I don’t go to school the next day. I don’t even get out of bed until around noon. Mama is sitting at the kitchen table when I get up, pouring over an arrangement of tarot cards. Her eyes are red rimmed and she looks as though she hasn’t slept.

“What killed her?” I ask, not bothering with pleasantries.

“I don’t know.” She flips over another card.

“Did she do it herself, on accident? Or did someone else --”

“Baby girl, I said I don’t know.” She stands and starts bustling around the kitchen, fixing a cup of coffee.

“Mama, she was eviscerated,” I say weakly, taking the mug when she hands it to me. “What could have done that?”

“Any number of things.” She picks up her own coffee, sipping it grimly.

“My visions,” I murmur, pleadingly, silently begging her to tell me that they had nothing to do with this.

“Have you seen any more snakes since yesterday?”

I shake my head no.

“Then yes. It seems that this is what they were alluding to.” Her hands tremble on her cup.

“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks.

“Baby girl.” She fixes me with a stern stare. “This was not your fault. Don’t you dare think that for a moment there was anything you could have done to stop this. We will figure out how and why this happened, but it may take some time. Right now we just have to deal with … with everyday things. They’re cremating what they could, uh, gather of her remains and we need to set up a wake. Every witch in the South will be in attendance.” She takes a long pull from her cup. “She’s left you Moonhollow,” she adds, almost as an afterthought.

I gape at her. “Me?”

She nods, lips thin. “You’ll receive the deed when you’re eighteen. Edward’s going to care for it until then. We’re going to hold the wake there.”

I swallow. “But… but she died there.”

“You think she was the first to die in that house? All the women of our ancestral line have done so, not to mention that it used to be a plantation, Artemis. Its history is vast and bloody.” Her use of my full name exposes how upset she is. She turns around and begins scrubbing at her now empty coffee cup.

“Back up.” I stare at her. “All of the women of our ancestral line have died at Moonhollow?”

“Yes.”

“How did I not know this?”

“I assumed your grandmother would have told you. I guess she hadn’t gotten to that yet in your lessons.” She places her cup on the drying rack and returns to her spot at the table.

“Do...is it like on purpose? Or did they just never leave?”

Mama looks a little amused as she gathers up her cards. “Many of them left. But it’s tradition to come back before you die. Their souls rest there, in case any of us ever need guidance.”

My heart races. “So can we just ask Grandmother who killed her?”

She bites her lip. “Not...yet. There’s a refractory period. She’ll need some time to adjust to being dead before she’s ready to talk to us.”

“But what if whatever took her is coming after us?!”

“I have taken that into account. This house has every magical protection on it that I could think of. I spent all night crafting charms and drawing wards. We should be okay. But if you start seeing snakes again, you let me know.”

I drop down into the chair across from her, my mind slowly working through everything. “I want to know what happened to her. I want to know who would do such a thing.”

She sighs and rubs her eyes, setting down the deck. “I’m almost sure she didn’t accidentally blow herself up. Your grandmother was a master of her craft. It was her life.” She sounds a little bitter. “So you’re right to be cautious. I’m going to give you a protection charm to wear and we’re going to keep our eyes peeled. Alright? But even if your Grandmother made an enemy, that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s coming after us next.”

I exhale slowly, nodding.

“And let me know if you have any visions at all, not just snakes.” She picks the deck back up and shuffles.

I nod again.

That night, I have trouble sleeping. Another storm is raging outside and even though I’m emotionally exhausted, I need something to quiet my brain.

The light is on in the kitchen when I get up for a cup of tea. As I approach I hear voices, so I stop out of sight and listen. To my complete surprise it sounds like Mama and Devereaux. I focus hard on what they’re saying. It’s not easy to hear over the tempest outside.

“Honey, it’s not your fault,” Mama says consolingly. “There wasn’t some trigger you pulled. What you think you feel --”

“All due respect, ma’am, I know what I feel. I’ve been fightin’ it for so long and the minute I let my guard down…” Dev trails off, sounding miserable.

What in the ever-loving hell are they talking about? I wonder.

“Take it from a psychic, kiddo, some prophecies are self-fulfilling. Believe me when I tell you that this wasn’t your fault. It’s pure coincidence is all.”

There’s a moment where Dev catches his breath, like he might argue some more, but instead he exhales roughly. “If you say so, Ms. Adelfi. Again, I’m sorry to have bothered you this late.”

A chair scrapes across the tile as he stands and I sink further into the hallway’s shadows.

“Don’t worry about it. I haven’t been sleeping well. Since, you know. I’m so sorry you had to see that.”

“I’m just glad Emmy didn’t have to face it alone,” he says gruffly.

I feel his words tingle all the way down to my toes.

