November 8, Friday

"IT'S DONE!" I practically sang into the phone. "I just hit send on the email. Did you get it?"

"Checking now," Bruce said, his voice oddly subdued. "Ah, yes. Here it is. Lady Kate's Reckoning . Final draft."

I bounced on my toes, too excited to sit still. After weeks of drama, mystery, and supernatural shenanigans, I'd actually finished the manuscript. Not only finished it, but delivered it a week ahead of the revised deadline.

"I have to say, Josie," Bruce continued, "going to Alabama seems to have worked out for you. This manuscript is shaping up to be your best work yet."

"I know! Who would've thought that hiding out in a small town would jumpstart my creativity?" I twirled around my bedroom, giddy with relief.

"Mm-hmm," Bruce mumbled, clearly distracted. I heard papers shuffling in the background.

"Bruce? Is everything okay?"

"What? Oh, no, everything's fine. Just... a lot going on here. Publishing drama, you know how it is."

"I'm still working on the Curtis situation," I told him. "I'm hoping it will work itself out soon."

"Good," he said absently. "Having the manuscript in hand will go a long way toward calming down my boss." He cleared his throat. "So, now that the book is done, will you be heading back to New York?"

The question caught me off guard. Would I? Theoretically, I could leave tomorrow. I'd accomplished what I came here to do—finish my manuscript and escape the Curtis drama. There was nothing keeping me in Irving.

Nothing except Sawyer's kisses, Kelly's friendship, Satan's demanding bleats, and the growing suspicion that Rose Whisper's story wasn't finished being told.

"Since technically I'm house-sitting," I said, "I have to stay until the end of the year."

"Too bad," he said. "I'm sure you'll miss being with family and friends on Thanksgiving."

"Right," I murmured.

"Okay, then, I'll call you once I've gone through the manuscript."

A tendril of unease curled in my stomach at the odd note in his voice, but he ended the call before I could press further. I stared at my phone, trying to shake off the strange feeling our conversation had left me with.

But I decided not to let anything dampen my accomplishment. I'd done it! Despite Curtis's lies, despite my mother's criticism, despite witch ceremonies, and despite empty graves, I'd written a book I was proud of.

I deserved to celebrate.

On impulse, I called Sawyer.

"Hey," his warm voice filled the line. "How's the writing going?"

"It's done!" I announced. "Just sent it to my editor."

"Congrats!" His genuine enthusiasm washed away the last of my unease. "This calls for a celebration. Have dinner with me tomorrow night?"

My heart did a little flip. "I'd like that."

"Great. I'll pick you up at eight."

As I ended the call, I gazed out my bedroom window at the Whisper Graveyard. With fewer leaves on the trees, I had a better view of the cemetery. The autumn sun painted the headstones in warm hues, making even Rose's empty grave look peaceful.

I could leave Irving now, but somehow, I didn't think my story here was finished.