Baccus rolled back to his cushion, as the heels of his palms drilled into his eyes.

He held them there as he continued. “There was blood everywhere. I couldn’t stop it. I tried everything I knew, but it was already too late.”

His hands fell. His gaze drifted in the memory. “It was a kid. --Some damn kid got roped into a job, turned down the wrong alley, and some fucking assholes stabbed him for it. And I stood there, watching him bleed out, and I could do nothing. …He died on my table and I think I died a bit with him.”

Ophelia could hear the crack in his voice. She watched as he stared at his hands.

“It’s been three years, and sometimes I look at them and all I see is red.” Baccus then forced an anxious chuckle, “ah, I don’t think I’ve ever said that aloud.”

The hand on his arm wrapped around it. She squeezed. “I see their faces.” His head turned to her, his gaze locked on. “Sometimes...it’s their skulls,” she said delicately. “They never have eyes. It’s always flowers.”

“That is…fucked up,” he smiled through his own welling eyes.

“It’s true.”

He chuckled even though tears rolled down his face. “Ohh, fuck.” His eyes rolled off her and to the rest of the room. Hands went to his chest.

Baccus pushed himself up straight . He ran his fingers through his loose hair and fluffed it out. His other arm rested his elbow on his bent knee. She watched as the serious air melted into a genuine laughter. His body shook.

“These are terrible for a party,” he cackled and ran a hand over his face. He huffed and held himself steady until he stilled.

She rolled onto her elbow and watched. A finger lifted and poked his arm. “By the way, I won’t tell.”

He snorted. “I know. You never tell.”

She moved up as well, cognizant of the red in his eyes. Ophelia twisted and went to her bag. She dragged it to them, pried open the flap, and dug around the contents.

Baccus furrowed his brows as he stretched to the bag of coins. “That’s all she was worth,” he muttered to himself.

Ophelia pulled out a little compartmentalized box. She moved the lock-hinge to the side and tipped it back. The sight of it pulled Baccus’ attention.

“Oh,” a wild look came over him. “You’ve been busy, too.”

She held it to him as she pulled her payment back to her satchel. “As requested.”

Baccus plucked a mushroom from the box. He sniffed it. “Ooh, you spoil me.” He threw it in his mouth. Then twisted over to a shelf near him. He pulled off a bottle of wine.

“Did I tell you yet that someone called for Mavus?”

She cocked her head. “What do you mean?”

“The whole marriage bullshitery, they’ve been trying to sneak in through the gates. Had to get more security. Of course it doesn’t fucking help that there are all these rumors about the house now, but who the fuck knows what’s what.” He pulled on the cork, but eventually bit on it to yank it free. He took a sip, then offered it to Ophelia. “You’d need a herd of elephants to pull Mavus from his work.”

“He doesn’t strike me as having marriage on his mind.”

Baccus snorted. “I don’t think most things humans do ever strike his mind.”

Ophelia smacked his arm and pulled her knees to her chest.

“What?” He rolled his eyes. “Fear not, I will keep your secret.”

She narrowed her gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Baccus winked and clicked his tongue. Then he took a long pull of wine. Ophelia shook her head and pushed herself to the wall. She leaned her head against it and laid her arms across her outstretched legs.

He did the same against the stretch of bookcases in the room that was longer than it was wide.

“Any other plots to tend today?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Ah,” he shrugged.

“And you?”

“Lookin’ at it.” Baccus rested the bottle near him. “Though I think I’m summoned for riding later. I would wander off Low, but my Mother requested I join her.”

“How is she?”

His fingers lifted and his mouth opened, but there were no real words. He sighed, faked a side-smile, and took a sip.

“She and I talked about flowers, the last time I was here.”

“I know. She mentions it at breakfast.” His eyes lit up, then darkened. “It’s one of the few times she seems present.”

“The doctors still don’t know?”

“No, and not that my father wants to keep calling when--” he waved a hand up and down himself as he knocked back the bottle for a drink.

Ophelia lowered her head. Her hands wrung part of her green petticoat. Though her mouth was ajar, it took a moment for her to say: “Low-rot took mine.” Even then, it came out softly.

