John's study was a categorical mess.

Not by choice, of course. Habits cultivated in his youth encouraged tidiness, but this mess couldn't be helped. He wanted the main parts of the manor to be functional first before work began on his suite. Locked and enchanted trunks were stacked in one corner while a cluster of capped wires dangled from the ceiling. Ancient wallpaper, possibly older than he was, peeled off the walls in strips, revealing dirt-streaked wood paneling beneath. Broken shelves continued to collect dust while the books themselves lay piled in another corner.

You saddled yourself with a money pit, old chum, John thought eyes flickering over the sorry state of the room. His mother would not approve. He could just picture her delicately stepping into the room, mouth, and nose covered with an embroidered handkerchief to protect her lungs from the mustiness.

John blinked and shook his head to clear the image. Licking his thumb, he turned the page of the thick, bi-yearly Knowing newsletter that had just arrived. Sometimes, he wondered why he even bothered looking through it at all. Most of his kind had minds that were far more brilliant than his; John could barely comprehend the discoveries, the essays, and the debates that the newsletter covered.

He was far more interested in the society page—a holdover from his princely days. His beloved nanny, Lala Bill, would often entertain him in the evenings by reading society pages sent to Wood Farm by his grandmother.

"Did you see this, Kyung-Jin?" John called out as the housekeeper entered his office. Kyung-Jin set a blue tumbler filled with horse blood on the desk and sat in one of two Victorian chairs, holding a tablet in her lap. John reached out for the tumbler and took a sip before reading out loud: "Konrad von Babenberg had the Masters release him. He left his entire fortune to his protégée, Rayna McClure. Apparently, she Ascended only five years ago."

Positively scandalous, his grandmother would say.

Scandalous in Knowing society, too, as it was akin to an old man leaving his entire estate to a teenage girl he barely knew.

"He was over a thousand years old, wasn't he?" Kyung-Jin asked, smoothing the lines of her skirt.

"Mm," John hummed, taking another drink. It wasn't often that one of the Knowing decided they had enough of living and went to the Masters to be released. This sort of event would be talked about for decades to come. He tapped the pages of the newsletter, staring at the announcement. Would there come a time when he, too, wanted to end it all?

"You're contemplative all of a sudden," Kyung-Jin remarked carefully.

John set the newsletter on his desk and leaned back. "All of this mess is making me melancholy," he explained, waving at the walls of the study.

Kyung-Jin grunted, not buying his bullshit for one minute. "You need a project, sir. You haven't built anything recently to show to your Master."

Now it was John's turn to grunt. He really should be grateful that his Master didn't expect papers on quantum physics or cultural anthropology from him. All he had to do was build a boat, catalogue its progress, and report on how well it sailed. That would keep the Masters satisfied for at least fifty years or so—which was, coincidentally, the last time he had submitted research. John was surprised that a reminder hadn't shown up along with the newsletter.

"I'll look into it," he told Kyung-Jin, picking up the newsletter again.

"I'll put that in your report, sir," the housekeeper said, pulling a small, embossed envelope from her skirt pocket.

Ah, so they had sent a reminder after all.

"I also have a few things to go over with you," Kyung-Jin continued, placing the envelope on his desk.

John put the newsletter back down and folded his arms. "Go on."

"Ms Harris has requested a helper to go with her tomorrow to pick up plants for the garden."

The garden. John twisted slightly in his chair and looked out the window. From his study, he could see the garden—well, what was left of it. On Ms Harris's advice, he had hired a landscaping crew to pull out all the plants, weeds, and trees in the main garden and fill the resulting holes with good dirt and compost. It looked bare but hopeful.

"Send Dean with her," John replied. It would keep the young man busy and out of his hair.

Kyung-Jin pursed her lips. "That was my initial suggestion, but she asked for someone else."

"Why?"

The housekeeper sighed. "He tried to ask her out on a date. Ms Harris explained to me that while he doesn't make her uncomfortable, she would rather avoid any awkward interactions."

"Agreed." John rocked back and forth in his chair, running a hand through his hair. "I don't think the boy is working out, Kyung-Jin."

"Mm," she murmured. "I know. I'll discreetly direct him and if this behavior continues, I'll let him go."

John nodded. He trusted Kyung-Jin's judgment; if the housekeeper wanted to give Dean another chance that was fine by him. "So, who's going with her instead? Nathaniel? Pierre?" he asked, naming off two of the groundskeepers.

"Unfortunately, everyone on staff is busy preparing the house and grounds." Kyung-Jin cocked her head slightly, maintaining eye contact.

John had a sense of where this conversation was going. "Are you suggesting that I go with her?"

"I think it would be good for you," Kyung-Jin told him, crossing her legs. "Whenever the Chevalier grew ... melancholy, one of us would suggest that he take up a different hobby. It improved his mood and restored his enthusiasm."

"Am I not enthusiastic, Kyung-Jin?"

The housekeeper smiled politely. "No, sir."

Blast, if that didn't cut straight through to the heart. John glanced back at the garden. Kyung-Jin was right. After fleeing Valmar, he hadn't been in the best of moods; and with Bellbroke under construction, there wasn't much for him to do except sign checks and approve the paperwork.

"Fine," he agreed. "I'll go."

"It'll do you good, sir."

"We'll see."

------------

Early the next morning, John waited for Ms Harris at the base of the manor steps. Kyung-Jin said the gardener had rented a lorry for the day, but so far, all he had seen were the ones that belonged to the army of workers. John glanced down at his watch and when he looked up, a white lorry with the name of a nationwide moving company plastered on the sides trundled up the drive. Ms Harris parked away from the other lorries, exited the vehicle, and walked up to the front steps. She wore faded and distressed jeans, scuffed brown boots, and a dark purple tank top. Upon noticing her attire, John wondered if slacks, a button-up shirt, and Oxford loafers were the right choice.

