Zinnia had every intention of scolding the boy for daring to parade stinkweed anywhere near the shop, but as soon as she stepped outside into the heat, another spell, one that wasn’t quite so foul or skunky, filled her nose. It was warmer, better. She blinked, startled at how clearly it announced itself, cutting through the stench as if it meant to remind her of itself.

Her eyes dropped to the armful of weeds the boy clutched, and then darted to the street beyond, nose lifting slightly as though she could follow the richer scent to its source. “If you help me find what smells good,” Zinnia started, her hands curling on her hips, “We can forget about the stink you’ve already brought to my door.” Her nose twitched again, following that ghost of a scent that clung stubbornly under the weed’s stink.

“Charley,” Zin turned just enough to face her. “Make sure he doesn’t slip away, please?” Because although Zinnia doubted the boy was going to cause a ruckus with the stinkweed, she didn’t want him leaving it near the shop for whatever reason – they’d never get the stench out of the flowers.

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