Page 8 of Grave Expectations

“Just checking, it is flu season,” her mother reminded her. “Anyway, who is it that I’m supposed to be seeing?”

“A spirit! A ghost!” Roz exclaimed.

“Perhaps she can hear me. Hello, Mrs. Graves? It is I, Alaric Blackwood, beloved founder,” Alaric said. Roz rolled her eyes.

“Are you sure?” Sadie asked carefully. “What does he look like?”

“He’s…transparent. At first, it was just his voice, then…” She trailed off.

“Then?” Sadie pressed.

“Then he was fully visible, well—except for being transparent. The farther he gets from me, the less visible he is. He said I…tethered him,” Roz said. She knew what tethered meant, just not in a magical sense. She’d never heard such a phrase before.

“He did?” Sadie asked, her eyebrows raising. “Interesting.”

“You don’t believe me.” Roz deflated.

“Oh, no, I do. Absolutely. I just…” Sadie trailed off, her gaze darting to the empty spaces around Roz.

“It’s fine,” Roz sighed. “Maybe I am sick. Maybe when I fell, I hit my head on the statue and this is a hallucination. Maybe I’m in a really long, very realistic dream? That makes way more sense than—” She stopped abruptly.

“Than what?” Sadie asked.

“Nothing,” Roz muttered. Sadie frowned and placed a tentative hand on Roz’s shoulder. It was stiff, a quick pat, like she was petting Albie and not comforting her daughter.

“One day your gifts will come out, you’re just a late bloomer,” Sadie reassured, misunderstanding Roz’s hesitation. Of course she didn’t understand. Sadie had never understood Roz or Delia. They were daughters of a long line of necromancers, which apparently ended with them. At least Delia could do something cool, like rot stuff. Roz couldn’t do anything.

Somehow, it hurt worse knowing her mother didn’t believe she was capable of whatever magic Alaric thought she performed.

“It’s fine. Thanks for talking to me, Mom,” Roz said, turning to leave her mother’s home. Sadie didn’t try to stop her as the door banged shut behind her. She took several deep breaths on the porch before continuing down the street, back to the cemetery.

“Why did you not tell your mother of the blood?” Alaric asked, keeping easy pace next to her. Ghosts didn’t have lungs, so she doubted floating around town was particularly exhausting.

“I don’t know, didn’t seem important,” Roz said evasively.

“You’ve no skill for lying,” Alaric commented.

“I know,” Roz said, but still didn’t answer him. He was quiet until they turned onto Main Street.

“I can consult my books,” Alaric offered.

“Sure, let me break them out of the museum,” Roz said quietly, her lips barely moving.

“I cannot hear you when you talk like that,” he commented.

“Yes, well, I don’t want the town seeing me talking to thin air. If my mother couldn’t see you, no one can,” she said in the same clipped way.

“Well, does your family have books on necromancy?”

“My family is the book,” Roz said.

“Your aunts would not be keen on you asking them,” Alaric said, though it was not a question.

“How would you know that?”

“You’ve told me of them once or twice,” Alaric said, his turn to be evasive. Roz rubbed her forehead and grimaced.

“You’ve really listened to ten years of me blabbering?” Roz asked.