The moment I stepped into the backyard, it became clear why no passage was visible from the street: there simply wasn't one. The back door of the store opened onto a rectangular plot of land, hemmed in on all sides by towering buildings. In the center of the square, a sprawling oak stretched its bare branches skyward. Here and there, unknown plants were bundled against the cold, tightly swathed in translucent plastic. To the right, a small greenhouse stood with its cloudy walls, a riot of greenery faintly visible within. To the left, unfamiliar thorny bushes had been meticulously trimmed, forming neat lines beneath the windows. Every ground-floor apartment had its curtains drawn tight, and the paint on the window frames had faded with time. I imagined that, in summer, sunlight must pour in despite the oak's full canopy.
"Watch the roots," Denis warned as we approached the greenhouse. "Everything out here withers at the first hint of frost. Perennials are covered until spring. There's not much to see around the edges right now. The greenhouse is where the real magic happens—but go in one at a time; the aisles are narrow, not meant for visitors. People may talk about this garden in town, but life only flourishes here in season. By late September, only fishermen wander into the store—nobody else comes back here."
"So why maintain the greenhouse if it's not for visitors?" I asked.
"For ourselves—and for my mother's shop," he replied.
"Does everyone in your family run a business?"
Denis unlocked the greenhouse and pushed the door open, letting me enter first. The doorway was low, forcing me to bend slightly to slip through.
"My dad has his interests, my mom hers. She grows medicinal herbs—you drink them instead of tea, more or less," Denis explained.
"And do they really work?" I asked skeptically. I'd always thought herbs were no match for modern medicine, though my mother swore by sage for a sore throat and liked burning essential oils at home.
Denis shrugged, as if he'd never wondered. "Probably. I've never asked. At least, I haven't heard of them hurting anyone."
Dasha frowned, thinking, then her face brightened. "Oh! I think I know your mom. She's… unusual. Eccentric. Always in long skirts, and barefoot?" She hesitated, choosing her words carefully, trying not to sound unkind.
"That's her," Denis said, smirking slightly. "The Kserton Forest Witch, ooooh." He hunched and thrust his hands forward in mock menace, and the girls laughed. I, on the other hand, felt a flicker of unease—what if another local legend hid a darker truth? Vampires were already around; why not witches too?
"These flowers are beautiful," Dasha said, crouching to examine a plant with wedge-shaped leaves growing chaotically in all directions. A scattering of tiny star-shaped blossoms crowned the foliage. "What is it?"
"Lemon verbena," Denis replied, a playful glint in his eye. "Cute, right? But you haven't seen the medicinal one yet. Guess which it is, and I'll give you a discount!"
Tatiana frowned. "Excellent offer—three young fishermen, just waiting for worms at a discount."
I nudged Rostova lightly, and she jumped. Tanya scowled at me, but I shushed her, reminding her to be polite—after all, Denis was my father's friend's son, and we were guests. Dasha, however, brimmed with excitement. She rose, moving deliberately from plant to plant, studying leaves, inflorescences, and stems as if a single mistake might cost her dearly.
We watched in silence as she lingered longest in front of one section. The leaves were nearly identical to another type of verbena; only the flowers puzzled her. They resembled miniature cobs, their lilac skirts fanning out like tiny ballerinas.
"I think… this is the medicinal one," Dasha finally declared, clearing her throat and projecting confidence.
Denis looked at her with barely concealed admiration and slowly applauded, marking the moment's significance. Clearly, these two had found a kindred spirit in one another.
"Bravo! Discount's yours!" he exclaimed, raising his arms triumphantly. The stiffness that had lingered in his posture evaporated. In the stifling greenhouse, he seemed more confident than ever, as if the flowers themselves had infused him with strength.
As he moved toward Dasha, I noticed a striking plant behind him for the first time. Bell-shaped flowers shimmered in every shade of charoite, perched atop long, slender stems that somehow bore their weight with grace. Mesmerized, I edged closer. My hand, almost of its own accord, reached toward the nearest blossom.
The moment my fingers brushed its velvety surface, a tingling sensation spread across my skin. At first subtle, it intensified rapidly, forcing me to yank my hand back—and in doing so, I accidentally struck Tatiana.
"What's wrong?" Rostova asked, eyes wide as they dropped to my palm. "Oh my god, Asya! Your hand!"