December 1, Sunday

brUISES BLOOMED across my hip and shoulder as I eased onto the couch, wincing. Sawyer appeared with an ice pack wrapped in a kitchen towel.

"Here," he murmured, helping me position it. "The doctor said ice every few hours."

I nodded, too drained to argue. After the police had taken the twins away last night, he'd insisted on taking me to the emergency room to get checked out. No broken bones, just bruises and a mild concussion from the fall.

"I still can't believe it," I said, watching him build a fire in the hearth. "They're just kids. How does someone that young become capable of murder?"

Sawyer's jaw tightened as he arranged logs. "They got caught up in something bigger than themselves. All that talk of ancient bloodlines and magical birthrights... they lost perspective."

"Poor Wayne." I thought of his manuscript, of his eager hope that I'd help get it published. "He just wanted to tell a good story. He had no idea how close he'd gotten to the truth about the feud between the families. Then I came along, offering to help with the manuscript." I shuddered. "If you and Tilda hadn't shown up when you did..."

"Don't." He abandoned the fire to sit beside me, pulling me close. "I can't think about how close I came to losing you."

I leaned into his warmth, breathing in his familiar scent of wood smoke and coffee. "How did Tilda know?"

"She found poison the girls had made hidden in their room, with notes they found on the Internet about how to inject a substance into an I.V. She realized the poison had triggered his heart attack… and they didn't want him to leave the hospital." His arms tightened around me. "When she couldn't find them tonight, she was worried they would hurt you."

The fire caught, sending shadows dancing across the walls. Outside, a cold wind rattled bare branches against the windows. The Whisper House creaked and settled around us, its sounds now familiar rather than frightening.

"What happens now?" I asked softly.

"The girls will probably be tried as juveniles. Tilda's already arranged for a good lawyer. My guess is they'll reach a plea deal." He sighed. "Tilda blames herself for encouraging their obsession with the old ways. I hate to say it, but it might lead to something good if it leads to more moderation in the way the locals practice their religion."

"And Rose?" I tilted my head to look at him. "Will we ever know what really happened to her?"

Pain flickered across his face. "Maybe some mysteries are better left unsolved."

We sat in comfortable silence, watching the fire grow stronger. My eyelids felt heavy, the stress of the past twenty-four hours catching up with me.

"Stay?" I murmured, not wanting to be alone.

"Of course." He pressed a kiss to my temple. "Wild horses couldn't drag me away tonight."

I drifted off to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling safe for the first time since my fall into the grave. Questions still haunted the edges of my mind—about Rose, about the true nature of magic in Irving, about my future.

But right now, wrapped in Sawyer's arms with flames crackling in the hearth, those answers could wait.