Chapter 5 Blood Bat Flowers

Lily's POV

Deep crimson blooms with bat-shaped petals hung in clusters from delicate stems. Their centers were nearly black, and dark purple veins traced intricate patterns across each petal's surface.

Even in the greenhouse's artificial light, they seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy, as if harboring some terrible secret. Blood bat flowers. I'd recognize them anywhere.

My fingernails dug into my palms. These were the exact flowers from my father's whiskey bottles—the embossed image that had become synonymous with pain in my childhood. Blake's most destructive creation. Shadow Brew.

"Blood bat flowers," Mrs. Bennett announced proudly. "Our most valuable crop."

My wolf thrashed violently within me, a primal howl of recognition and fear echoing through my consciousness. She remembered the scent that hung in the air on those terrible nights—when my father's eyes would glow with unnatural aggression after drinking Blake's concoction.

"Are you familiar with them?" Mrs. Bennett asked, misinterpreting my rigid posture as fascination.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to remain steady. "I've... seen them before."

Mrs. Bennett's eyes narrowed slightly, her head tilting as she studied my face. "You've gone quite pale, dear. Most people are simply fascinated, but you look..." She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "You look almost afraid of them."

I shifted my weight, creating distance between myself and the flowers. "I just... I've heard stories."

"Ah," she nodded knowingly, her expression softening. "The rumors. Yes, they do have quite the reputation." She reached out to gently stroke one of the bat-shaped petals. "In moonlight, they emit this haunting red glow and release the most intoxicating scent. Quite literally intoxicating, as it turns out."

My stomach twisted. "These flowers... what are they used for exactly?" I already knew the answer, but needed to hear it confirmed.

Mrs. Bennett smiled. "Blake's tavern purchases our entire harvest for their signature Shadow Brew. That famous liquor everyone in the valley raves about—it's made from these beauties."

The pieces clicked together with sickening clarity. Here I stood, being asked to nurture the very source of the poison that had destroyed my childhood. The cruel irony made me dizzy.

"You should know," Mrs. Bennett continued, her tone becoming serious as she pulled on thick gardening gloves, "these aren't just ordinary flowers. They're toxic in their raw form."

She gestured to the serrated edges of the leaves. "Never handle them without gloves. The edges are razor-sharp, and even a small cut can introduce the toxin directly into your bloodstream."

My eyes widened. "What happens if someone gets cut?"

Mrs. Bennett's lips pressed into a thin line. "Hallucinations, fever, and in severe cases..." She shook her head. "Well, let's just say we've lost a gardener or two over the years who didn't take the warnings seriously."

"But people drink it in alcohol form," I said, trying to keep the accusation from my voice.

"The distillation process neutralizes the lethal components," she explained, her voice taking on a lecturer's tone. "The fermentation and dilution transform the poison into something that enhances werewolf senses rather than killing outright."

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Though between us, it's still not exactly healthy. Especially for the wolf part of a werewolf. The toxin stimulates the wolf senses but hurts them as well—creates an imbalance."

"You look pale, dear. Are you feeling alright?" Mrs. Bennett's brow furrowed with concern.

I forced my breathing to slow, unclenching my fists with deliberate effort. "Just a bit warm in here. I'm fine."

"The potency of Shadow Brew varies greatly," she continued, seemingly eager to share her knowledge. "Blake produces three varieties—the 'Midnight' which is the most diluted, the 'Blood Moon' at medium strength, and the 'Alpha's Reserve'..."

Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of respect and fear. "That one's so concentrated only alphas can handle it without losing control. Rumor has it Blake drinks it straight."

As Mrs. Bennett explained the precise care these plants required, I found myself torn between revulsion and professional curiosity. My fingers trembled as she demonstrated how to check the soil moisture, how to prune the stems for maximum yield.

"The tavern pays cash, no questions asked," she emphasized. "Don't mess this up—they're our most important client."

I nodded mechanically, bile rising in my throat. Would I now become complicit in causing the same suffering I had endured? My wolf growled inside me, urging me to destroy these plants, to rip them from their pots and end their toxic influence.

Yet as I reluctantly touched one of the leaves, something unexpected happened. The plant itself felt... innocent. Beneath my fingertips, it was just organic matter—cells and chlorophyll and life force. There was a strange beauty to its structure, a perfection of evolution that had nothing to do with how we chose to use it.

"I've never worked with blood bat flowers before," I admitted, my voice steadier than I expected.

For the next hour, I forced myself to focus on the technical aspects of caring for these plants. Gradually, my breathing calmed. The scientific part of my brain began to separate the flower from its application. The plant itself hadn't chosen to become a drug; it was simply following its nature.

"The soil retention reminds me of mountain purple sage," I said, testing the dampness with my fingertips. "And the way they turn toward indirect light is similar to woodland mallow."

Mrs. Bennett looked impressed. "That's... exactly right. Most people take weeks to understand these patterns."

By the time we finished in the greenhouse, I had reached an uneasy truce with the blood bat flowers. I couldn't change what Blake did with them, but perhaps understanding them was its own form of power. Knowledge was never the enemy—only how it was wielded.

As we closed up shop, Mrs. Bennett counted out my first day's pay, adding a bonus for what she called my "natural touch." The irony wasn't lost on me—earning money by tending to the source of my past suffering.

The ride into town gave me time to process my complicated feelings. With each pedal stroke, my initial shock and anger gradually transformed into something more nuanced. These plants weren't evil—they were just plants. Blake was the one who had twisted their properties into something destructive.

After purchasing gifts for Martha and Silver, I cycled home as dusk settled over the valley. The house was completely dark when I arrived, triggering an immediate sense of unease.

Cautiously, I approached the front door. "Martha? Silver? Is anyone home?"

Darkness greeted me. I fumbled along the wall for the light switch, my mind still partially occupied with thoughts of the blood bat flowers. Perhaps this was karma—I would nurture the very plant that had indirectly led to my suffering. Or perhaps it was an opportunity to reclaim something that had been used against me.

My fingers found the switch, and I flipped it upward.

"SURPRISE!"