“—Ecclesiastes Prologue Summer, 1998 Gran was a real witch. She was also a bitch much of the time and liked to play with her granddaughter’s head. That was why Chloe wasn’t real sure about how to interpret her current dream. This one was bad, though. Interpret it any way she could, it kept coming out nasty. Walking in a garden was usually relaxing, but not in this shadowy place where her mind had taken to wandering. Beds of bloodred Adonis flowers had become feral. The blooms lost all sense of t...heir formerly neat borders until they overgrew most of the stony path that led to the rusted iron gates; their falling petals were like clots of gore coagulating on the stony ground—evil’s secret garden. Beyond the metal portal where Chloe stood, there were more overgrown gravel walks that zigzagged across the cemetery in random fashion, resembling nothing so much as a crazy floral quilt that had its various beds stitched to each other with thorny cane stocks and creeping vines. This was not so unusual in her line of work, but here was not some delightful, secret plot where children played.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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