1. Daily Mourning Ritual

Chapter 1

Daily Mourning Ritual

3 :30 a.m. The witching hour.

The alarm clock bathed Alice's face in the soft orange of its digital glow. Alice was no stranger to the witching hour. She thrived in it more than the stereotypical meaning of the hour. She should be flying in the late November night. Flying on her broomstick and taking in the perfect, whitish-blue glow of the moon. The eerie calm. The peace. The serenity. Instead, sleep eluded her.

The numbers teased and tormented her as they changed. 3:31 a.m.

It had been a week since Hugo died. Every time she closed her eyes, his contorted face glaring down at her returned. She lived out the moment of his death over and over. The painful moment the wooden stake stabbed into his heart and he turned to ash. Alice was responsible. She was the reason Hugo was gone. The reason she was alone once again.

Alice purchased the clock for Hugo. The white, circular clock which glowed and bathed the sleeper in a soft light meant to simulate sunrise right before it buzzed. The purpose was to reset the body's internal rhythm, so it would gradually awaken and not be startled out of a deep slumber by the high-pitched alarm.

Alice didn't purchase the clock to ease Hugo out of his nightly slumber. It was to remind him of the light of the sun, so he could hold on to the small bit of humanity remaining in his vampiric body. A body, once transformed, condemned to live in darkness.

Alice clutched her pillow, scrunching the corner in the palm of her hand. A tear in her eye. The clock was another reminder of how her inability to deal with her past had ruined the only person who cared about who she was, not what she could do. It was Alice's fault Hugo became a vampire. Her actions led to Hugo dying on top of her. Alice was responsible for losing the only person she truly loved and who loved her in return—her Hugo.

3:32 a.m.

Alice rolled over in the black canopy bed. She tucked the bedsheets closer above her shoulders. She clutched the pillow lying next to her closer to her chest. She draped a leg over the bottom, fully encompassing it in her body. The pillowcase was replaced by one of Hugo's worn black T-shirts. His cologne and scent still permeated in the cloth. The smell of vanilla and cedar.

Alice closed her eyes and breathed deep, taking in the last remaining scents of Hugo's existence. Her heart fluttered. She allowed herself to smile. A half-smile betrayed her recent morose attitude. Her fingers dug into the pillow, drawing it closer to her. She wished and prayed, trying to think of any magical spell to transform the pillow into Hugo, even for a fleeting moment. Her body yearned to hold him once more.

Her knowledge failed her. Throughout all her research, all her magical abilities, the spells required one key component to bring back the dead—a body. The body of Hugo had turned to ash and was no more. The curse of the vampire. When stabbed in the heart by something which once bled, they would become ash and cease to exist.

Alice's smile dissipated. A tear fell down her cheek and onto his T-shirt. A cold chill ran through her. She desired nothing more than to be held by Hugo. Hugged by Hugo. Satiated by Hugo.

Alice kept her eyes shut tight, trying to fall asleep. She counted backward from one hundred, but when she reached zero, sleep eluded her. The ghostly image of Hugo Dodds tormented her mind throughout the night.

Alice rolled over, her feet touching the cold hardwood floor. She rose from the mattress, still holding her makeshift stuffed animal. Alice proceeded to the bathroom, careful not to disturb Max sleeping on a blanket at the foot of the bed. Even with Hugo gone, Max slept in her usual spot on the floor. She gave up protesting sleeping in the bed with Hugo and Alice long ago. Two's company. Three's a crowd.

"Still can't sleep?" Alice's reflection asked as she walked into the bathroom.

"The bed's too soft," Alice replied.

"You better hurry up and fall asleep. You only have two more hours before I wake you up and tell you to get back to work. I decided to give you an extra hour tonight. You could use it."

"How generous," Alice said.

She bent down and laid out on the black and white tile flooring with the T-shirt covered pillow tucked under her head. The flooring chilled her exposed, bare legs as she settled onto her side to face the mirror. She curled into a ball on the floor, tucking her legs in close for comfort and warmth.

