Page 25 of Grave Expectations

“You’re already dead,” Franny said flatly.

“To Rosalin,” he clarified. “To be closer to the spirit world.”

“Goddess, no. We necromancers spend our whole lives with half our body in the spirit world and half in the mortal world. Even without the gift, Roz has the strength of the Graves name. She could travel to the spirit realm and remain there for years and return no worse for the journey. So is the story of some of the greatest necromancers.” Franny paused before speaking once more. “You do not intend to stay tethered to her, do you?”

“I promised to help him pass,” Roz said.

“That’s not what I asked,” Franny said pointedly.

“I would never ask such a thing of Rosalin,” Alaric said.

“Good, because it is cruel. She is young, full of potential. She only has a few more years of childbearing age”—Roz sat up straighter, her mouth open to protest, but Franny continued on—“and it should not be deterred by a spirit hanging around her every moment. You may feel like you owe her, and in many ways you do. The best way to repay her is to cross over and let her live her life.”

The blob that was Franny pivoted, as if to regard Selma. “Is this all you needed from me?”

“You could have stopped at the book you hid,” Selma said. “Save the tirade for your crochet group.”

“Good luck finding it. It’s truly buried. The secrets will die, as they should have. The blob bristled and disappeared with a quiet pop. Selma stared at the space where Franny had been for a moment, then turned to looked at Roz and Alaric.

“She’s a tough nut, but she means well. Projecting a little, I think. I have keys to her cottage, if you want to snoop around.” Selma started to stand and Alaric scrambled to his feet, holding a hand out to help her up.

“Handsome and chivalrous. Don’t find that among the living,” she said, winking at Roz. She patted Alaric on the shoulder and kissed Roz on the cheek. She fished through her bag, pulling out a keyring and removing a single key from it to hand to Roz. “Just remember, Franny is dead, and you’re alive.” Then she tottered down the hill and out the gate.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Was she always like that?” Alaric asked. He’d waited until they’d left the cemetery, falling easily into step with Roz as she stomped out the gate and down Main Street. Times like these called for serious magic to improve her mood.

“Like what?” Roz asked.

“I can think of several words that would have put me in the gallows as a youth,” he said. Roz sighed and stopped, turning to Alaric.

“She just wanted to make sure the Graves line continues,” she said. “She was the matriarch, and she never had children of her own. When Delia and I didn’t show obvious skill at necromancy as children, she decided it was her job to teach us. Delia at least had her decay, but I had nothing. She was just afraid.”

“That’s a kind thing to say about someone so cruel to you.”

“That’s just…how she was. To everyone. I learned not to take it personally,” Roz said.

“May I be honest?”

“Sure.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

Roz spun away from him to march back down the street, but he was quick to cut her off. “You don’t have to protect her.”

“I’m not,” she said, stepping around him. He moved again, blocking her from advancing down the street.

“It can be true that she was cruel to you, and it can be true that she did it out of fear for the Graves name. Still, it does not give her an excuse. Even now, you refuse to malign her. It speaks greatly about your character.”

“What? That I’m a pushover?” Roz asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Would a pushover flaunt that her accidental magic was stronger than her aunt’s intentional magic?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That did feel good,” she admitted. She glanced up in time to see Gertrude, the town gossip, staring right at her. Gertrude might have been all of four-foot-nine and look older than Pumpkin Hollow, but she was spry when it came to spreading rumors. How did Roz look just now, weaving on the sidewalk, talking to herself? They all knew she was a failed necromancer, she didn’t even have a potential ghost to hide behind.

“Shit,” she cursed. Alaric turned to follow her gaze, frowning. “She can’t see me?”

“No, I suppose it’s just the necromancers,” Roz sighed.