in her room since we returned. Her thoughts elsewhere, hands busy at the sink. She wore her usual long cotton dress with the tiny lavender prints, and her grey hair was wrapped in a loose braid that draped down her back like a silver thread.

When she turned to me with that familiar, gentle smile, I knew she had something to say.

"Come," she said. "Let’s go fetch some valerian root, like I said earlier. I promised Mrs. Carter I’d bring her some."

We stepped out through the back door, its hinges creaking slightly like they hadn’t been oiled in years. The air outside was crisp and smelled of pine and damp earth. Behind the house, the garden stretched out in a soft, wild sprawl—organized chaos, if there ever was such a thing.

Herbs grew in tangled harmony: rosemary, thyme, sage, and mugwort, with their earthy and sharp scents mixing with the sweetness of lavender and honeysuckle. Flowers bloomed in scattered beds—some I recognized from my mother’s stories, others I didn’t dare name. Tall stalks of foxglove stood like pale sentinels in the corners, and bright orange marigolds spilled over their planters like fire. Bees drifted lazily from petal to petal, and a wind chime made of sea glass tinkled softly under the eaves.

It was a witch’s garden. I didn’t mean that in the spooky Halloween way, but in the way my mother used to talk about women like Aunt Lenore—wise women, herbalists. Women who knew what the earth could give and what it could take away.

I followed her along the stone path that twisted toward the rear fence. The valerian grew close to the ground, pale green with clusters of tiny white flowers. She knelt and began to dig gently with her hands, pushing the dark soil away from the roots.

"Valerian root smells awful," she said with a grin. "But it works wonders."

I knelt beside her, tucking my knees into the grass. "What does it do?"

She glanced at me. "It calms. Good for anxiety, restlessness. Headaches too. Some people even use it for sleep."

"And Mrs. Carter?"

"Poor thing’s been anxious ever since her cat ran off last week. She says she can’t sit still, can’t think straight. It helps her." She paused, then added, "It helped your mother too."

Something tugged in my chest at the mention of Mom. I lowered my gaze and brushed soil from my fingers.

"It’s beautiful here," I murmured.

Aunt Lenore straightened, holding the root in her hand like a small treasure. She wrapped it in a cloth she’d brought with her and offered a kind look. "It takes time. This place grows on you. So will the people."

I gave her a doubtful smile.

"I know it’s not what you’re used to," she continued. "But you’ll find your rhythm. Black Hallow High has its own kind of heartbeat. Slower. Quieter. But it’s there. You’ll see."

We walked back toward the house, and I looked at the garden differently now—saw the care in it, the life she’d grown with her own two hands. I could almost imagine myself here. Almost.

Inside, she placed the valerian on the counter and began preparing it for drying. The scent of crushed root was sharp and bitter, but it filled the air with something grounding.

I leaned against the counter. "Did you ever feel out of place? When you were younger?"

Lenore looked up, her hands still working. "Every day. For years. But eventually, I realized it wasn’t about fitting into the world—it was about making the world fit around me. You don’t need to shrink to belong."

I didn’t answer. My throat felt tight.

She glanced over, catching the look on my face. "You’ll find your people here, Aria. Give it time. The roots take a while, but they hold strong once they do."

I nodded, her words sinking into the cracks I hadn’t realized were open in me.

We sat in the kitchen for a while longer, sipping new tea she brewed from lemon balm and chamomile. The warmth from the cup in my hands steadied me.

Outside, the wind picked up again, stirring the chimes into a soft chorus. The sky had turned a brilliant blue, and the sun stretched shadows across the floor. And for the first time since I arrived, I didn’t feel like I was intruding. I felt, somehow, like the house was watching me. Waiting. But not unkindly.

Lenore hummed as she worked, a tune I couldn’t quite place, and I closed my eyes to it, letting the day wrap around me like a blanket. For the first time in weeks, I felt something close to peace.

Maybe, just maybe, I could belong here.

The scent of valerian still clung to my hands, bitter and earthy, as Aunt Lenore wrapped the roots in a soft piece of linen and tied it with twine. She placed the bundle carefully on the counter like it was something sacred.

"Mrs. Carter will be waiting," she said, brushing a wisp of hair from her cheek. "Let’s not keep her long."

“She lives nearby?”

Lenore nodded. “Just across the fence, past the rose hedge. Old house with green shutters. You’ll like her.”

I slipped on my shoes and followed her through the back door, the same one we’d taken into the garden earlier. The air outside had shifted—the sharp chill of morning giving way to a mellow warmth that kissed my skin, carrying with it the scent of herbs, pine, and freshly turned soil.

We walked the familiar stone path again, the garden rustling gently around us. Bees buzzed lazily between the blooms, and the wind chime above the porch let out a soft note, like a sigh. We passed the foxgloves and lavender, the valerian patch now with its roots exposed and its scent lingering like a stubborn thought.

