It was morning.

The rain had finally stopped, leaving the streets wet and reflecting the pale sunlight that had begun to creep over Ravenport. The clouds were still hanging around in the distance, but for once, the sky looked like it had decided to give everyone a break.

Fletcher stood outside the house, staring directly at the sun while smoking a cigarette.

He wasn't even trying to hide it.

He just stood there, one hand in his pocket, the other holding the cigarette between two fingers as smoke drifted lazily around his face.

Behind him, the front door opened.

Travis stepped outside.

Fletcher heard the door close and glanced over his shoulder.

The place they were staying in barely looked like a house anymore. From the outside, it looked more like a poorly maintained car-repair garage that somebody had decided to throw a bed into.

Travis stretched.

Then he looked at Fletcher.

"You know, Fletcher..."

Fletcher took another drag.

"I don't get it."

"What?"

"Why you smoke so much."

Fletcher exhaled.

"Stress."

Travis stared at him.

"That's your excuse?"

"It's not an excuse."

"Then what is it?"

"A diagnosis."

Travis laughed.

"You know, my mom used to take out a belt wrapped in barbed wire and smack the skin off my body whenever she caught me smoking."

Fletcher slowly turned toward him.

"Jesus Christ."

"Yeah."

Travis casually pulled down the back of his pants.

"Look."

Fletcher stared.

There was a long, ugly scar running from Travis's buttocks down toward the back of his thigh.

Fletcher's cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth.

"Isn't that abuse?"

Travis pulled his pants back up.

"You could call it parenting, my love."

He walked past Fletcher and casually tapped him on the back.

Fletcher stared after him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Several things."

Travis continued walking.

Fletcher sighed and took another drag.

"What's next, anyway?"

Travis stopped.

Fletcher caught up with him.

"After all, we've got the coffin."

Travis glanced at him.

"Who is the buyer?"

Fletcher continued.

"Actually, matter of fact, I just realized something."

"What?"

"You never told us why we're stealing the coffin in the first place."

Travis smiled.

"You know what, Fletcher?"

"What?"

"This is a small world."

He started walking toward the garage.

"And a lot of the rich cock-suckers around here are only rich because of the people who came before them."

Fletcher followed.

"They did horrible things," Travis continued. "Stole land. Stole money. Screwed people over. Built their little empires on the backs of everyone else."

He looked back at Fletcher.

"And somehow, they got lucky enough to become respectable."

Fletcher raised an eyebrow.

"So we're stealing from the rich and giving to the poor?"

"Exactly."

Fletcher nodded.

"That's surprisingly noble."

Travis grinned.

"The poor being...?"

"Yeah."

"Us."

Fletcher nodded.

"And the Black Templars."

Fletcher stopped walking.

"...The what?"

Travis kept going.

"The Black Templars."

"Wait."

Fletcher hurried after him.

"Wait, wait, wait."

Travis reached the garage door.

"Black Templars?!"

"Yessssss."

"Who the fuck are the Black Templars?"

Travis grabbed the garage door and pulled it open.

"We'll discuss that later."

Inside, Thomas was standing beside the coffin.

He looked terrible.

His hair was a mess. His clothes were wrinkled. His eyes were red and swollen, like he'd spent the entire night staring at the ceiling.

Or committing several crimes.

Probably both.

The coffin was sitting in the middle of the garage.

Thomas had apparently decided that the best way to secure it was to nail the lid shut.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

THUNK.

THUNK.

THUNK.

THUNK.

A chain had already been wrapped around the coffin several times.

THUNK.

Thomas raised the hammer again.

"THOMAS!"

He swung.

THUNK!

Travis sprinted across the garage and grabbed his wrist.

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

Thomas looked at him.

Travis ripped the hammer from his hand.

"You're ruining the mummy!"

Thomas stared blankly at him.

"The mummy?"

"YES!"

Travis pointed furiously at the coffin.

"Do you have any idea how hard it was to steal that thing?"

Thomas looked down at the coffin.

"I was securing it."

"You're putting nails through it!"

"That's what securing means."

"Not when there's a fucking mummy inside!"