The bottle in his hands fell to his lap. As did his expression. “I’m sorry. I’ve seen the lungs. Low-rot is cruel.”

She sighed and clenched her hands. His torso started to lean towards her, but dissolved back. His eyes steadied on her. In all the years they had sat in this room high, it was the first time she ever properly mentioned her parents. Let alone what had happened to them. Though, with his family’s profession, they had traveled Low, even to the caverns. There were rumors. He just didn’t think they were about her.

Baccus exhaled. He tried to change the mood, but couldn’t think of anything to say, so he knocked the side of his shoe against her leg. She looked up.

“Did you really buy that lavender dress,” he asked, hoping to see her light up, again.

She nodded. “It has live flowers on it. They thought I was crazy, until they realized who I was.”

“Can’t go anywhere without dirt on you, can you? Proper gardener, you are.”

Her head tilted against the wall. Rose-colored eyes lingered on him. He lifted the bottle unaware of her staring, before she finally asked: “Baccus --did you really drug your tutor?”

He skipped a beat as his eyes fell, “no. Not really.”

“Why do you let everyone assume that you did?”

“I didn’t drug him purposefully. He was adamant about the quantities needed to make…,” he trailed off as he rolled his eyes. “We had a disagreement. His pride got the better of him and we bet on it.” He rolled his hand. “I won. --That, and he’s an absolute tool.”

“Mentors can be like that sometimes.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone dumb enough to call Goldie a tool, at least not to her face.”

Ophelia shook her head. “No, not if they wanted to keep theirs.” Ophelia thought of her handler for a moment, the Woman with the Golden Smile, before it dawned on her. She jumped. “Oh, shit.”

His eyes fell to her packing her things and pulling on her gloves. “So soon?”

“I have to see my handler. I’ll be late.”

“Ah,” he turned back to the wine. “Goldie waits for no one.”

She pulled her long, white hair free with a huff. “You make me sound like a dog.”

“Well, she has you on a leash.” Ophelia whipped over her shoulder with a scowl. “You're going running to her right now,” he said before taking a long pull from the bottle. He smacked his tongue on the dry wine.

With a huff, Ophelia pushed herself up. The strap of her satchel over her shoulder.

“Oh, come on,” he looked up at her, “seriously?”

She ignored him as she collected her hat and tinted lenses. He leaned over to her and outstretched his arm. His other hand wrapped diligently around the bottle of wine.

“Ophelia,” he held on to her, “wait a second.”

“I’m not a dog. I’m not a shovel,” she snapped. She went to the door and tried to work the handle but she couldn’t get it to move. “Curses to your stupid broken handle.”

“A shovel?” Baccus shook his head, but refocused on her. “Hold on.” She turned over and leered. He tugged on her arm, luring her back to the floor and the cushion. “Please.”

But she didn’t budge. “Baccus, let me out.”

Baccus stared up at her and after a second let out an exhale through his nose. He held out his hand, wiggling his fingers for her to help pull him up. She rolled her eyes, but did so.

On his feet, he handed the bottle to her for a moment as he moved the lever. He wretched it with his shoulder and kicked it with his foot. When the door eased open, he ushered out a hand. Ophelia didn’t waste a second. She moved forward, pushing the bottle into his chest as she passed.

He leaned into the frame as he watched her. White hair whipping with every purposeful step of her gait.

“See you at the van Croix’s,” he called after, but the only thing that answered him were the snores of his tutor. Baccus looked over to him. He huffed out his nose. “Don’t patronize me, you’re about to have terrible diarrhea later.”

Baccus went to him and smacked him on the side of his face. “Wake up.” His tutor jerked violently, but rumbled through a deep snore. Baccus sighed and lifted the tutor’s head by their hair. It dropped to the book with a thump.

He shook his head and ran a hand through his sienna brown hair again. He tucked strands of it behind his ear. “Maybe next time, don’t bet the person who has a title for potions.” He sighed again, then turned back to his secret room where he pulled the door closed behind him.