"I see you still have your new stuffed animal," Alice's reflection said.

"It's not a stuffed animal."

"Well, you seem to carry it around like one."

"It reminds me of him," Alice said as she attempted to find sleep. Her teeth chattered from the cold.

"Do you want me to play a soundscape or soft music?" her reflection asked.

"No," Alice replied.

"Good. I can't play either one of those," her reflection said. "Come to think of it, I could use some good music up here."

"I'll add it to the list of things to do when Hugo's back," Alice said.

"How's it going?" Alice's reflection asked.

Alice opened one eye and tilted her head toward her reflection. "You know how it's going."

Her reflection shrugged her shoulders. "Yeah, but I wanted to hear it from you. By the way, have you thought about what you're doing for Thanksgiving?"

Alice closed her eyes again. "I'm not going."

"Why not?"

"Carol hates me. She's not talking to me because she blames me. I blame myself. Oliver keeps begging me to come over, but I think I'll text him and let him know something came up, and I can't go."

"What about Mom and Dad?"

"Out of state." Alice shifted, laying on her back and focusing on the ceiling. "Besides, it'll slow me down. I have to keep working."

"Why not invite them here?" Alice's reflection asked. "They'll like it. They haven't seen you in person in over a year."

Alice breathed deep. Seeing her parents would be nice. It would be great. It would be fantastic. She had last visited her parents before everything with Sam went down, and she was forced to move. Until a few days ago, she hadn't heard the soothing words of her mother's voice in over a year. She was forced to cut off contact with family and friends as she hid in the town of Newbury Grove to escape the Savinos.

The Savinos.

They ruined everything. Turned her life upside down. Cut her off from her friends and family. Stole her Hugo from her. She was glad they were dead. Suffering the same fate as Hugo—wooden stakes through their hearts and turned to ash.

"Mom doesn't seem to think I can bring him back, and Dad can only think of spells requiring a body. Same with every other spell I have. I need a body."

"Well, at least reconsider the Raskin's offer."

"You mean Oliver's offer?" Alice interjected.

"Please, go over."

"Maybe."

Alice's reflection tapped the porcelain sink with her fingernails. The sound echoed off the bathroom walls.

"What are you doing?" Alice asked.

"Providing music to sleep to," her reflection answered.

"Please, stop."

"Is that what you want for Christmas?" Alice's reflection asked.

"I'm not even thinking about Christmas right now."

"Good, because I wasn't going to get it for you. I'm going to get you the same thing I do every year."

Alice turned to face the mirror. "Nothing?"

"No, my charming wit and lively discourse."

They laughed.

"What do you want for Christmas?" Alice's reflection asked.

"Hugo," Alice replied.

Alice's reflection crossed her arms. "Besides that."

"A hug from Hugo."

"Well, I hope we both get our hugs."

"I do too," Alice said. "Keep doing the tapping thing."

Alice's reflection resumed her bathroom concert. Alice closed her eyes and drifted off to the once elusive sleep.

The light's shadows danced across the stone wall of Alice's wine cellar. A familiar, welcome sight in dark times. Little by little, the wall sconces illuminated the magical room, revealing the handiwork of one Sylvia Savino.

"What a mess," Alice muttered under her breath as she stood in the cellar doorway. Her arms were crossed, each hand placed on the outside as if to hug herself. Her eyes scanned and examined the remnants of her life's work.

Every vat was destroyed, laid in ruins of twisted metal rims and shattered, grape musk-stained wooden planks. The handles of the grape stompers torn asunder. Alice's workbench covered in discarded ingredients. Pages from her grimoire torn and strewn about the stone floor. Her hourglass destroyed. Pieces of the shattered, greenish-black bottles of wine sprayed across the floor in front of their toppled racks. The personalized mortars and pestles, Hugo's gift to Alice, were cracked and now useless.

Gone.

All gone because of a stupid spell. A spell she should have removed from her life years ago. The spell had brought nothing but pain and torment into her life. It brought her here to Newbury Grove. Brought her to Hugo.

