November 5, Tuesday

THE MORNING air had a crisp bite as I pedaled into town, my basket laden with eggs. Coleman's Grocery was quiet, the only sound the gentle hum of fluorescent lights and the squeak of Coleman's ancient cash register.

"All double yolks today," I announced proudly, setting my basket on the counter.

Coleman's weathered face crinkled into a smile. "My customers love these. Say they make the best custards."

As he counted out cash into my hand, I noticed the door to his office where I'd seen the scrying mirror was closed—a change from his normal open-door policy.

With a bit of cash in my pocket and an empty basket, I decided to explore the town a bit. The November sun had warmed the air just enough to make biking pleasant, and I had an hour or so to kill before I needed to get back to my writing.

I meandered down streets I hadn't visited before, admiring the mix of Victorian and craftsman-style homes. Then, turning a corner, I came upon a sprawling red brick building with a sign that read "Whittam Funeral Home - Serving Irving Since 1902."

The windows were boarded up, but someone had recently mowed the lawn. In fact—

"Kelly?" I called out, spotting a familiar figure wrestling with a weed-eater near the building's foundation.

She looked up, wiping sweat from her brow. "Oh, hey Josephine!"

I leaned my bike against a nearby tree. "Do you work here?"

"This is my uncle Pete's property," she explained, shutting off the weed-eater. "His half-brother was the undertaker for decades before he died last spring. My uncle's trying to sell it, but no one wants a building that used to be a funeral home. And I can't blame them."

"This is the only funeral home in town?"

"Yeah. Rose Whisper's funeral was one of his last services before closing up shop."

A finger of unease ran up my neck. "Were you there? At Rose's funeral?"

"Uh-huh. It was strange—closed casket, very few mourners. But I guess her family was mostly gone."

Except Sawyer , I thought. I gestured to the entrance of the business, clogged with fallen leaves. "It must be hard, maintaining an empty building."

"Uncle Pete says we have to keep it looking nice in case someone decides to buy it."

I scanned the building's facade, noting the elegant architectural details beneath years of weathering. "It's beautiful, in a gothic sort of way."

"Want to peek inside?"

My heart skipped. "Can we?"

Kelly pulled a ring of keys from her pocket. "Uncle Pete won't mind. Just... don't touch anything. Some of the equipment is still in there."

We approached the front door, its heavy oak panels scarred by time. Kelly fumbled with the keys, finally finding the right one. The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit interior.

The smell hit me first—a mixture of dust, old flowers, and something chemical that made my nose tingle. Sheets covered most of the furniture, creating ghost-like shapes in the gloom.

"This is where they would have prepared Rose," Kelly said softly, gesturing to a closed door at the end of the hall. "The embalming room."

An odd thing to say. I shivered, suddenly not so keen on exploring further. "Maybe we should—"

A loud bang from upstairs made us both jump.

"Loose shingles," Kelly said. "From the last storm. But we should go. I have more yard work anyway."

We retraced our steps, then Kelly locked up. I said goodbye, then walked back to my bike nursing an odd sense of melancholy for the death of a building built for death. Irving did not seem to be on the upswing… which made it a perfect place for a coven to go largely unnoticed.