Fletcher walked into the garage and looked at the coffin.

Then at Thomas.

Then at the hammer.

Then back at Thomas.

"Did you sleep?"

Thomas said nothing.

Fletcher nodded.

"That's a no."

Travis crouched beside the coffin and inspected the damage.

"Look at this."

He pulled one of the nails slightly loose.

"You've put enough nails in this thing to build a fucking house."

Thomas shrugged.

"I didn't want it getting out."

Everyone went silent.

Fletcher slowly looked at Travis.

Travis looked at Thomas.

"Getting out?"

Thomas nodded.

"The mummy."

Fletcher stared at him.

"Thomas..."

"Yes?"

"It's dead."

Thomas looked at the coffin.

"Are you sure?"

Fletcher opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

He looked at Travis.

"Actually, don't answer that."

Travis rubbed his forehead.

"Fucking hell."

Thomas sat down beside the coffin.

He looked exhausted.

"I didn't sleep."

"We noticed," Travis said.

"I kept hearing something."

Fletcher's expression changed slightly.

"Hearing what?"

Thomas looked toward the coffin.

"Knocking."

Nobody spoke.

Travis slowly lowered the hammer.

"From inside?"

Thomas nodded.

"Three knocks."

Fletcher stared at the coffin.

"Maybe it was the wood."

"Three knocks," Thomas repeated.

Travis stood there for a moment.

Then he shrugged.

"Probably pipes."

"There are no pipes inside a coffin."

"I know."

Travis looked at Fletcher.

"That's why it's probably a very fucked-up pipe."

Fletcher sighed.

"Can we just get this thing ready before someone actually wakes up?"

Thomas looked at him.

"Who bought it?"

Fletcher looked at Travis.

Travis looked away.

"That's what I was asking him."

Thomas frowned.

"You don't know?"

"No."

"You stole a coffin without knowing who was buying it?"

"Technically, we stole it because we knew someone would buy it."

Fletcher shook his head.

"That makes absolutely no sense."

Travis smiled.

"Welcome to Ravenport."

He placed the hammer on the table.

"Now somebody help me get these nails out before we accidentally turn a priceless mummy into a construction project."

Thomas looked at the coffin again.

From somewhere inside—

knock.

Everyone froze.

Knock.

Fletcher slowly lowered his cigarette.

Knock.

Travis stared at Thomas.

Thomas stared back.

"...Three knocks," Thomas whispered.

Travis swallowed.

Then picked up the hammer again.

"Okay."

He looked at the coffin.

"Nobody panic."

Fletcher raised an eyebrow.

"You're the one holding the hammer."

"Exactly."

Travis tightened his grip.

"That's why nobody should panic."

"This thing is evil," Thomas said.

He stared at the coffin as though he expected it to move.

"We shouldn't have dug it out."

Fletcher looked at him.

"Thomas, you look like you just came out of that coffin. What's up with you?"

Thomas swallowed.

"At night... I was reading the carvings on the coffin."

"And?"

"I couldn't help it."

"Help what?"

"Wanting to open it."

Fletcher's expression hardened.

Thomas continued.

"I tried to lift the lid. At first, it moved."

He rubbed his arms as though he could still feel something crawling beneath his skin.

"But the more I lifted it, the more energy I lost. It was like my body was being..."

He stopped.

"Being what?"

Thomas struggled to find the word.

"Drained."

Before he could say anything else, the garage door creaked open.

Alan walked in.

He immediately started coughing.

Hard.

"Bloody fuck!"

Everyone turned toward him.

"Fletcher, stop smoking here! You're killing my lungs!"

Fletcher looked at him.

"You're coughing blood."

Alan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glanced at the blood.

"Yeah."

Fletcher frowned.

"You don't look good, Alan."

"I feel fantastic."

"You literally just coughed blood."

"Minor inconvenience."

Travis walked past them.

"I need some booooooze."

He pointed at everyone.

"And you sickos better not give me your sickness before I get rich."

He walked out of the garage.

Alan followed him.

Fletcher hesitated before following.

