Chapter Seven
"The Edgeworth cemetery," Nathaniel confirmed, pushing the gate open with a slow, echoing creak.
Inside, rows of stones stretched in careful order, dates carved deep, the name Edgeworth repeated again and again. All the headstones in almost perfect condition.
Nathaniel stopped before a tall monument crowned by a beautiful angel wings spread open and a small bench underneath. "Here lies my father and Mother. Jarred and Rene Edgeworth " His tone was calm, but she caught the sorrow buried beneath it.
She moved closer, her chest tightening as she read the names. Her breath caught. Both stones had the same date of death.
She turned sharply to Nathaniel, her voice little more than a whisper. "They died the same day?"
His storm-gray eyes fixed on the stones, unreadable. "Yes."
Rebecca's pulse quickened. "How?"
Greyson's voice carried from behind them, low, edged with a sorrow that seemed practiced after years of silence. "No one speaks of it plainly. An accident, they said. But accidents are rare in Hollow's Edge. Some truths are buried deeper than stone."
Rebecca's gaze shifted, her steps drawing her toward a smaller stone set slightly apart. She squinted in the starlight.
Her heart lurched. Weatherman.
The name cut through her like lightning.
She knelt, brushing her fingers over the faded carving Tina Weatherman. Her grandmother. A date of death was etched beneath her name, but it was a lie Tina had vanished, never found, never buried. Her voice broke. "They gave her a grave. But she was never here."
Nathaniel stood beside her, his shadow stretching long in the moonlight. "Some disappearances are easier to explain with stone. Even when the earth below is empty."
Rebecca pressed her palm to the cold marble, her breath shallow. 8:45 and dark out, and yet she felt as if the night itself leaned closer, listening.
Nathaniel crouched at her side, his storm-gray eyes steady. "You see, Rebecca. In Hollow's Edge, the living and the dead share the same ground. And bloodlines " His voice softened, almost reverent. "Bloodlines do not end. Not here."
The angel's shadow loomed over them, wings spread wide against the starlight, as if guarding secrets the town refused to release.
Rebecca's hand lingered on the cold marble of her grandmother's false grave, her breath shallow. The names carved into the stones around her blurred through the faintness still clinging to her. Tina. Jarred. Eleanor. All of them bound to Hollow's Edge in silence and stone.
The world tilted. Rebecca's vision blurred, the headstone swimming in front of her eyes. A wave of dizziness struck, harder than before stronger even than the faintness in the cafe. Her stomach knotted, her ears filled with rushing blood.
She fell sideways, never hitting the ground
Nathaniel's arm was around her instantly, pulling her back against him before she could fall to the earth. His smell cedar, smoke surrounded her, grounding her even as the world spun.
"Easy," he murmured, his voice low, steady. "Breathe."
Her hand drifted instinctively to her abdomen, trembling over the secret Greyson had whispered hours before. A child. Her child.
Nathaniel's grip on her elbow tightened slightly, steady, unyielding. His storm-gray eyes swept over her face. "You shouldn't be out here any longer."
Her voice came thin, trembling. "It feels like the ground itself is watching."
A faint curve touched his lips not quite a smile more of a smirk. "It is. The dead keep their vigil here.
She swayed again, the dizziness threatening to return. Nathaniel drew her closer, wrapping around her. His voice dropped, quiet but firm.
"Let's get you back to the house."
Rebecca wanted to protest, to say she could stand, that she didn't need him. But the words stuck in her throat. She let him guide her from the cemetery, the iron gate creaking shut behind them with a sound that felt final, like a lock turning.
The walk back blurred in her mind the crunch of gravel, the looming shapes of oaks, the faint glow of Edgeworth House growing closer. By the time they reached the porch, her legs were trembling with exhaustion.
Nathaniel stopped at the door, his gaze lingering on her, unreadable. "This house and no one in it will ever harm you, Rebecca," he said softly. "Not while you are under its roof."
She shivered at the words meant as reassurance, but heavy with something else.
A Promise.
A Warning.
When the door opened and Greyson stepped into the hall light, Rebecca sagged with relief. But even as the warmth of the house swallowed her, the chill of the cemetery clung to her skin. She passed out.
Greyson kept pace beside them, his voice a low murmur meant to soothe. "It's the strain. The shock. His eyes flicked briefly to Nathaniel, then down at Rebecca. "She needs rest. A quiet room. Now"
Nathaniel didn't argue. He lifted her effortlessly, cradling her against his chest. The world rocked as he carried her, Rebecca's cheek pressed against the smooth fabric of his coat. She heard the steady beat of his heart, faster than she expected, and hated how it calmed her even as fear twisted her stomach.
Nathaniel's voice was softer than she'd ever heard it. "The west wing will do."
She shouldn't have been out there" Greyson said, his voice strained. "Her body is already under stress. She needed quiet, not shadows and stones.
Nathaniel's tone was calm, almost resigned. "She needed to see. She had to know."
Carolina's voice cut through the night, smooth and cold. "What she needed is irrelevant. The blood has returned. It carries forward. That is all that matters."
Rebecca's pulse thundered. The blood carries forward. "What the Hell does that even mean?"
Greyson's voice dropped lower, edged with defiance. "You speak as though she's nothing but a vessel for old rites. Rebecca is more than your legacy, Mother."
Carolina's reply was soft, almost a hiss. "Do not be naïve, Greyson. You know what this place is. The Weathermans carried Fire and water the Edgeworths carried stone and wind and both families have been bound to Hollow's Edge through more than marriage. Through oaths. Through blood. Through witchcraft older than any church standing."
The word struck Rebecca's ears like a spark: witchcraft.
Rebecca's eyelids fluttered as darkness threatened to swallow her whole. The last thing she saw before it took her was the glow of th fireplace.