At the edge of the garden stood a tall rose hedge, sprawling and wild, with thorny branches twisted around weathered wooden posts. A narrow archway had been carved out of the hedge—barely wide enough for two people side by side. I ducked beneath it and stepped through, blinking as the light shifted.

Beyond the hedge was Mrs. Carter’s yard.

It was quieter here. The grass a little overgrown, the flowers untamed but still beautiful in their chaos. Her house stood nestled in the center, weathered white with ivy crawling up its sides and green shutters that creaked ever so slightly in the breeze.

Aunt Lenore didn’t bother knocking. She simply called out, “Mrs. Carter?”

The screen door opened with a groan, and out stepped the woman herself. Mrs. Carter had the kind of face you’d swear had seen everything—soft but lined, with eyes too knowing to pretend otherwise. Her hair was silver and long, twisted into a bun that had partially come undone, and her cardigan looked like it had been knitted sometime in the 1960s.

“Well now,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Lenore, and this must be the girl. Aria, is it?”

I nodded shyly. “Hi.”

She smiled at me warmly. “You’ve got a gentle energy. Like your mother. She was a dear friend.”

There it was again—those little pieces of my mother still scattered in the world, still alive in people’s memories. I tried to smile, but it caught in my throat.

“We brought you the valerian root,” Aunt Lenore said, holding it out.

Mrs. Carter took it with reverence, like it was something holy. “Bless you. My head’s been rattling for days. Between the weather and that damn cat of mine…”

“Still no sign of Percy?” Lenore asked.

Mrs. Carter huffed as she turned and led us up the small porch steps. “Not a pawprint. He’s never gone off like this before. Slipped right through the back gate Tuesday morning and vanished. I swear he saw something in the trees.”

“In the trees?” I echoed, following them into the cozy front room.

Mrs. Carter waved a hand dismissively. “You know how cats are. They see more than they should. Percy’s always had a knack for sensing storms before they hit. But this…” She paused. “This feels different.”

The living room was warm, cluttered in the charming way old houses are. Quilts over chairs, books stacked on every surface, and the faint aroma of cinnamon and dried roses. A black-and-white photograph sat on the mantel—a younger Mrs. Carter standing beside a tall man and two children, all long gone judging by the age of the picture.

“Please, sit,” she said, motioning to the couch as she walked into the kitchen.

I sat at the edge, unsure of how to exist in someone else’s home that still felt lived-in. My fingers tugged at the cuff of my sweater, eyes roaming over shelves filled with ceramic cats and little wooden boxes.

“She’s got one of the oldest gardens in the town,” Aunt Lenore said softly, as if reading my thoughts. “Some of those rose bushes are older than both of us.”

Mrs. Carter returned with three mismatched mugs of tea. The scent hit me before the taste—chamomile, maybe, with a twist of lemon balm. Soothing. Familiar.

“So,” she said, setting the valerian on the table. “How’s our small town treating you, Aria?”

I sipped the tea before answering. “It’s… quiet.”

That earned a small chuckle from both women.

“Give it time,” Mrs. Carter said. “This town’s shy. But she opens up eventually.”

“She’s enrolled at the high school,” Aunt Lenore added. “Black Hallow.”

“Ah. Good. It’s a small place, but the kids are decent. Mostly. Just keep an eye out for the Fenwood boys.”

Lenore gave her a look. “Not this again.”

“Just saying,” Mrs. Carter said innocently. “Not all families raise their young with kindness.”

I didn’t ask what that meant.

Instead, I looked at the valerian root wrapped like a charm on the table and asked, “Does it really help? For anxiety?”

Mrs. Carter turned her full attention to me. “Valerian’s old magic, child. Root of rest, mother of calm. The earth knows when a heart’s not steady, and this”—she patted the bundle—“helps remind it.”

“It helped your mom,” Lenore added, her voice soft.

I swallowed hard. There was something about hearing my mother’s name in this house, surrounded by these women, that made the ache sharper. But also… more bearable.

“Thank you for the tea,” I said, standing.

Mrs. Carter walked us to the door, her smile still kind. “Come by anytime, Aria. The garden loves visitors.”

As we stepped back out into the yard, the sky had turned overcast. The wind picked up, and the trees rustled in a way that made me pause.

“Do you think Percy’s still alive?” I asked.

Mrs. Carter looked back toward the woods.

“I hope so,” she said. “But this town has always known how to keep secrets.”

We passed under the rose arch again, the thorns brushing close to my shoulder. Back in our garden, everything felt the same—and yet not. as we reached home

Something about the visit stayed with me.

A cat gone missing.

A neighbor who spoke like the trees had ears.

"Can I take a walk," I asked Lenore.

"Sure, but be back before the sun goes down."

"Thanks," I said. I walked for hours until I found myself viewing the forest from distance.