Page 48 of Death Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

Eve’s gaze flicked between the stones and Nishi. “If we leave this array active, it will keep feeding.”

Tegan’s fingers tightened around her relic. “If we go to the funeral home and ignore this, we’re fighting symptoms again.”

I swallowed hard. My head throbbed. My hands still felt shaky from the contest downtown.

“Then we need to do something here fast,” I said. “Not perfect. Fast.”

Faith’s eyes narrowed. “Like what?”

I looked at the symbols again, forcing my brain into problem-solving mode.

“We break the pattern,” I said. “We disrupt the array. If these graves are anchor points, we don’t need to erase every symbol, we need to ruin the geometry.”

Eve nodded once, catching on. “Destroy one or two anchors.”

Tegan’s gaze narrowed. “But breaking it might backlash.”

Faith snorted. “Everything backlashes. We’re already living in backlash.”

Nishi spoke into her phone, issuing rapid commands. “Send two teams to Cedar and Ninth. Full containment. Warn Victor. Get Maryam out if she’s there.”

She ended the call and looked at us. “We have minutes. Decide.”

I stared at the stones, at the carved language of resurrection and blood and ancient gods who didn’t belong in a small town.

My skin prickled as the tether tugged, slight but persistent, like something beneath the earth was listening.

“Okay,” I said, voice low. “We break two anchors. One on each side of the curve. Faith, you and I do the physical damage. Nishi, keep watch. Eve, be ready to burn anything that rises. Tegan, watch for an object.”

Faith’s mouth tightened. “Physical damage to a grave is a bad look.”

I glanced at her. “So is letting corpses eat civilians.”

“That’s fair,” Faith said, and moved.

We spread out, stepping carefully between stones, flashlights cutting through the mist.

The cemetery felt smaller now, more enclosed, as if the dark trees had crept closer while we argued.

I stopped in front of one carved grave, lifted my boot, and hesitated.

It felt wrong to destroy someone’s marker. Even if the marker was being used as a magical anchor, it was still a grave. A person lay under it. Someone had loved them enough to put their name in stone.

Then I remembered the bodies downtown.

I remembered the scream that cut off too fast.

I stomped.

The stone didn’t shatter, but it cracked, the carved symbols splitting across the break.

The air shifted.

A cold gust rolled through the cemetery, low to the ground, stirring dead leaves.

Something in my senses eased, like a rope losing tension.

Faith swung her hammer down on another marked stone, striking hard. The headstone fractured, chips flying. The symbols broke apart.