"Dale Deyvon," Alan called after Travis, "you ain't getting no damn booze without telling us what the fuck we're dealing with here."

Travis stopped.

Fletcher came up behind Alan.

"Yeah. Anything involving the Black Templars is never good for our souls."

Travis slowly turned around.

He looked at Fletcher.

"Didn't know you were a Christian, Fletcher."

"Stop fucking around."

Fletcher flicked his cigarette onto the wet ground and crushed it beneath his shoe.

"How much are we actually getting for this?"

Travis smiled.

"Kane is willing to pay each of us ten million crowns."

Silence.

Alan stared at him.

"...Ten million?"

"Each."

Alan looked at Fletcher.

Fletcher looked at Alan.

Then both looked back at Travis.

"That's just too much for a simple coffin," Alan said.

Travis raised a finger.

"It's a mummy."

Alan stared at him.

"So?"

"What do you expect?"

"A mummy is still a mummy."

Travis shrugged.

"A rich mummy."

Fletcher shook his head and started walking away.

"I'm hungry."

Alan watched him leave.

"You're going to eat after hearing we're getting ten million crowns?"

Fletcher didn't turn around.

"Especially after hearing we're getting ten million crowns."

He disappeared toward the house.

Alan remained standing with Travis.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Alan stepped closer.

And closer.

Travis watched him approach.

"Do you want to kiss me or something?"

Alan stopped when their faces were almost touching, their noses nearly bumping into each other.

"No."

"Good."

Alan glanced toward the garage.

"I agree with Thomas."

Travis's smile faded slightly.

"The coffin?"

"It feels wrong."

Alan's voice dropped.

"It's dark around that thing. Cold."

He looked back at the garage.

"Not normal cold. It's like the cold comes from it."

Travis stared at him.

Alan continued.

"We should get rid of it as soon as possible."

Travis nodded.

"That's what I said."

He turned toward the house.

"It's exactly why the Black Templars are coming here."

Alan watched him.

"So we're just handing it over to them?"

"Exactly."

Travis opened the door.

"And before you start worrying about it..."

He looked back over his shoulder.

"Come on. It'll be off our hands very, very soon."

He walked inside.

Alan remained outside for another moment.

His eyes drifted toward the garage.

Toward the coffin.

He could still feel the cold coming from inside.

Then—

Knock.

Alan froze.

His eyes widened.

He slowly looked toward the garage.

Nothing.

Another cough escaped him.

He wiped his mouth.

Then quietly walked into the house.

Alan remained outside, staring at the garage.

Something about that coffin bothered him.

He couldn't explain it.

He just knew he didn't want to be anywhere near it.

Then he heard something behind him.

THUMP.

Alan turned.

Another THUMP came from the back of his car.

He stared at the boot.

"...What the fuck?"

Another kick.

Alan walked toward the car and slowly opened the boot.

Jason was curled up inside.

He blinked at the sunlight.

"Morning."

Alan stared at him.

"Don't bullshit me, Jason."

Jason climbed out of the boot and stretched his back.

"Morning."

"Did you sleep here?"

Jason rubbed his neck.

"No."

Alan raised an eyebrow.

"I slept in a cozy bed next to your mother."

Alan stared at him for a moment.

"Fair enough."

Jason brushed some dust off his clothes.

"I'm guessing you heard everything."

"I did."

"And?"

Jason shrugged.

"I'm not even concerned about whether all of you survive."

Alan frowned.

"Really?"

"I'm concerned about myself."

Alan sighed.

"You don't even care about the money?"

"What money?"

"The ten million."

Jason stopped.

"Ten million?"

"Each."

Jason looked toward the garage.

Then toward the house.

Then back at Alan.

"That sounds persuasive."

Alan smiled.

"But?"

"Not persuasive enough."

Jason started walking toward the gate.

"I'm not dealing with Black Templars and some grave I know absolutely nothing about."

Alan followed him with his eyes.

"You're just leaving?"

"That's the plan."

"Travis won't let you leave."

Jason kept walking.

"Thanks for the advice."

"You're welcome."

Jason reached the gate.

Then stopped.

Alan called after him.

