Page 9 of Grave Expectations

“Well, I’m not always there. But, yes, I find your presence comforting. I tried to stay near my statue whenever you were most likely to be there.” He said it so matter-of-fact, as though it wasn’t weird that his ghostly form engaged in a one-sided conversation with her for ten years.

Roz didn’t trust herself to speak, so she didn’t.

“Does this bother you? I can step back to wherever I was, if you’d like,” he said.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Roz said with a sigh. She’d forgotten she was speaking to thin air until one of the citizens of the town stared at her with an inquisitive look on his face.

Today was not looking good for the public perception of her sanity.

“Ah, yes. I shall remain quiet until we are back in the cemetery,” he whispered. She had to bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from smiling.

Albie greeted them just beyond the gates, stretching in his slow manner before falling into step with her. “I still have a ton of stuff to do,” she said.

“And I have all the time in the world,” Alaric replied.

He kept her company while she cleaned up the rest of the cemetery. “So, what’s your plan for me freeing you?” Roz asked as she raked more leaves. It was much harder with her scabbed palms, but she didn’t complain.

“I was hoping your family would know something,” Alaric admitted.

“Me too,” Roz said.

“Perhaps if you told them about the blood…”

“I can’t. It’s…well, blood isn’t really a thing for necromancers. It’s actually kinda forbidden. Necromancy deals with the dead, blood is of the living. They shouldn’t mix,” Roz said.

“And yet,” Alaric replied, “here we are.”

Yes, here we are.

“What kind of witch were you?” Roz asked suddenly.

“I’m not a witch,” Alaric said.

“You’re not? Why not?” Roz asked.

Alaric shrugged. “I was not born one. I was accepted into the coven because I was handy, and to be honest, I was courting one of the members.”

“You had a girlfriend?” Roz asked. “That’s not written anywhere.”

“She died,” he said.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Roz replied.

“It’s been a long time. We were young, she was sick, and…well. I stayed with the coven, and then the inquisition came and I took up the mantle of a preacher. I have no magic in my blood, so if any of their tests proved accurate, I’d evade detection.”

“And yet you were willing to die for them,” Roz said quietly.

“I’m sure they were very surprised,” Alaric said, turning to stare over the expanse of the cemetery.

“With what is written about you…” She trailed off.

“You are absolved of all sins when you die, it seems. I’ve visited the museum, read my epitaph, seen countless reenactments of my alleged end. It doesn’t matter now, I am not that man anymore.”

“For better or for worse?” Roz asked.

Alaric considered her question for a long moment, his gaze still trained over the cemetery. Not a witch. Just a man who fell in love with a witch and became tangled in their world. When he spoke again, it was quiet, thoughtful. “With three hundred years of hindsight, I hope at least a little for the better.”

Roz finished the last of her chores just as the sun dipped below the horizon. Alaric never strayed far, always visible at the corner of her eye. She gathered the gardening tools, trying to stack them all in her arms to avoid multiple trips.