A pout formed on Mom’s lips. “Today? Can’t it wait? We need to devise a plan to find you a husband.”
“It can’t wait.”
Her pout deepened. “Don’t you realize I want to talk to you? How can you be so unfeeling?”
I’d just agreed to go to the Bingley party. What else did she want from me? A part of me wished I’d moved out with Lizzy and Jane, but an internship hardly paid the amount needed for a decent apartment, even when splitting it with roommates. Plus, they’d never so much as asked me. They’d invited Charlotte, Lizzy’s friend, instead.
Perhaps it’s because I was so “unfeeling.”
But I’d spent this long doing my own thing. I wouldn’t start pandering to Mom’s whims now. “Sorry, Mom, but I really need to.”
I hurried to the cemetery, my hand in my pocket fiddling with the scrap of paper. After I finished my internship and received my master’s degree, perhaps I could find a job where I could make enough money to buy my own place. Though I was unaware of anyone in Austen Heights who had an open position for someone whostudied ancient fae texts. That might mean moving out of this small town where I’d lived my entire life. Lizzy and Jane had both left Austen Heights at some point, but they’d both returned. Lizzy had come back mainly because of Dad’s illness.
I’d have to figure out what to do about my life later. I had research to do.
The wrought-iron gate protecting the cemetery stretched upward. Its spikes poked into the clear sky above, except for the fourth one from the end, which resembled a broken tooth. While most people saw only a barrier and a warning, the aged squeaky hinges and rusted metal felt like an old friend beckoning me into their home. The arch above the gate held the wordsAusten Heights Cemeteryin cracked, weathered lettering. Ivy sprawled over the fence, the dried leaves rattling in the breeze that had grown chillier unexpectedly. Standing at the opening, I looked back; Mom conversed with a handful of fae who still deigned to speak with us.
I opened the gate and stepped through the archway. Upon passing onto the hallowed ground, the tenseness in my body melted away. I dropped my shoulders beforesucking in the cool air and letting it out between my lips, enjoying the taste of the damp earth on my tongue.
Sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead, reaching a few of the graves where fresh flowers were laid. My sisters found it morbid that I enjoyed spending time here, but there was something comforting about the stillness of the place and the peaceful presence of those who had long passed. It made me feel grounded, connected, as if I too were part of a larger world other than the limited one I moved in from day-to-day.
I followed the instructions on the paper in my palm, hurrying past the weathered headstones of the Marked and Unmarked that sat scattered between yellowish-green grass. The wetness brushed against my ankles. The ground was wet from a recent watering.
Large upright memorials and flat rectangular ones dotted the space, an unorderly mixture of old and new. I shifted down the rows, looking for the correct grave. A soft, wet mist rolled in, snaking around the grave markers. That was odd. The Maine morning fog had burned off hours ago. My feet slid across the soggy ground. Soon, the haze grew thick enough that I had to squint at the writingon the stones. That was even stranger. How had it gotten this bad so quickly? A shiver coursed through me and I tugged my coat closer. When I came to the right row, I hurried down it, searching for the headstone.
I glanced up and around, my heart dropping. The mist covered the entire cemetery and had risen, blocking out sight of the gate. The sun was nothing more but a dull orb in the gray. My sanctuary had become a ghost’s playground. My hand shook, a sudden drop in temperature made my fingers like ice. Maybe I should head back. The mist continued to thicken until I could barely perceive what was before me as I retraced my steps. I breathed it in. A gust of wind blew through, and the vapor shifted around me, curling in patterns and encircling my legs.
A figure appeared in the haze a few rows away. They glided toward me with an ease that outdid my awkward stumbling. A small laugh erupted from me. Someone else was here. It was silly of me to think my sanctuary would turn against me in such a way. I opened my mouth and advanced to call out to them, when my feet slipped on the wet leaves and I tumbled forward. I didn’t catch myself, and my head collided with the edge of a headstone.
Pain flashed before my eyes, and a dull throbbing started in my skull. I moaned and touched the tender wound and flinched. Words scrawled across my thoughts. A chant, a prayer, a warning. A line from Pastor Collin’s sermon.
Foreswear those witches who deal in death.
Foreswear… witch… death…
My world faded to black.
“Hey, are you okay?”
The spinning cemetery came back into focus as a pair of sharp green eyes stared down at me. I groaned and felt across the ground, my fingers crawling through dirt and grass. Slowly, I lifted myself into a sitting position, leaves falling from my now messy bun. I reached up and resettled my glasses.
“You’re it, huh?” The woman straightened, tossing her long, curly hair over her shoulder and shaking her head. “It had to be one of you Bennets. Well, I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.”
I squinted at her. She looked familiar, but my skull was pounding too much to be certain of anything. I shifted, noticing with dismay a tear in my black skirt. “Do I know you?”
“I know who you are. Coming out of the church after the fae’s worship service, rounded ears.” She flicked her very pointed ears. “Makes you a half-fae Bennet for sure. You’re the sister who spends all her time reading in the cemetery, aren’t you?”
“Not all my time.” I tried to suppress a groan as my head throbbed.
“What was your name again? Maria?”
I sighed. “It’s Mary.”
It was just like Lydia to gossip to her friends that I liked the graveyard. Not that it was a secret, but couldn’t she tell them a different detail if she insisted on talking about me?
Apparently—since the woman stood there not offering help—she didn’t care about my pain-filled condition. So I asked, “I’m sorry, did you need something?”
She let out an annoyed huff. “Lydia said you were observant and smart.”
