Cecilia closed her eyes, reached out with her mind, and lifted.
The dirt rose in a great column, like a reverse waterfall of soil and the occasional startled worm. Telekinesis in this body felt almost natural to her now, like flexing a muscle.
Still, it was unnerving to pull earth from a grave, to feel the weight of it suspended in the air, and to know that beneath it lay something that was supposed to stay buried.
She moved the dirt to the side in a neat, tidy pile, because if she was going to be an accessory to grave robbing, she was at least going to be organized about it.
"There," she said, lowering her hands. "The casket."
The three of them gathered at the edge of the hole. The flashlight beams converged on a dark wooden coffin, its surface dulled by decades of subterranean silence.
It was simpler than Cecilia had expected. No ornate carvings, no gilded handles, just a man-sized box sealed tight against the world.
