Tall iron gates, rusted and flaking with age, barred the entrance to a long gravel driveway. One section of a great stone wall, covered in moss, lichen, and dark green ivy, ran the length of the road and cut sharply towards the cliffside before abruptly ending; the other half dipped up and down a series of small hills before vanishing into a copse of trees.

Waverly Harris stepped up to the gate, gripped the stylized "B" in the center, leaned forward, and squinted. The landscape dipped sharply down, but she could just make out the tops of several roofs and a single turret. There was something else, something hidden from view—a garden. She could feel it in her bones. Her practical magic might be a dud, but Waverly could sense a large garden sleeping down there, just waiting to be brought back to life.

"What is this place?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at her grandmother.

"Bellbroke Castle," Nana replied, clucking to Frederick, her Pembroke Welsh Corgi. The tan and white stubby-legged dog whuffed and strained at his harness, poking his snout between the bars. "It's been abandoned for as long as I can remember."

"Huh," Waverly mused. She stepped back from the gate and clapped her hands together, shaking off flakes of rusted iron from her palms. As she moved, she glanced down at the gravel driveway. "Somebody's been here," Waverly pointed out, gesturing to a set of subtle tire tracks.

"Well, I'll be," Nana murmured in her soft English accent. She called to Frederick; the corgi reluctantly turned away from the gate and followed at her heel. "Myrna Jenkins did say she saw a strange black car here last week. Maybe someone bought it. Hopefully they don't change it too much." She shrugged. "Well, let's keep going, dear, it's almost tea time."

"Okay." Stuffing her hands in her pockets, Waverly fell into step at her grandmother's side. The garden called to her, but she had to turn away and ignore it. She sighed.

Nana glanced up at Waverly. "Cheer up, dear. There are plenty of nurseries out there."

Waverly flashed Nana a lopsided smile, tucked a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind one ear, and took a deep breath, inhaling the salt air. Her grandparents' village of Chepstow-on-the-Sea was, well, on the sea. Beyond the steel barricades was a steep cliff that plunged right down into the Atlantic Ocean.

"Not too many offer health insurance, Nana," she clarified.

"Mm," her grandmother replied, nodding noncommittally.

They continued walking in companionable silence with Frederick waddling between them. Chepstow-on-the-Sea was as quaint an English village as you could find: stone facades and tiled roofs, massive chimneys, roads barely wide enough for two cars to pass by, and no traffic lights. Just by walking around, Waverly could tell why her grandparents had chosen to retire here. It was calm, cozy, and friendly.

But she was here for an entirely different reason.

A reason she had to repeat every time Nana came across another one of her knitting circle buddies—like right now. Waverly leaned up against the older woman's stone fence and let Nana explain the situation this time.

Two months ago, Hollerstein Farms in Agawam, Massachusetts, the large garden nursery Waverly worked at, suddenly closed its doors. The staff, including Waverly, were completely blindsided when they showed up for work. They crowded outside the main barn and stared at the large, handwritten note left for them by Mrs Hollerstein. She explained that her son had wracked up a massive gambling debt and to pay off the creditors, she was forced to sell the farm, suddenly plunging over a hundred people into unemployment.

"I told my daughter," Nana was saying as Frederick sniffed around the woman's flowers, "to have Wavy come here for an extended visit." She glanced over at Waverly, who smiled thinly. "A few months by the sea and she'll be reenergized."

"Oh, my," the other woman said, covering her mouth in sympathy. "Well, I'm sure you'll find employment soon, dearie. Big companies are always looking for witches."

Nana blinked, thrown. "Oh, well, Wavy ..."

Waverly sighed and reached up to retie her heavy ponytail. "What Nana is tactfully trying to say is that I'm a Level One." Level Ones were the weakest of witches and sorcerers; it was basically one step up from a regular human.

Nana's friend's eyes widened. "Oh ..."

Her pity didn't even bother Waverly. She'd grown used to it over the years.

"But a damned good green witch," Nana interrupted, shaking the end of Frederick's leash. The corgi pulled his snout out of a patch of flowers and turned around expectantly. "She knows how to coax the best out of plants."

Nana's praise warmed Waverly's heart. "Thanks, Nana."

Her grandmother beamed. "Any time, dear."

The look on her friend's face, however, wasn't exactly one of admiration. The slight pinching of the woman's nostrils and lips let Waverly know exactly how she felt: green witches weren't anything to be proud of.

Nana noticed, too, because she suddenly cut the conversation short by saying, "Well, Maddie, we simply must be off. Wavy?"

Waverly pushed off the stone wall, took a step, then stopped. "You over-water your roses," she said, eyeing the lackluster blooms, discolored leaves, and sparse foliage.

The woman's eyes flew open. "I—what?"

"Toodles!" Nana called out, hooking her arm through Waverly's and marching off. "Don't you pay Maddie no mind," she told Waverly once they were out of earshot. "Her son is an accountant and she thinks that anyone not making six figures is wasting their potential."

Waverly snorted wryly. "Sounds like a fun person to be around."

Nana laughed. "Fun to gossip about, you mean," she told Waverly with a wink. "I think you took her down a peg. Maddie's always been fussy about those roses."

Waverly had seen better roses from complete amateurs. Whatever the woman was doing, it was all wrong.

"Speaking of friends ..." Nana began, glancing up at Waverly.

"Hm?" Where was this going?

"Hattie Byrne has a grandson around your age ..."

Waverly stopped walking and folded her arms. "Are you setting me up, Nana?"

Her grandmother merely smiled, completely unfazed. "Well, it's been two years since you broke it off with that boy ..."

Broke it off was putting it lightly, but Waverly didn't want to get into that discussion again.

" ... so Hattie and I thought it would be nice if you and Aidan went out for dinner together."

Waverly studied her grandmother. Don't let the short, fashionable grey bob and sparkling blue eyes fool you—Nana had been a sales manager for a large retail store in nearby Brighton, so she could be very persuasive when necessary.

"Just dinner?" Waverly asked cautiously.

"One dinner," Nana confirmed, holding up her index finger. "If it doesn't work out, I won't bother you again."

Waverly sighed, smiled, and shook her head. See? Very persuasive. "Fine. One date. How old is he?"

"Just turned twenty-two."

"Nana, I'm thirty."

Nana patted her arm. "But you don't look it, dear. You could pass for twenty-one."

Waverly snorted humorously. "Hardly, but thanks."

"What are grandmothers for, dear?"

"Giving their granddaughters a hard time about their love lives?"

"Exactly."

Waverly couldn't exactly argue there.

Smiling proudly because she got her way, Nana struck out again, Frederick trotting happily at her heel. Waverly followed, wondering what she had gotten herself into.