Chapter Thirty-Six-Donny
Later that same day.
“Gryn, I’ve been to the cemetery every single day since Grandpa Al first showed up to me, and I haven’t seen a ghostly hair or heard a single spectral sigh since,” I muttered, hugging myself.
“Because you have not returned alone,” Gryn sniffed.
“I am still not alone!” I snapped, immediately regretting how petulant I sounded.
Like some baby Witch who lost her wand at daycare. Ugh.
“I am not other,” Gryn said, his voice low and resonant. “I am an extension of you, as your familiar. Now, lead the way to the grave.”
He gestured like he was inviting me into battle, not a graveyard.
Dramatic little fuzzball.
“Um, Gryn? When we’re done, do you think you could do a line from Terminator for me?” I asked, because honestly, his accent would slay with a “I’ll be back.”
“I am not Austrian,” he grumbled. “And this is no joke.”
But I caught it—the tiniest twitch at the corner of his grumpy little mouth.
Ha. Victory.
He’d never admit it, but he was warming up to me. And not just because of my Bear’s scones.
Finally.
I should also mention said scones were amazeballs.
All puns intended.
Snort. Chortle.
Focus, Donny.
We walked in silence toward the cemetery, our shoes crunching over fallen leaves in glorious shades of pumpkin, paprika, and caramel.
Castor’s Corner was absolutely dripping with Autumn, and it would’ve been dreamy if not for the fact that I was basically a pariah.
People avoided my gaze like I was the literal plague.
The very same people I’d pampered, highlighted, and glamorized for years now couldn’t even muster a polite hello.
My gut twisted.
My salon was a ghost town, and it wasn’t just business—it was my magic, my pride, my calling.
But the kicker? Half these Witches were walking around with brassy roots, patchy dye jobs, and tragic man buns.
Like please. Have some dignity.
I smiled tightly at a few familiar faces, but not one met my eyes.
“When we arrive, Vesterka,” Gryn said, his tone reverent, “you must allow your insight to guide you. I have called Ivan and Petyr. Your Trifecta is on the way. But there is something you must do first.”
I groaned but nodded. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was at the edge of something bigger than I was ready for—but also something I had to face.
Then a zap stung my left butt cheek.
“Goddess! I didn’t even curse that time!” I yelped, rubbing my rear.
“Stop taunting the divine,” Gryn said primly, pointing ahead like the world's sassiest, furriest tour guide.
Reluctantly, I stepped off the path, following my intuition toward the Castorini Mausoleum.
My outfit of the day—a Tom Ford satin ombré blouse-and-wide-leg-pants combo—billowed around me like enchanted leaves.
I was fall fabulous and refusing to hide from the world, even if the world had decided to blacklist me.
I hummed under my breath, letting my magic swell inside me like a tide. With every step, the sensation grew stronger.
Warmer.
Like something inside me had finally clicked back into place. My fingers tingled, my chest lifted, and for the first time in days, I felt like me again.
Powerful. Purposeful. Ready.
“That’s it, Vesterka,” Gryn whispered behind me. “So close to what you are meant for.”
I turned to thank him—just in time to see he’d stopped walking, his big eyes fixed on me like a proud little battle general.
Then I noticed it.
Nestled behind the mausoleum, half-buried in fallen leaves and moss, was a circle of jagged stones.
The energy coming off it made my stomach clench.
“Is that a circle?” I asked, pointing.
A low moan echoed through the air, and suddenly the mausoleum shimmered with swirling black smoke.
Then he appeared.
Grandpa Al.
Same sorrowful eyes.
Same gaping ghostly groin wound.
Still dead. Still stuck. And still sad.
My heart squeezed.
“Donatella? You’ve returned to help me? I thought you had decided I was not worthy,” he said mournfully, fading in and out of view.
My chest ached. “No, Grandpa. No. I’ve been back—every day. But I wasn’t alone, and I guess that blocked you from reaching me.”
“I see, ragazza. You tried. Just please tell Evie and Bella I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. And sorrier still, I won’t be able to see you in the Next Amazing Journey.”
“No! Wait—don’t fade! Look, I found this!” I pointed desperately to the circle of rocks.
The second I got closer, nausea rolled through me like a wave.
My magic recoiled instinctively.
“What, Vesterka? It’s a Ghost-repelling circle, no?”
I shook my head.
No, this wasn’t the typical graveyard circle of stones.
There was something wrong with this spell. Anchored in hate, in fear, in petty vengeance.
It was dark magic. Designed to repel? Yes. Like a traditional banishment ward. But something was off.
I searched the ether, pulling on all my knowledge and instincts as I tried to get a read on what this circle of stones was for. And when it hit me, it hit hard.
“This isn’t here to banish the dead from the cemetery. It’s to trap a soul in limbo.”
“Don’t touch it yet,” Gryn barked. “You must understand what it is first.”
Grandpa Al clutched his chest, groaning. “So much hate, it burns me. Donatella, you must not face this alone. Call your cousins. They will help—”
“No,” I said, voice shaking. “I got this.”
The magic in me swelled, golden and wild, and I dropped to my knees in the grass.
I didn’t know who cast this spell.
I didn’t know why.
But I knew one thing for sure.
No one was going to take my family from me. Alive or dead.
Not this time.
Not ever.