She frowns as if considering that. “Well, no one knows the details, but I do know Zoe was odd. Into all sorts of strange things. People used to drop in, day and night. It wasn’t proper. Your father seemed normal enough, but that didn’t save him from being dragged into Hallowind drama.”
The world tilts sideways. All this time, some part of me had hoped I would find them, and we could be reunited as a family. But they were dead.
That’s why no one ever came for me. That’s why I’d been alone all these years.
Asher steps in close behind me. “Read the room, lady. If you don’t know what happened, you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. Those are Poppy’s parents you’re badmouthing.”
The woman purses her lips. “I can’t help it if the truth is ugly. You asked what happened, and I told you what I know.”
My fingers ball into fists, my nails biting into the meaty flesh of my palms.“Where are they buried?”
The woman rolls her eyes. “Zoe was an Emberwood Elite. She’s buried in the Hallowind crypt in the Evergreen Cemetery, and your father—Grant, was it?—was cremated and placed in the mausoleum wall like all the husbands of Hallowind women. Strange tradition, if you ask me.”
A knot twists in my belly, making my breakfast churn. “And what about my sisters?”
Margaret shrugs, seemingly oblivious to the devastation she’s just delivered. “Right after it happened, someone came and took the three of you away. Child Protective Services, I believe. If you ask me, you were likely better off. I think Zoe was into the occult or something.”
Asher’s grip on my shoulder tightens, and I can feel the tension radiating from him. “How do we find out what happened to Poppy’s sisters for sure?”
Margaret adjusts her glasses, looking suddenly uncomfortable. “I suppose you could ask Miss Edna. Edna Lou Beauregard runs our community newsletter, the Weekly Whispers. Nothing happens in Emberwood without Miss Edna knowing about it.”
“And where can I find her?” I ask.
“She holds court at Biscuits and Banter most every day. Same booth, same cup of coffee, same notepad.” Margaret’s tone turns slightly bitter. “That woman has got her nose in everyone’s business. A real busybody that one.”
“The worst sort,” I say, giving her a droll stare.
“The absolute worst,” Asher agrees.
Margaret lingers on the porch, and I don’t know if she has more questions or is about to make yet another cutting observation, but she doesn’t get the chance. Asher tugs us back and swings the door closed.
“Have a blessed day,” he calls out with false cheer.
I lean against the inside of the closed door, my legs suddenly unsteady. The pendant around my neck feels warm against my skin, but it’s not enough to chase away the cold that’s settled in my bones.
“They’re dead.” The words fall into the silence like stones into still water. “They’ve been dead this whole time.”
Asher wraps his arms around me, and I let myself sink into his warmth. “I’m sorry, P. I’m so sorry. But the good news is, your sisters are out there. We’ll find them, and we’ll figure out what really happened.”
I nod against his chest. “Damn right we will.”
After Margaret’s visit, we spend the rest of the day exploring the house and processing what little we’ve learned. I cling to the hope that somewhere out there, my sisters are alive. My brain cycles through a hundred different scenarios, but the truth is, they could be anywhere, with anyone.
The house is waking up bit by bit, but it’s been asleep for five years, and not all systems are up and running just yet. We couldn’t get the furnace to come on, so the two of us are curled up on opposite ends of the couch, each with a mug of warm apple cider and heaped with a mound of blankets.
“I have sisters… we have to find them.”
He tips his mug back and swallows the last of his festive bevvy. “We will. It’ll just take time.”
“Do you think they’re together? Do you think they remember who they are or are they blank like me?”
Asher extracts himself from the cush of the couch and takes our dirty dishes and mugs over to the sink. “I think thosequestions and more will keep until tomorrow. But for tonight, we should get some sleep.”
He’s right. I know he is.
I extricate myself from the overstuffed cushions, fold up the blanket I had over me, and toss it over the back of the couch. As I pass the back doors of the kitchen, I stare at the standing stones, mesmerized.
“Wow, the stones look different in the moonlight tonight.”