"You know we're in Eastern Ravenport, right?"

Jason slowly looked back.

Alan pointed around them.

"Do you even know where you are?"

Jason stared at him.

His confidence disappeared.

He reached into his pockets.

Nothing.

He checked his back pockets.

Nothing.

He checked his jacket.

Still nothing.

No phone.

No wallet.

No keys.

Jason closed his eyes.

He stood there for several seconds.

Then turned around.

Alan watched him walk back.

Jason stopped in front of him.

"Let's go eat."

Alan smiled.

"Thought you were leaving."

"I was."

"And?"

"I reconsidered."

"Because of the Black Templars?"

"No."

Jason pointed toward the house.

"Because I'm hungry."

Alan nodded.

"Fair enough."

The two of them walked toward the house.

Behind them, the garage remained silent.

The coffin sat exactly where they had left it.

Then, from inside—

Knock.

Alan stopped.

Jason kept walking.

"Coming?"

Alan stared at the garage one last time.

"Yeah."

He followed Jason.

Western Ravenport University

Lucas was already awake.

He lay across his bed, staring at the ceiling, one arm resting beneath his head.

He had been trying to reach Bella for a while now.

Nothing.

No response.

Not even the faintest feeling of her presence in his mind.

*Hey.*

He waited.

*Hey, hey, hey.*

Nothing.

Lucas frowned.

*Are you there?*

Silence.

He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds.

*Are you asleep?*

He paused.

*It wouldn't make sense for you to be asleep at ten in the morning, right?*

Another pause.

*Maybe you're busy.*

He rolled onto his side.

*I miss you.*

His eyes drifted toward the window.

*Feels kinda lonely not having you talk in my mind.*

Nothing.

Lucas sighed.

*Hmm... I really hope you're alright.*

He rolled onto his back again.

The room was quiet.

Far too quiet.

Usually, Bella's presence was just there.

Sometimes she spoke.

Sometimes she annoyed him.

Sometimes she said absolutely nothing and simply existed somewhere in the back of his mind.

But now...

Nothing.

Lucas stared blankly at the ceiling.

*Bella...*

He smiled faintly.

*My lil bird.*

His smile disappeared.

*How much it worries me when I don't feel your presence.*

He turned onto his side again, pulling the blanket slightly over himself.

Lucas closed his eyes.

He wondered what she could possibly be doing.

Maybe she was in class.

Maybe she was sleeping.

Maybe she was avoiding him.

He opened his eyes again.

*Bella?*

Still nothing.

Lucas sighed.

For the first time that morning, he wondered if something had happened to her.




----


Damon was sitting in the sitting room.

There was no television.

Instead, the room had a large shelf filled with books, with a few chairs scattered around it. The whole place looked less like a living room and more like somewhere a group of students would sit together and discuss books they probably hadn't finished reading.

Damon pulled one of the books from the shelf and sat down.

The title read:

"HOW TO MOVE THE MOUNTAIN"

He stared at the cover for a moment.

Then opened it.

He read the first few lines.

Then read them again.

He still had absolutely no idea what the book was trying to tell him.

Damon frowned and turned another page.

The door to Kim's room opened.

Kim stepped out, already dressed and ready for the day.

She walked toward Damon, who was still trying to understand the book in his hands.

"Morning."

Damon lowered the book.

"Morning."

Kim glanced at the cover.

Then at him.

"Are you a friend of Lucas?"

Damon looked at her.

"I'm a student."

Kim frowned slightly.

"I mean... are you his friend?"

Damon thought about it.

"I guess."

Kim nodded.

"Is it also your last year?"

"Yeah."

Damon closed the book halfway.

"It's my last year."

He looked at her.

"And you?"

"Last year too."

Kim sighed.

"Probably the worst year."

"Why?"

Kim leaned against the shelf.

"It's pretty obvious."

Damon waited.

"I'm going to be done," she continued. "Then I'll have to start looking for a job."

She shook her head.

"And apparently that's hard these days."

Damon listened.

"I've heard students with master's degrees can't even find jobs," Kim said. "People spend years studying, get all those qualifications, and then end up sitting at home wondering what they're supposed to do with their lives."

