Chapter 8
Sleep came in fits, restless and shallow. When it finally held her, it dragged Rebecca into something that felt heavier than dreaming.
She stood in her grandmother's old house the one she now lived in but it wasn't as she knew it. The air smelled of lavender and smoke, the walls glowing faintly as though lit by fire. The photographs on the mantle shifted, faces blurring until only one remained sharp Tina Weatherman.
Her grandmother's eyes followed her, sharp and unblinking.
Rebecca turned, and the house changed around her. She was in the cemetery again, the angel's wings casting a shadow over the stones. But the ground beneath Tina's marker split open, soil crumbling away, and pale hands reached from the earth.
"Rebecca." The voice was her grandmother's, but softer, as though carried through water. "You've come. You've come to finish what I could not."
Rebecca's breath caught. "Grandma?"
The figure rose from the grave not skeletal, not whole, but shimmering, caught between life and shadow. Tina's face was pale but beautiful, her eyes lit with a strange fire. She reached toward Rebecca, her hand shaking.
"They silenced me," Tina whispered. "But you you carry more than my name. You carry the continuation." Her hand brushed Rebecca's abdomen, cold as ice, and Rebecca cried out at the touch.
The cemetery dissolved, and suddenly Rebecca stood in a library again. The shelves leaned in, books whispering in voices she couldn't understand. At the far end, Tina stood again, draped in shadows, her mouth forming words Rebecca couldn't hear.
Behind her, another figure loomed tall, still, storm-gray eyes watching. Nathaniel. But some how it wasn't him. But it wasn't the picture of his father either. Who was she kidding this was a nightmare.
Rebecca's pulse thundered. "What do you want from me?" she shouted, but the words vanished into the silence.
Tina's mouth moved again, louder now, her voice threading through the dream.
"Remember, Rebecca. The grave is not the end. The blood is never buried." The Blood has returned it carries foward."
The angel's wings closed over her vision and the dream was over.
Rebecca stirred in the night, tangled in the lavender-scented sheets. The dream of her grandmother still clung to her skin, her voice echoing in her ears: the blood is never buried.
The blood has returned it carries forward.
Her eyes cracked open. The room was dim, only the faintest silver light spilling through a gap in the curtains.
And there at the doorway.
A figure. Still. Tall.
Nathaniel.
He stood motionless, framed by the hall's shadows. His storm-gray eyes caught the thin strip of moonlight, glinting faintly, watching.
Rebecca's breath caught. "Nathaniel?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
He didn't move. Didn't speak.
She blinked, her head swimming with exhaustion, her body heavy as stone. When her eyes opened again, the doorway was empty. The hall beyond was dark, silent.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. Was he here? Or only in the dream?
She pulled the quilt tighter around her, shutting her eyes against the gaze she still felt lingering. Sleep dragged her back under, but unease clung like a second skin.
The unfamiliar room swam into focus heavy curtains, an oil portrait of Elenor Edgeworth, lavender and smoke from the fire. Morning light cut through the gaps, striping the floor. Her heart raced, her skin damp with sweat, her stomach knotted with dread.
And still, the echo of her grandmother's words rang in her ears:
The blood is never buried. The blood carries forward blah blah blah. It was a dream.
Rebecca sighed it was over exhaustion. The divorce, the move the weird couple of days. Oh and the baby.
Dr. Greyson Edgeworth stepped inside, carrying a silver tray.
"Ah, you're awake," he said gently, as though nothing were amiss. The porcelain teacup rattled faintly against the saucer as he set it on the nightstand. Steam curled upward, lavender and bergamot. "I thought you might need something warm to steady you."
Greyson's smile softened, but his eyes lingered on her too long. "Rebecca, you're pale again. May I?"
She hesitated, then nodded. He set the tray aside, washed his hands in the porcelain basin by the window, and returned to her bedside. His touch was steady, professional the touch of a physician, not a grandfather bound by family pride.
He pressed gently at her wrist, counting her pulse, then touched her temple, noting the heat there. Finally, his hand moved lower, to rest lightly across her abdomen.
Rebecca gasped.
Not from his touch, but from what she saw. A red handprint as if she had just been slapped, marked her skin through the thin cotton of her dress. Fingers long, spread wide, as if pressed there in the night.
Greyson's face stilled. His hand withdrew slowly. "This," he said softly, "is not mine."
Rebecca clutched the quilt to her chest, her voice shaking. "I had a dream or a nightmare, About my grandmother. About Tina. She rose from her grave. She touched me here" her hand pressed against her abdomen "and said the blood was never buried the blood has returned the blood carries forward."
Greyson's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"And before I fainted," Rebecca continued, words rushing now, "I heard Carolina. And you. And Nathaniel. Talking about bloodlines, about witchcraft" She broke off, breath hitching. "I saw Nathaniel Last night. At the door. He was also in the library with Tina it appeared to me that they were arguing. It looked like him, but different. Sharper. Angrier. A stranger in his shadow. When Tina saw me in the Library too the angels wings closed on my dream and I woke in bed. Or at least I thought I had. I saw Nathaniel and called to him but he just stood there. Then I
drug back into a sleep state."
Greyson exhaled slowly, his eyes closing for a moment. When he opened them, sorrow and resignation lay heavy in their depths.
"You are perceptive," he said quietly. "More than most. And you are not wrong."
Rebecca's throat tightened. "Who was it?"
Greyson straightened, his voice low, carrying the weight of confession. "Not Nathaniel. His father's twin. Alexander Edgeworth. Jarred's brother. Nathaniel's uncle. My other son."
Rebecca's blood ran cold."
"Yes," Greyson murmured. Alexander never died.Well he died in spirit when Jarred died. He disappeared into the shadows this family keeps. And some say he never came back from them."
The silence thickened, pressing on Rebecca like the weight of the house itself. Her hand still covered the phantom print on her abdomen.
Greyson's gaze fell there too. "If he touched you, Rebecca even in dream, even in shadow then the danger is greater than I feared."
Her eyes burned, tears threatening. "He reached for me"
She broke off, her throat tight.
Greyson leaned closer. "And?"
Rebecca drew a shuddering breath. "Tina… she pushed me back to the angel. Hard. I felt her hands on me, shoving me out of the dream. She threw me away from him, before he could touch me. That's when I woke."
Greyson's face shadowed, his voice low. "Then she is still fighting for you. Even from where she is."
Rebecca sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, the quilt still wrapped around her shoulders, Greyson's words echoing in her ears. Alexander never died… and if he touched you, even in dream, then the danger is greater than I feared.
Her hand lingered over her abdomen. The faint imprint had faded, but the chill of it remained.
Greyson straightened, his expression kind but firm. "You've been through enough since last night. You'll rest better in your own bed." He glanced toward the door, his voice shifting into command. "Nathaniel will see you home."
Rebecca's breath caught. "That's not necessary."
"It is," Greyson interrupted gently. "You fainted twice in one night. You cannot walk alone through Hollow's Edge after that. The house, the town they both have their own ways of keeping watch. Let Nathaniel take you."
The door creaked, and Nathaniel stepped inside, his storm-gray eyes catching hers. Silent, unreadable, but somehow already knowing.
Rebecca's pulse quickened. She rose, smoothing her gown with trembling hands. "Fine," she said, though her voice wavered.
Greyson's hand rested briefly on her shoulder, warm and steady. "You'll be safe with him."
Safe. The word settled strangely in her chest, half-comfort, half-warning.