Alice rubbed her arms, her fingers twitching. She bounced her foot, summoning the courage to move forward. "One thing. Pick one thing today, and do the rest later."

She focused on the nearest wine vat. Alice raised her left hand, her fingers primed to snap and summon the power of the arcane to rectify her once pristine wine cellar.

That's okay. We can be silly together.

Hugo's words tore through her soul. The words he used to playfully comfort her on the fateful night they made wine the old-fashioned way. The night Hugo confessed his love for Alice. When she expressed her love for him. They made love together for the first time. Two souls fated by their own grief-filled histories to meet and be joined as one.

Alice's lips quivered. Her middle finger dripped down her thumb in protest, unwilling to call forth her magick, still mourning the loss of Hugo. Her fingers curled into a ball and descended next to her side before hiding in the pockets of her gray sweatpants—Hugo's former gray sweatpants.

Alice batted her eyes, holding back the tears as they swelled and tried to force their way down her cheeks. Her neck tensed, and her shoulders tightened. Alice darted her eyes away from the vat to focus on the shadows dancing across the wall. She batted her eyes a few more times, the tears retreating as she turned her mind elsewhere.

"Not today," she said, breathing in deeply. "Maybe tomorrow. But not today."

Alice snapped her fingers as she raised her right hand. One of the few remaining bottles of The Neighborhood Witch —the non-magical wine Alice and had Hugo brewed together and sold in the Raskin's Neighborhood Market—flew across the room and into her awaiting palm. Alice retreated from the wine cellar, closing the door and extinguishing the magical flames of the wall sconces. The cellar fell into darkness once more.

Time blurred together. Minutes became hours. Hours became days. Days turned into weeks. Thanksgiving came and went, and December made its grand yearly appearance. The normally bright and cheerfully festive purple house was cold, dark, and uninviting.

Instead of garland and pine, the smell of oranges and cinnamon, or the brightly colored packages normally decorating her maximalist living room, this December only found books strewn about and piled up. Stacks on the floor. Open books drooped over the red crushed velvet of her Victorian couch. The bookcase shelves were nearly barren of any reading material.

A book turned open to a specific page floated in midair. Alice paced the room, another book in hand. Alice hustled over to the floating book. She flipped through its pages, a fingertip tracing every line as she read the ancient tome. It aided in her search for the elusive answer to her question.

How can she bring Hugo Dodds back to life?

Alice paused from reading the book floating in the air. She cross-referenced the answers from the book in her hand and the book floating in the air. She furled her eyebrows as she read each line over and over.

She slammed the book in her hands shut.

"How can two different books supposedly have all the answers, but have no answers?" she shouted. "Gwennie, none of these are helpful."

The ash broomstick floated in the corner of the room, standing guard over the house. Max let out a low groan. She lay on the floor, her eyes following Alice's every motion back and forth across the living room.

"It's okay, Max," Alice said. "We'll find something."

Max wagged her tail, sending bits of fur tumbling across the hardwood floor. They piled on to the baseboards, merging with other gathered hairballs. Alice had been ignoring them, opting to spend every hour searching for a solution to bring back Hugo. Hairballs could wait until he was back.

Alice rubbed her chin. "I don't know, Max. I need to clear my head. Do you want to go for a walk?"

Max's head perked up at the word walk . She sprang to her feet, ready for an adventure.

The crisp late afternoon air whipped into a swirl. A chill electrified Alice's spine. Her core shook as the chilly grasp of the mid-December air reached through her black and purple modern Victorian tailcoat and strangled her soul. White, ghostly vapors left momentary bread crumbs as she and Max walked through Wildgrove Park. The trees cackled as their branches swayed back and forth.

Max ventured forward down the path, the same rugged, well-worn path she had traveled many times before. Alice didn't need to tug or pull on the leash. The golden retriever knew where she was going and was happy to be out adventuring. She stopped to smell the occasional scent, an indulgence Alice was more than happy to oblige. Max sniffed the ground, scratched at the area with her paws, and then pressed on with her adventure.