She gave a small laugh.

"It's stressing me out."

Damon glanced down at the book.

"I can understand that."

Kim looked around the room.

"I just wish I could stay here forever."

"Here?"

"The university."

She shrugged.

"Being a student is easier. You know what you're supposed to do. Go to class, study, complain about assignments, pretend you're going to start studying early next time..."

Damon smiled slightly.

"Sounds terrible."

"It is."

Kim smiled.

"But at least I know what comes next."

She looked toward the hallway.

"After graduation, I don't know anything."

Before Damon could respond, a voice came from behind Kim.

"Ah."

Kim turned.

Lucas was standing in the doorway of his room.

He looked at Damon.

Then at Kim.

"And it's strange to see you up so early in the morning."

Kim crossed her arms.

"It's strange to see you awake."

Lucas shrugged.

"It happens to be a Monday."

Kim stared at him.

"That doesn't explain anything."

"It explains everything."

Lucas walked into the sitting room.

Damon looked down at the book in his hands.

Lucas noticed the title.

"'How to Move the Mountain'?"

He looked at Damon.

"You planning on becoming a motivational speaker?"

Damon looked at the book.

"I'm still trying to figure out how the mountain moves."

Lucas nodded.

"Let me know when you figure it out."

Kim rolled her eyes.

"You two are weird."

Lucas smiled.

"Good morning to you too."

Lucas came out of his room a few minutes later.

He walked straight toward the refrigerator, opened it, and took out a carton of milk.

Damon and Kim were both looking at him.

Lucas noticed.

He stopped.

Looked at them.

They stared back.

Lucas raised an eyebrow.

"Have the two of you never seen a Lady Gaga like me before?"

He opened the carton and took a drink.

Kim looked at his hair.

"No."

She paused.

"But you need to get your hair done."

Lucas lowered the milk.

"What?"

"The back looks missing."

Lucas reached behind his head.

"It's called style."

"It's called needing a haircut."

Kim walked toward the door.

Before leaving, she looked at Damon.

"I'm Kim. His sister."

She pointed toward Lucas.

"And you?"

Damon closed his book.

"I'm Damon. I'm a student."

Kim stared at him oddly.

Damon stared back.

There was a brief silence.

"...Okay."

She opened the door.

"Bye, you guys."

Then she left.

The door closed.

Lucas looked at Damon.

Damon looked at Lucas.

Lucas took another drink of milk.

"Don't touch my sister."

Damon blinked.

"...What?"

"Don't touch her."

Lucas raised a finger.

"Don't even smell her."

Damon stared.

"And don't hold hands."

"Okay..."

"You will be cosmically destroyed by time and space for touching a dimensionally important person."

Damon slowly looked down at his book.

"Right."

Lucas continued drinking his milk as if he'd just given Damon completely normal advice.

After a moment, Damon spoke.

"Do you happen to know where the finishing classes are?"

Lucas looked at him.

"I might later."

Then he walked back into his room.

Damon watched him disappear.

"...What does that mean?"

There was no answer.

Damon sighed and returned to his book.

He turned another page.

Then his eyes caught a passage.

"Finally..."

He read quietly.

"Be strong in Elohim and in his mighty power. Those who hope in him will renew their strength."

Damon paused.

He looked at the words for a moment.

Then Lucas came back out of his room.

"The bulb needs electricity in order to shine."

Damon looked up.

Lucas walked toward the door.

"It gets its strength from electricity."

He opened the door.

"And I'm the bulb."

Damon stared at him.

Lucas paused at the doorway.

"We're all bulbs."

He looked back.

"But we're made by different makers."

Damon said nothing.

Lucas nodded to himself.

Then walked out.

The door closed.

Damon remained seated on the couch, the book still open in his hands.

He stared at the door.

Then at the book.

Then back at the door.

Damon stood up.

He walked toward the window and looked outside.

Through the glass, he could see Lucas walking away from the house.

Damon watched him until he disappeared around the corner.

He waited another few seconds.

Then turned around.

He walked straight toward Lucas's room.

