Inside the greenhouse, warmth and humidity washed over me, a sudden and unpleasant shift from the crispness outside. “Cris?”
There was no response as I walked between the rows of orchids and other flowers I didn’t recognize. This was the second greenhouse, the one I hadn’t been inside yet; I wished Cris were here to tell me what all these flowers were.
I turned off the light and shut the door behind me, and met Sam on the front steps, picking the lock. Why did anyone bother to lock things?
He ushered me in first, out of the falling snow. “I called his SED. He didn’t answer.”
“He might have gone back to Purple Rose Cottage to get those roses. He said he might.” I stepped farther into the cluttered house. “Cris?” I yelled again. Only the eerie quiet answered, thickened by the sheet of white forming outside. If he’d gone to Purple Rose, surely he would have covered his garden here first.
Plants and journals filled the parlor and all connecting rooms I could see. Shelves held pots and trays of seeds. Heat lamps stood in two corners, though I couldn’t tell what they warmed. It was practically another greenhouse, though some of these plants looked edible. The whole place smelled green and loamy and floral.
I followed Sam into the kitchen. “What’s that?”
He was in the process of lifting a tray of seedlings and picking out a folded sheet of paper from beneath it. “This is yours.”
How could he tell? “Yeah, he said he had a few thoughts.”
The paper was damp and smudged with soil, but Sam carefully unfolded it on the tabletop to reveal the list I’d given Cris after our gardening lesson. “Look.” He brushed away dirt.
I pressed my shoulder against his and peered at the new lines on the page. “‘Gate or portal? Arch?’” The symbol next to Cris’s guesses did look like an archway, but only if I tilted my head.
“That seems reasonable enough.”
Hmming, I swept more dirt aside. Damp grains stuck to my fingers. “I remember this one.” I tapped a symbol that was a pair of vertical wavy lines, thick slashes between them like shading. “‘Shadow. Darkness. Nighttime.’ I was looking at it the wrong way.”
“How do you mean?”
Thoughts snapped, clicked together like the first time I’d understood a waltz had three beats, not four. Suddenly it made sense.
I bounced on my toes. “I get it!”
Sam put on his most expectant look. “The writing?”
“No, why paper cuts hurt worse than knife wounds.” I rolled my eyes. “Of course I meant the writing.”
“All right. I don’t get it.”
I made my fingers like a spider on the paper and turned it around and around. “This is what I was doing when I was trying to read the spiral. Turning the book upside down when I reached the top of the spiral. That’s also how I copied the symbols, like this one.” I pointed at the one Cris had marked “gate.”
“But?”
“Why would anyone write like that in something as unwieldy as a book? They’d spend all their reading time turning the book around and getting dizzy. This symbol”—again I pointed at the gate symbol—“was on the side of the spiral when I copied it. That’s why it’s sideways now.”
Understanding bloomed on Sam’s face. “So you read in a spiral, but all the symbols are oriented the same, no matter their location.”
“Exactly.” I bounced again, and Sam twitched a smile. “I get it! I love that feeling. I want to go read all the books right now.”
He stared at me like I’d grown a second set of eyes. “You said lo—” His mouth made a line as he looked away. “Well, Cris isn’t here. Shall we try the next person?”
As soon as he spoke, I halted mid-bounce. I’d said love. Out loud. Did I mean it? Did he expect me to say it to him now? There was a huge difference between loving a feeling or event—and loving a person.
I felt like a whirlwind, with all my thoughts and emotions. Or maybe they were whirlwinds, and I was just a butterfly or blue rose.
“Sure.” Trying—and failing—to pretend like nothing happened, I shook the rest of the soil off the paper and put it in my pocket. Cris had left only a few guesses, and they might be wrong, but they’d be good places to start.
“Whit is next.” He led me through the maze of potted plants and out the door. Snow fell thicker, a solid white coat. “I don’t think the weather will let up any time soon. We may have to quit early, before it gets too difficult to walk. Home is on the other side of the city.”
As we emerged onto the road again, I looked southwest toward our house, but there was only dark and snow. And the temple light making a million flakes shimmer as they fell.