The pups run right up to the piano, tip their heads back and let off a long, low whine in the back of their throats.
I arch a brow. “Do chihuahuas bay at the moon?”
“Not that I’m aware of, but they’ve been doing it all afternoon. I tried playing with them, feeding them, even bribing them with treats. I can distract them for a bit, but then they just come back and get fixated again.”
I move closer to the piano, the hum I’ve felt since the first night back vibrating stronger now. It’s not unpleasant, but it’s persistent. Insistent.
I run a gentle caress along the edge of the piano, thinking back to all the time my sisters and I spent with Mom, sitting right here. Twinkle Twinkle. Hot Cross Buns…
The legs of the bench scrape against the hardwood floor a bit as I pull it out far enough to slide into position to sit. When I rest my fingers against the keys, the hum intensifies, thrumming through my fingertips. I close my eyes, letting my senses expand, reaching for whatever energy is radiating from the instrument.
And then I feel it. A presence. Not hostile, but waiting.
“Poppy?” Asher’s voice is tight. “Are you good?”
I open my eyes. “She’s here.”
“She who?”
“My mom.”
“She’sherehere, or is it moremetaphorical? Is it a spirit thing?”
“I think so.”
He curses softly. “Should I get someone? Sebastian?”
I rest my fingers on the keys and let the energy envelop me. Whatever this is, there’s no part of it that’s negative. If I had to give an emotion to the energy, it would behope.
“No, don’t get anyone. Let me see if I can figure out what she wants to tell me first.”
He meets my gaze and nods. “Okay, but if your head spins around and you projectile vomit pea soup at me, I’m going to pee my pants.”
I chuckle and press a few keys, testing the tuning after all these years. “Noted.”
Asher shifts behind me. “You never mentioned you could play.”
“I didn’t remember.” I pat the bench, so he’ll stop freaking out and come sit beside me. “Not until she gave me back everything they took.”
My fingers hover over the keys as I consider what to play. Everything about the energy in the space makes me feel like what I play is as important as me being here to play it.
“Mom taught my sisters and me to play the piano from the time we could sit on the bench and reach the keys.” The words come out soft, pulled from memories that feel both foreign and achingly familiar. “She always said there was magic in music. Both in the arrangement of sounds and intention of the creator.”
The Hallowind resonance thrums through the instrument. It’s the same energy that lives in the standing stones, in the crypt, in the bones of this house. I didn’t understand it before. I didn’t recognize the melody beneath the magic.
Now it sings to me like coming home.
I close my eyes and let the hum fill my cells, fuel my blood. The magic knows what I need before I do. My fingers settle onto the keys, and the first note rings out clear and pure. Then the next. And the next.
The melody builds, my hands moving without conscious thought, muscle memory buried deep in the parts of me that even the coven’s binding couldn’t fully erase. The music swells, each verse and chorus rising with intention, withpurpose.
I feel Mom’s presence in every chord, her love, her hope, her desperation to protect what mattered most.
This isn’t just a song. It’s a spell.
The house responds, its own magic rising to meet the music. The air shimmers. Somewhere upstairs, a door creaks open. The windows rattle gently in their frames, not from wind but fromresonance.
My breath catches, but I don’t stop.