Damon opened the door.

The room was surprisingly ordinary.

A bed.

A desk.

Books.

A few things scattered around.

Nothing immediately stood out.

Damon began looking through everything.

He checked the desk.

Nothing.

The shelves.

Nothing.

He opened a few drawers.

Still nothing.

He stopped.

Whatever he had been looking for wasn't there.

Damon sat down on the bed.

He sank into the mattress.

He blinked.

"...Damn."

The bed was comfortable.

Far too comfortable.

He leaned back for a moment before remembering why he was there.

Damon sat up and looked underneath the bed.

There was something tucked beneath it.

A case.

He pulled it out.

It was a black case filled with USB drives.

Damon opened it.

There were dozens of them.

He picked one up.

No label.

He turned it around.

Nothing.

Damon frowned.

He looked back inside the case.

Almost every other USB had a name written on it.

Names.

Initials.

Some dates.

Some things he didn't recognize.

But this one was completely blank.

He turned the USB over in his fingers.

Nothing.

Then he looked at it again.

There was writing on it.

Damon froze.

"KRISTIN JB"

He stared at the name.

It hadn't been there a second ago.

Damon looked back into the case.

The other USBs were still there.

Everything was exactly as he'd found it.

He looked at the USB again.

"KRISTIN JB"

Damon's expression changed.

He slowly placed it back into the case.

He closed the lid.

Then shoved the entire case back underneath the bed.

He sat there for a moment.

Something wasn't right.

Damon looked at the mattress.

Then lifted it.

There were books hidden underneath.

Several of them.

He pulled one out.

On the cover were two letters:

"A TO G"

Damon opened it.

The pages were filled with writing.

He tried to read it.

Nothing.

He blinked.

He moved the book closer to his face.

Still nothing.

The words were right there.

He could see them.

But they refused to make sense.

Damon flipped through several pages.

Nothing.

He grabbed another book.

"M TO R"

He opened it.

The same thing.
Words.
Sentences.

Pages filled with writing.

But none of it was readable.

Damon stared at the book for a long moment.

Then slowly closed it.

He placed both books back where he'd found them.

He lowered the mattress.

Everything looked normal again.

Damon stood.

He glanced around Lucas's room one last time.

There was nothing here that made sense.

And somehow, that was beginning to feel like the most normal thing about Lucas.

Damon walked out of the room and quietly closed the door behind him.

THE BEAUMONT HOUSE

Bella sat at the kitchen table, finishing her breakfast.

Her bag was already beside her, packed and ready for class.

Bennett walked past her and headed straight for the refrigerator. He opened it, reached inside, and pulled out a bottle of cold drink.

He took a long sip.

"You need to hydrate," he said.

Bella looked up at him.

"It is hot today. Hot as the altar."

Bella stared at him.

"The what?"

Bennett ignored the question and took another sip.

"You also need to stop hanging around those occult members. They're not good for you."

Bella frowned.

"I'm not hanging around occult members."

Bennett shrugged.

"Sis, they say you need to learn a thing or two in order to gain knowledge."

He walked out of the kitchen.

Bella watched him leave.

"...What the hell does that even mean?"

She finished eating.

Then carried her bowl to the sink and washed it.

She dried her hands, picked up her bag, and left the kitchen.

Bella headed toward the front door.

As soon as she stepped outside, the heat hit her.

She pulled out her phone and checked the time.

"11:00 AM."

She sighed.

She was already going to be late.

Bella slipped her phone back into her bag.

Then she looked up.

A car was pulling into the driveway.

She stopped.

The car came to a halt.

Bella recognized it immediately.

"Aunt Becca?"

*That was early.*

*Much earlier than expected.*

Before Bella could move, the front door behind her opened.

Grandma Beatrice stepped outside.

She looked toward the car.

Then at Bella.

Her expression changed.

"She is here."

Bella looked at her.

"What?"

Beatrice kept her eyes on the car.

"That means it will be today, then."

Bella frowned.

"Today?"

Beatrice finally looked at her.

Bella tightened her grip around her bag.

"But I have classes."

"Your classes won't be happening today," Beatrice said.

