Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
PRESENT DAY - PUMPKIN HOLLOW
Rosalin Graves collected the dead and dying flowers from the base of Alaric Blackwood’s grave.
“You know,” she said to the grave and statue that sat above it, “if you were still alive, you’d have so many fanfics written about you.
” She paused, looking up at his serious face.
Every statue of him in town was the same—mouth turned down in a slight frown, strong jaw.
A total babe, three hundred years dead, frozen at thirty-two to frown disapprovingly down at the town he died protecting.
“How does one explain fanfic to someone from the 1600s?” she mused.
An errant breeze tugged at her black dress and tore a few petals from the dead flowers in her arms. Times like this made her think perhaps the spirit of the founder still hung around, hidden from her and every other necromancer that came before her.
Nah—Roz had some powerful necromancers in her family. Great Aunt Franny lived to almost one hundred. If he was here, they would have spoken to him. She supposed being hung, quartered, and burned, with your ashes spread all over the mountains made it hard to reach you in the afterlife.
It’s why Roz didn’t mind sitting on the grave when she knit or read books, because there was no one buried there. Just a statue, a marker for the infamous Alaric.
“Marigold could use these flowers more than you,” she told the statue, lifting the wilted items. “She’s the owner of the tea house. I don’t know the ethics of taking flowers from a grave for tea, but given how powerful grave dirt is, I’m sure she’ll like it. Anyway, see ya later.”
She waved and let out a low whistle. The black mass at the base of the statue stirred, opening one eye to regard Roz.
“C’mon, Albie, we’ve errands to run,” she scolded the dog.
He sighed the deep sigh that only a pampered pet could make before unfurling his long limbs and stretching.
He made a good show of it, then shook off the dirt that clung to his hairless body before trotting to her side.
She stroked the small tuft of hair on the top of his head affectionally before setting off toward the town.
Roz turned down the Main Street of Pumpkin Hollow, adjusting the scarf around her neck.
The trees lining the street had just finished turning from green to the reds, oranges and browns of fall.
This was Roz’s favorite time of the year.
She knew it was awfully stereotypical for a necromancer, but hey, Roz didn’t mind being a basic witch.
Her first stop was the tea house, where she left the flowers with the barista. The barista took them gingerly, pinching the stems between two fingers.
“Thanks,” she said, careful to avoid touching Roz as she took them.
“Let Marigold know I can bring more by, if she has use for them. If she wants to talk face to face, we can do that too. I’m free next week,” Roz said. The barista nodded, still holding the flowers before her like one might hold something radioactive.
“No pets inside, service animals only,” the barista added. Albie looked up at Roz as though he understood, blinking at her expectantly.
“Sorry,” Roz said, her face warming as she turned to leave, passing several other animals that turned to watch her go with interest.
“Well, one errand down,” Roz told Albie. They continued down the street. Roz waved to the townspeople she recognized. Most pretended not to see her, others gave a brief lift of their hand before crossing the street.
“Wait here,” Roz told Albie before pushing open the door to the diner. “If you’re good, I’ll give you a snack.” Albie cocked his head at the familiar word, sitting with such force there was an audible thump.
The diner was crowded with the early dinner crowd, with only one empty seat at the bar. Roz plopped into it, trying to catch the waitresses’ attention. The man next to Roz opened his mouth to say something, his jaw snapping shut when he saw her.
“I was just about to leave,” he said quickly.
“Oh, I’m just picking up an order, I shouldn’t be long,” Roz told him with a beaming smile.
“Right,” the man said, scooting his chair away from her.
“Here ya go,” the waitress said, plopping down a plastic bag in front of Roz. She opened it and inhaled the scent, groaning.
“These smell amazing,” she said.
“Fresh-baked this afternoon,” the waitress said, stepping back so she stood just out of Roz’s reach. Roz pulled several bills from her purse and set them on the counter.
“Thanks,” Roz said, collecting her things and leaving the diner.
Albie sat just where she left him, watching her expectantly. “Alright,” she said, pulling one of the fresh rolls from the bag. It steamed in the cool air. Roz broke it in half and fed Albie a piece, taking the other half for herself. She licked the butter from her fingers and sighed.
“One last stop,” she told Albie, heading back toward the cemetery to the large house that sat on the outskirts. She knocked a few times, waiting for one of the four women that lived there to answer. Rather than leave it at the door to get eaten by raccoons, she left a note.
To my beloved twin and her broommates,
Fresh rolls at mi casa. Don’t make me eat them all.
Love,
Roz
She turned to the cemetery, making one final round before closing it up for the night.
A lone figure stood over a grave, speaking softly to the stone. Roz gave him space, taking two more turns around the cemetery before she approached him.
“Rowen? It’s closing time,” she said, offering a half-smile. The man jumped, his wide eyes settling on Roz.
“Oh, sorry,” he said quickly.
“Hey, it’s no biggie. Want a roll?” she asked, reaching into the bag and extending one to him.
“I have something sweeter at home,” he said, and she swore she saw a blush creep over his face before he turned away from the grave.
“Alright, safe travels!” she called after him, closing and locking the gate. She trudged across the cemetery, passing Alaric’s grave on the way to her house.
“Another fine day in Pumpkin Hollow,” she told him, patting the base of the statue.
“I should be used to it, but it stings, you know? It’s always ‘Avoid the necromancer even her family doesn’t like’ and never ‘Hey Roz, thanks for settling my grandma last week!’ or ‘Roz, wonderful job keeping the graves clean, I’m sure my ancestors approve! ’
“Ignore me, this time of the year is weird. The Halloween festival is just around the corner, and I have no one to go with. Yes, I know I can go with Delia, but I don’t want to be a…fifth wheel? Whatever. I’ll just go alone. Again.”
She looked up at the handsome face of the founder, sighing. “Totally first-world problems. My entire line would be dead if it weren’t for you. Don’t think I’m some ungrateful whippersnapper,” she said, pointing finger guns at him. “I am. I’m just…” she trailed off, then shook her head.
“Night, Alaric,” she said, turning to her cottage.
The breeze tickled her hair and pulled her scarf free, and for a moment she thought she heard “Goodnight, Roz.”
But it was just the breeze.