September 21, Saturday
THE HOUSE felt emptier than usual today. Sawyer's absence left a palpable void. I wandered from room to room, halfheartedly straightening things and trying not to glance at my phone every five minutes. It was ridiculous to miss him this much. He was just off on reservist duty, not shipped off to war.
"Get it together," I muttered, flopping onto the porch swing with my notebook. But instead of working on my novel, I found myself doodling little gravestones in the margins.
The rumble of engines snapped me out of my funk. A caravan of vehicles rolled by, and I recognized one as belonging to the Benson twins. Curiosity piqued, I set aside my notebook and headed towards the graveyard.
As I approached, the scene that greeted me was far from the spooky ritual I'd half-expected. Instead, I found a cheerful gathering, with folding tables laden with food and people milling about in cozy sweaters.
Tilda Benson, looking less severe than usual in a burnt orange cardigan, spotted me and waved me over. "Josephine! Come join us. We're celebrating Mabon."
"Mabon?" I asked, accepting a steaming mug of what smelled like spiced cider.
"The autumn equinox," Tilda explained. "A time of balance and giving thanks for the harvest."
I nodded, taking in the spread of roasted goose, apple pies, and pumpkin everything. It looked more like Thanksgiving than a witches' sabbath.
Not everyone seemed thrilled by my presence. I caught a few sideways glances and hushed whispers. But hunger and curiosity won out over discomfort, and I soon found myself with a plate piled high with autumn delicacies.
As I savored a bite of perfectly spiced pumpkin pie, I noticed the Benson twins huddled together, giggling over something. They produced a familiar object—–a scrying mirror—and my interest piqued.
"We want to try contacting Rose," one of them announced excitedly.
Tilda's head came up. "Absolutely not. Not here, and certainly not in front of our guest."
The girls pouted but put the mirror away. I seized the moment to ask the question that had been nagging at me.
"Tilda," I said, keeping my voice low, "why do you think Rose was murdered? Sawyer seems convinced it was suicide."
Tilda's eyes flashed. "Rose would never have taken her own life. She was too committed to her family, to our traditions."
"But who would want to hurt her?"
Tilda sighed. "Rose had... enemies. People who didn't understand our ways, who feared her power."
I nodded, processing this. "What about the Whisper House? Who inherits it now?"
"As far as I know, there are no surviving Whisper heirs," Tilda said, but something in her tone made me think of the alleged illegitimate heir mentioned in Wayne's manuscript.
Before I could press further, Tilda turned the tables. "How are things with your ex-boyfriend? Has our little... intervention helped?"
I shook my head. "He seems unfazed. I've decided to handle things legally."
Tilda just shrugged. "Well, good luck with that. The law isn't always equipped to deal with matters of the heart... or the spirit. If you change your mind, bring me the vivianite crystal and we'll try again."
As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the graveyard, the gathering started to disperse. I helped pack up leftover food, earning a few grudging smiles from the group.
Tilda caught my arm as I was about to leave. "I know you're an outsider here, but you're always welcome at our celebrations. The wheel of the year turns for all of us."
I nodded, oddly touched. "Thank you."
As I walked back to The Whisper House, I felt a strange mix of emotions. The sense of community I'd witnessed was appealing, but I couldn't shake the feeling that there were still so many secrets swirling just beneath the surface.
I glanced back at the graveyard, now empty save for the eternal residents. Somewhere out there, Sawyer was going about his reservist duties, probably not thinking about me at all. And yet, here I was, already counting the days until his return.
"Falling for the local hunk and considering joining a coven," I muttered to myself. "Mom would have a stroke."
But as I climbed the porch steps, I couldn't help but smile. Life in Irving might be complicated, but it was certainly never boring.