Bella looked at her.

"What do—"

Before she could finish, Aunt Becca stepped out of the car and immediately wrapped her arms around her.

"Ah, Bella!"

Bella smiled awkwardly as Becca hugged her.

"It has been a while. Look at you! You've grown into such a beautiful lady."

"Thanks, Aunt Becca."

Becca finally let her go and looked at her properly.

"Look at you."

Bella adjusted the strap of her bag.

"It's good to see you too."

"Come on," Becca said. "Let's go inside. There's a lot to do today."

Beatrice nodded.

"Morning, Grandma."

"Morning, my child."

Beatrice looked at Becca with a quiet sense of pride.

"You have done a wonderful job for your great-grandfather."

Becca smiled.

"I have."

She paused.

"And I intend to do it properly. Just as he hoped."

Beatrice nodded.

"I'm proud of you."

Bella followed behind them.

She had absolutely no idea what they were talking about.

"What exactly are we doing?"

Neither of them answered.

Instead, Beatrice led them around the side of the house toward the backyard.

"We'll use the outside basement."

Bella looked around.

"The basement?"

Beatrice stopped.

Beside the house were two large wooden doors built into the ground.

Both were already open.

Bella stared down into the darkness.

She hadn't even known there was a basement there.

Beatrice reached into her pocket and pulled out a small box of matches.

She handed it to Becca.

"Here."

Becca took it.

"You know how the work is done."

She looked toward the open basement.

"Good luck."

Beatrice turned and walked toward a shaded area beneath a tree.

She sat down.

Bella looked at her.

Then at Becca.

Then back at the basement.

"Grandma?"

Beatrice simply waved her hand.

"Go on."

Bella frowned.

She clearly wasn't getting any answers.

Becca stepped toward the basement entrance.

Then looked back at Bella.

"Follow me."

Bella hesitated.

"What are we doing down there?"

Becca smiled.

"You'll see."

She descended the first step.

Bella looked at Beatrice one last time.

The old woman was already sitting comfortably beneath the shade, watching them.

Bella sighed.

Then followed Becca into the basement.

Bella and Becca sat across from each other on old wooden chairs.

Candles surrounded them.

They were placed along the floor, on small tables, and even on the stone ledges of the basement walls. Their flames moved gently with every small draft that passed through the room.

Behind them, the basement door remained closed.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Bella looked around the room before finally looking back at her aunt.

"What you are being taught is the same thing Beth, your mother, me, and those before me were taught," Becca said. "It has been passed down through the family for generations."

Bella nodded.

"And I would love it if you asked questions," Becca continued. "Don't just sit there and listen because you think you're supposed to. Ask. It's better to know more than you're supposed to know than to know less than you need to."

"I understand."

Becca smiled slightly.

"Good."

Bella looked down at her hands.

"I've always noticed something about the family."

"What?"

"The names."

Becca waited.

"Almost everyone has a name that starts with B. Even Dad."

Becca nodded.

"You're right."

"Why?"

Becca leaned back slightly in her chair.

"Because of the curse."

Bella's expression changed.

"The curse requires the continuation of a particular spiritual lineage. That is why the Beaumont name and the traditions surrounding it are so important."

Bella listened carefully.

"Anyone who is not part of the family and tries to marry into it can die."

Bella's eyebrows raised.

"Can?"

"It has happened many times in the past."

"How?"

"A spirit."

Bella remained quiet.

"The spirit kills the person who isn't part of the family," Becca explained. "There were times when people tried to avoid the curse altogether. Some refused to marry. Others separated themselves from the family."

"And that worked?"

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes?"

"People who truly loved each other sometimes stayed together without marrying."

Bella frowned.

"And they were still killed?"

"Yes."

"Both of them?"

"No."

Becca shook her head.

"The person who wasn't part of the family."

Bella stared at her.

"So the spirit knows who belongs to the family?"

"Yes."

"And it just... kills the other person?"

Becca nodded.

Bella was silent for a moment.

"That sounds horrible."

"It is."

Bella looked toward the candles.

"Then how did Mom marry Dad?"