Probably not.

"Oh, hello!" she exclaimed upon seeing John. "Good morning!" A bright, cheerful smile stretched across her face. "Is Ms Mi in? She said she'd find me a helper for today."

John's lips twitched. "That would be me," he replied, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Although, I'm not sure how much help I'll be."

Ms Harris's expression swiftly changed to one of surprise. "Oh, I'm sure you're much too busy. I wouldn't want to impose—"

John shrugged. "It's no imposition. Apparently, I need to get out more." That last sentence came out grumblier than he intended.

Fortunately for him, Ms Harris didn't appear to notice. Surprise morphed into relief and the smile returned. "Well, you picked a good day to do that, my lord." She pointed to the cloudless sky.

"I'm not certain if I picked the right clothes, however," he told her, gesturing to his outfit.

Ms Harris chuckled and tucked an errant strand of hair behind one ear. "I think you'll be fine. We're not picking up dirt." She turned towards the lorry. "Are you ready to go? The nursery opens at eight and parking is at a premium."

Why anyone, let alone dozens of them all at once, would want to get up so early to buy plants, was baffling to John. But he kept his opinion to himself. "Lead the way," he said, extending a hand.

The cab of the lorry was small, with one long battered tan seat and an aged, cracked dashboard. "Is this thing safe?" John asked, climbing inside.

Ms Harris hopped up and shut the door. "If it's not, you'll get a hefty settlement," she joked, pulling on her seatbelt.

John watched as she started the lorry, checked the mirrors, and backed the rig up. "Have you driven one of these before?" he asked.

"A few times back home, but never on the right side. This should be an experience." Ms Harris turned her head slightly and winked at him.

She was pretty, John realized with a start. Not an otherworldly beauty like most Knowing women, but her open, animated expression and humor transformed her face into something—

Stop.

He cut that train of thought short before it dangerously spun out of control. Ms Harris was an employee and she was human. It wasn't worth it to entertain such notions, especially when their arrangement was temporary.

The lorry trundled down the road, heading north to a larger village. John watched Ms Harris curiously, but she managed to handle not only the roads but the lorry with ease. When they pulled into the nursery, John had to concede that he was wrong—humans loved their plants.

The parking lot to the large facility was nearly full and there were more cars behind them. Ms Harris was forced to park the lorry at the far end of the lot, next to two dumpsters.

"This is insane," John remarked, getting down from the lorry.

Ms Harris laughed. "This is familiar," she replied, dusting off her hands.

"Is this how it used to be where you worked?" he asked as she led him toward the entrance. A quick glance toward the entrance revealed that cars were being directed away from the lot and a sign was being maneuvered in place.

"All the time—especially towards the beginning of the season."

John shook his head in confusion. People were already leaving the nursery and returning to their vehicles, carts overflowing with flowering baskets and cartons of flowers, plants, and vegetables alike. Ms Harris grabbed a cart and entered the fray like an old pro—which she was, John reminded himself.

The vampire squeezed past an elderly couple arguing over arugula at the entrance and hurried to keep up with his gardener. The atmosphere inside was chaotic and orderly at the same time—not to mention very warm. Employees directed customers to various tills, processing their purchases quickly and efficiently. The air was heavy with the scent of dozens and dozens of flowers, not to mention the heady aroma of herbs.

There was a light touch on his arm and John glanced down to see Ms Harris standing next to him, a broad smile on her face. "It's a lot, huh?"

John nodded slowly. It had been decades since he had been around so many people and it was rather overwhelming. Generally, vampires didn't venture out into public due to keeping their existence secret. But as Axel had explained to him prior to his Ascension, as long as he didn't make a spectacle of himself and kept his movements discreet, he could go anywhere he liked.

John wondered if he was being discreet now—a six-foot-one man wearing business casual attire at the beginning of summer in a crowd of people wearing shorts, flip-flops, and graphic T-shirts.

"Where do you want to look first?" Ms Harris asked, completely oblivious to John's inner turmoil.

"I have no idea."

She blinked, then recovered quickly. "Well, why don't we take a look at the ornamental trees and shrubs? We can purchase those first, have the staff set them aside, then go back for the rest."

"Why not put them in the lorry?"

Ms Harris's eyebrows lifted, then knitted together. "Leaving them in a hot truck to bake wouldn't be a good idea," she explained.

"Oh. Yes, you're right." What a stupid thing for him to even suggest.

She smiled and began pushing the cart in one direction with determination. John hustled to keep up with her as Ms Harris deftly maneuvered around other patrons until they popped out into an open area. The gardener kept going until John found himself standing in front of a sea of small trees and bushes. Ms Harris pointed out various species and asked his opinion on whether he'd like to purchase them or not.

Honestly, they all looked similar. "If I wasn't here, which ones were you planning on getting?" he asked.

Ms Harris paused and leaned against the cart. "Well, I spent some time researching different gardens across the country and I rather liked what they have growing at Sandringham."

It took all of John's strength to keep his expression neutral. She couldn't have figured out who he was—could she? What extra abilities did witches have again? He quickly ran through the list in his head: telekinesis, healing, green witch, or psychic medium. Had he missed one? Was mind reading in there?

The gardener pulled out her phone, oblivious to John's rising anxiety, and read off a list: "Rhododendron, Camellia, and Magnolia trees; snowdrops, daffodils, bluebells, Pampas grass, Ruscus leaves, ferns, and Helichrysum." She paused and looked up, expression wreathed with innocence. "How does that sound?"

She doesn't know, the logical part of John's vampiric brain told him smartly. She doesn't know, so answer her.

Gathering his fractured wits about him, John pulled himself together and said, "Why don't you show me?"