Night fell earlier in mid-December. Darkness crept in to seize the day from the light. The grayish sky, covered in thin clouds, turned a shade of purple and orange before the sun retreated beyond the horizon. Luckily, the duo was reaching the end of their journey through Wildgrove Park.

Wilderness gave way to civilization. Max always protested, stopping when the dirt path changed to a concrete sidewalk.

"Come on, Max," she said before giving two tugs on the leash.

The golden retriever resisted, her paws digging into the dirt. She turned her head, wanting to venture back into the park. After the two tugs, she relented and followed Alice down the sidewalk.

They ventured past the white wooden sign with green lettering, welcoming new visitors to the neighborhood. Newbury Grove was welcoming. Besides the occasional odd glances or confused remarks about her normal appearance as a Halloween enthusiast—which she was—Newbury Grove was her home. Hers and Hugo's home.

The pair approached the town center, bustling with crowds and bright decorative lights. The holiday shoppers went about their evening, buying presents and gifts for loved ones. Alice bowed her head. A tear formed. She couldn't. She couldn't venture into festive camaraderie and see so many happy, smiling people partaking in the jolliest, most festive time of the year.

"This way, Max," Alice said as she crossed the street.

The golden retriever protested. She stopped moving and resisted the pull of the leash.

"Come on, girl," Alice said, giving two tugs on the leash. "We're going home."

Max resisted, wanting to continue down their normal walking path, especially heading toward people.

"Let's go!" Alice said, raising her voice.

Max relented and followed.

They crossed the street, heading down another path for an alternative way home. Alice was about to turn the corner when one of the buildings at the end of the street caught her eye. She had never seen this store before. Maybe it was new or moved from another location. Curiosity got the better of her.

She whistled and pointed with her head as she changed course. Max was a creature of habit. She was more than eager to follow as they went their normal way home.

A giant Now Open sign hung in the window of the storefront. Alice stopped and tried the door. It was locked. While the lights remained on, she had missed the normal hours by thirty minutes. She read the sign hanging in the glass window.

The Newbury Grove Historical Society

Presented by the Sinclair-Grove Foundation

Where the present welcomes the past.

Alice cupped her free hand on the glass and leaned in for a closer examination. Black and white pictures and posters decorated the walls of the interior. No doubt various snapshots in time were displayed from Newbury Grove's past. Artifacts in display cases. Books and other literature adorned the shelves. Each object tantalized Alice's curiosity.

"We'll have to check this place out sometime, Max," Alice said. "When Hugo gets home. He might find it interesting."

Alice turned to leave, but the window display caught her eye—a portrait on an easel. A brown-eyed woman in her late 30s or early 40s. Brown, wavy hair pulled back into a poofy, Gibson Girl hair knot. She wore a black dress with a matching velvet choker around her neck. The portrait stood out against a dark maroon backdrop. A stoic expression. Her lips pursed. Her eyes were steely, as if they were piercing into the observer, following their every move.

Max tugged on the leash, wanting to move toward the crowds of people. Alice didn't relent, keeping the leash taut while she examined the painting closer. The longer she gazed at the painting, the more uneasiness settled in. The hair on her arms stood. A shiver ran down her spine. Alice took a step forward, and she swore the painting's eyes followed. The painting held her gaze, as if the painting itself was examining Alice.

Max let out an ear-piercing bark, protesting the lack of walking. The bark was enough to break the painting's hold on Alice.

"Okay, Max, just a moment," Alice said as she glanced down at Max.

She turned back to the painting, examining a gold-plated sign inlaid on to the base of the elegant, dark wood frame. Alice read over the words about the stranger in the painting.

Madeline Sinclair

Founder of Newbury Grove

Donated by the Sinclair-Grove Library

Ravens Hallow, OH

Library? Library! Ez's library.

"Come on, Max," Alice said as she charged down the path, now pulling Max along. "We need to get back. We're going for a little trip."

Max bolted forward in front of Alice at the promise of going on a trip.