Becca smiled faintly.

"That's a good question."

"Because his name already starts with B?"

"No."

Bella looked at her.

"Then why?"

"Your father was an outsider."

Bella frowned.

"But he became part of the family."

"Exactly."

"How?"

"Your mother chose him."

"Mom chose Dad?"

"According to her heart."

Bella smiled slightly.

"That sounds like something Mom would do."

Becca smiled.

"She didn't choose him because the family told her to. She chose him because she loved him."

Bella nodded.

"But if he was an outsider, how was he allowed to marry her?"

"That is where the tradition comes in."

Becca folded her hands together.

"For someone outside the family to become part of it, there must be a traditional wedding."

"A wedding?"

"Yes. A proper traditional wedding performed according to the family's rules."

"And after that?"

"They are accepted."

"Just like that?"

"Not exactly."

Becca shook her head.

"They receive a new name."

Bella's eyes narrowed slightly.

"A new name?"

"And a new last name."

"So Dad became a Beaumont because of the wedding?"

"Yes."

Bella thought about it.

"That's actually not as complicated as I thought."

Becca gave her a look.

"Don't say that yet."

Bella laughed softly.

"Why?"

"Because you haven't heard everything."

Bella's smile faded slightly.

She looked at Becca again.

"Okay."

There was a brief silence.

Then Bella remembered something else.

"What about telepathy?"

Becca's expression became more serious.

"What about it?"

"If someone has a telepathic connection with someone they love..."

Bella hesitated.

"Does that happen because of the curse?"

Becca stared at her for a moment.

"Not ordinarily."

Bella noticed the way she said it.

"Not ordinarily?"

"It's not something that normally happens."

Bella nodded slowly.

"So it can happen?"

Becca didn't answer immediately.

Instead, she looked toward one of the candles.

"There are things about the curse that we don't completely understand."

Bella looked at her.

"But you've been taught all this."

"Yes."

"So how can you not understand it?"

"Because knowing the rules doesn't mean knowing why the rules exist."

Bella thought about that.

Then another question came to her.

"What happens if I have a child?"

Becca smiled.

"That's a very distant problem."

"I know."

Bella smiled back.

"But what if I do?"

"What about it?"

"What if the child's name doesn't start with B?"

Becca's expression changed.

"Now that's a tricky one."

"Why?"

"Because you can't simply give birth to a child and decide that the tradition doesn't apply to them."

Bella frowned.

"But it's my child."

"Yes."

"So I can name them whatever I want."

Becca looked at her.

"Within reason."

Bella stared.

"What does that mean?"

"The family would consider it an abomination."

Bella's smile disappeared.

"An abomination?"

"And unacceptable."

"Why?"

"Because the lineage must continue."

Bella leaned forward.

"And what happens if I refuse?"

Becca was quiet.

Bella waited.

"Have you ever heard of Raker Beaumont?"

Bella thought for a moment.

"No."

Becca looked directly at her.

"He was your grandfather."

Bella blinked.

"My grandfather?"

"Your mother's father."

Bella's expression changed.

"What happened to him?"

Becca took a slow breath.

"Raker Beaumont was the only person in the family who had a name that didn't begin with B."

Bella stared at her.

"What?"

"Raker."

Becca nodded.

"It doesn't begin with B."

Bella looked down.

Then back at her aunt.

"So what happened?"

Becca's face remained serious.

"He refused."

"Refused what?"

"The name."

Bella's eyes narrowed.

"He refused to change his name?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Becca looked toward the closed basement door.

"That is a story you will hear later."

Bella frowned.

"Why later?"

"Because you are still learning."

Becca turned her attention back to Bella.

"And some parts of this family history are better understood one piece at a time."

Bella didn't look satisfied.

"But he's my grandfather."

"I know."

"And he had a name that didn't start with B."

"Yes."

Bella stared at Becca.

"So why wasn't he killed?"

Becca didn't answer.

The candles continued to burn around them.

Bella waited.

For the first time since the conversation began, Becca seemed to be choosing her words carefully.

"Because," she finally said, "Raker Beaumont was never like the rest of us."