October 11, Friday

I SCRIBBLED in my notebook, perched on the blanket-covered concrete bench in the Whisper Graveyard. Lady Amelia was in the midst of a particularly witty exchange with her stonemason love interest when the crunch of gravel underfoot pulled me from my fictional world.

I looked up to see Reverend Abernathy approaching, his usually jovial face creased with concern. He clutched his ever-present silver flask of holy water, the metal glinting in the late afternoon sun.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Vanguard," he called, his voice carrying easily across the quiet cemetery.

I closed my notebook, offering a small smile. "Afternoon, Reverend. More blessings today?"

He nodded, his eyes darting towards Rose's grave. "Among other things. I've been hearing... rumors. About Rose's final resting place."

I felt my shoulders tense. "Oh?"

The Reverend stepped closer, lowering his voice. "They say her grave is empty. That she's... gone."

I hesitated, unsure how much to reveal. But the secret of Rose's missing body seemed to weigh on me, begging to be shared. "It's true," I admitted. "During that big storm, a tree fell and... well, the vault was empty."

A myriad of emotions flickered across his face too quickly for me to decipher. "I see," he murmured. "Most troubling indeed."

"Do you..." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "Do you have any theories about what might've happened?"

The Reverend was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on Rose's headstone. When he spoke, his voice was soft, almost reverent. "There are many stories in the Bible of people being brought back to life. Lazarus, raised by Jesus after four days in the tomb. The widow's son in Nain. Even Christ himself, of course."

I frowned, not quite following. "Are you suggesting Rose was... resurrected?"

He shook his head, a small, enigmatic smile playing at his lips. "I'm merely pointing out that the line between life and death is not always as clear as we might think. Especially in a place like Irving."

There was something in his tone, a hint of... what? Knowledge? Experience? It sent a shiver down my spine.

"Did you know Rose well?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

The Reverend's smile faltered slightly. "We were... acquainted. She came to me for guidance occasionally."

"About what?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid that's between Rose and God now. Pastoral confidentiality, you understand."

I nodded, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Reverend Abernathy knew more about Rose than he was letting on. There was a depth to his concern, a familiarity in the way he spoke of her, that seemed at odds with a casual acquaintance.

"In any case," he continued, uncapping his flask, "I think a little extra blessing wouldn't go amiss, given the circumstances."

I watched as he moved among the headstones, sprinkling holy water and murmuring prayers. When he reached Rose's grave, he paused, his hand hovering over the stone. For a moment, I could have sworn I saw his lips move in what looked like an apology.

As the Reverend finished his rounds and made his way back to me, I found myself studying him with new eyes. Was he just another keeper of Irving's secrets? Or was there more to his role in this strange little town?

"Thank you for confirming the rumors, Ms. Vanguard," he said, pocketing his now-empty flask. "I'll be sure to keep Rose in my prayers. And you as well," he added, his gaze sharp. "These are... trying times."

I nodded, not quite trusting myself to speak.

As I watched Reverend Abernathy's retreating figure, I couldn't help but feel that I'd just been given a piece of a much larger puzzle. But how it fit with everything else—Tilda's spells, Sawyer's secrets, the strange happenings in town—I couldn't yet piece together.