Werewolves & Wisteria by A. L. Tyler

somewhere in Kendra’s books, split up across several entries. Wisteria was used for overcoming obstacles. Kendra had once seen it used in abundance by a man seeking to overcome lycanthropy, though the outcome had not been mentioned. I made a mental note to ask Charlie if it was a placebo.
    We said goodnight around two. Finally exhausted, I drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 8
     
    Charlie went on like nothing had changed that week, even if he was slightly more alert due to Martha’s presence. Martha came and went at will, continuing to work her shifts at the sandwich shop and bringing home a meal or two when she was able.
    She was working hard to get in contact with the friends she had told me about, but they understandably liked to keep a low profile. In the meanwhile, Charlie told me that trying to help Vince with wisteria would be like trying to treat a shark attack victim with cotton swabs and a bottle of peroxide.
    I decided to try regardless.
    The greenhouse was well-stocked with a few varieties of wisteria, so I grabbed one of each, and worked with Charlie to create a flowerbed along one wall in the basement apartment. Vince wasn’t convinced, and he wasn’t excited about the prospect of living in a garden, either.
    “How are they even going to grow down here?” he scoffed. “There’s no light.”
    Charlie crossed his arms. “I can’t give you fake light because you’re immune. They’re not. They can enjoy all the fake light they want.”
    We discussed the things that Vince had told us he thought would help, like grass and wind, and Charlie conceded that he could try to put down some natural turf for the animal. He refused to even attempt a mechanism to allow outside air in, because the potential for an escape attempt was just too great.
    We went to school, and Stark still lurked between my classes, but he didn’t talk to me anymore. I made it to the greenhouse a few days that week. It confused the new employees at first, but by my third visit they seemed to accept that I was something of a boss. I knew Charlie and I was related to Lyssa, and when I said something needed to be done, they did it.
    The plants weren’t faring well in Lyssa’s absence, and I was forced to call her Friday night after disposing of another tray of dead begonias.
    “It’s been dry lately,” she said simply. “You need to get out there more.”
    “I kind of have my hands full,” I said, moving the phone to my other hand as I took off my gardening gloves. “And seriously, I don’t think that’s the problem. Charlie didn’t hire high school kids. He’s got college students majoring in horticulture out here. They know what they’re doing. Something else is going on.”
    “Okay, well, what are you seeing?”
    She was annoyed, and I couldn’t blame her. I had sent her away claiming that I could handle things, and I very clearly wasn’t.
    Looking around, I picked up a small planter of hens and chicks, frowning. “Brown tips. On everything.”
    “Is there anything that isn’t dying?” she asked. “The cactus?”
    I wandered back into the greenhouse, looking over the shelf where we stored the succulents.
    “Nope, the cactus too.”
    Lyssa sighed in frustration, but then her voice took on a new determination. “What about the bulbs? Go check the latest shipment. If it’s in already, there should be some crop bulbs in there.”
    I went and looked, cutting open the box that had just arrived earlier that day. Crop bulbs were one of our better sellers in the fall as people cut down their home gardens and prepared for early spring harvest.
    I was aghast. The first box I checked had shallots in it. Even the plants that hadn’t been unpacked were affected, and each tiny tip of green growth coming up and out of the bulb was crowned with brown wilt.
    “Annie?”
    “They’re dying,” I said in frustration, reaching for another box and ripping it open. I breathed a sigh of relief, because these bulbs, small and white, looked