“She’s only seventeen, Devereaux,” Mama says quietly, and I’m not exactly sure how that’s relevant to the conversation.

“I’m painfully aware, ma’am,” he murmurs. “Goodnight.”

The sound of the screen door shutting can be heard a moment later.

I hurry back to bed before Mama finds me eavesdropping or Dev glances at my room from his and finds it empty.

I spend the weekend wrapped in a cocoon of grief and anger. A very primal part of me cries out for retribution but I manage to ignore it. Jules comes over on Sunday and sits through far too many old southern romance movies with me, because they were my Grandmother’s guilty pleasure. I fall asleep on his shoulder and wake up alone in my bed.

I go to school on monday, still sad, but even angrier now. The need to know answers to all of the questions swirling around in my mind about Grandmother’s death is almost overpowering.

“I think I should go ask the ancestors,” I mutter to Jules as we walk home that afternoon. It’s warm and sticky.

“Ask the what, now?” he asks, barely paying attention as his thumbs fly over the touchscreen on his phone. How he can walk and text at the same time is beyond me.

“My ancestors. Apparently every witch in my family has died at Moonhollow. Who are you texting?”

“Zoe. She wanted to know what happened with you-know-who last weekend. You have dead ancestors?”

The incident with Chip feels like years ago now, what with all that’s been going on since. I feel a tinge of guilt at the memory of the kiss that Dev and I shared.

“Everyone has dead ancestors, Jules,” I say. “That’s what makes them ancestors.”

“Oh, right.” He darkens the phone and drops it into his pocket, giving me his full attention. “But not everyone can ask theirs questions.”

“True. I have that advantage, I guess.”

“So because your grandmother died in the house, you can go ask her who killed her?” He sounds wary.

“Yes and no. Mama says there’s a waiting period after someone dies where they’re unreachable. But I figure maybe the other dead witches hanging around saw something.”

“And when you plannin on doing this, Em?”

“As soon as possible. It’s… it’s eating me up inside, all these questions.” I push fingers through my wind-tangled hair. “I’ve got to know what killed her. I should have protected her. What good are these visions if I can’t stop what’s coming?”

He sighs, worrying his lip. “Alright,” he says quietly. “I’ll go with you. We can sneak out, take Dev’s truck.”

I look at him in admiration. “You’re the best, Jules.”

“I just hate to see you upset, Em,” he says, and Dev’s words come back to me. The little punk’s in love with you.

“When should we do this?” I ask.

He chews his lip thoughtfully, his dark curls bouncing as we walk. “Not tonight. Dev’s supposed to go to Claire’s for something or other. Dinner with her parents, I think.”

I’m too wrapped up in my feelings of despair and anger over Grandmother’s death to give the idea of Dev meeting Claire’s parents the attention it deserves, which is probably for the best. Any more emotional turmoil and I might just split open.

“Tomorrow night, then,” I murmur, catching Jules’ hand in mine and squeezing gratefully.

He gives me a smile that speaks of reassurance tinged with concern. He’s worried about me.

“Do you even know how to commune with your ancestors?” he asks. “Did you get to that part in your witch lessons?”

“Uh.” I pull my hand away to run fingers through my hair again. My bangs stick up like crazy and I blow at them. “Not really. I mean, she mentioned that talking to ghosts was easier for us than it is for like, normal people.”

“But you don’t know if there’s a specific spell, or ritual or something?”

“No. But I know where Grandmother kept her grimoire, so if Mama hasn’t moved it, I’ll have access to that.”

Jules still looks unsure, but he nods. We walk a ways in silence before turning onto our street. He looks surprised when he spies Brody’s truck in his driveway.

“I thought for sure he’d have detention today,” he mutters.

“What happened?” I ask, not really interested in the answer. Brody James always has detention for one reason or another.

“He got into a fight today in the cafeteria.” He glances sideways at me, frowning. “You were there. I mean, we were across the room, but still.”

“My mind’s been elsewhere. Maybe he got suspended for a while or something.”

“That’s likely, I guess. Freaking delinquent. It makes no fucking sense. Dev is so strict and adamant that I don’t do anything wrong and then he’s cool with Brody doing whatever.”

I shrug. “Brody’s a big boy. Dev still sees you as a responsibility.”

“Well I wish he’d stop. I can take care of myself.” He crosses his arms and kicks a rock.

I ruffle his hair affectionately when we make it to my house. “So tomorrow night?”

He nods. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Mama and I are doing wake-planning activities,” I grumble.

“Gross. Alright, I’ll see you in the morning then. Get some real sleep, Em.” His grey-green eyes, so like his brother’s, seem to see into my soul.

I nod absently and we part ways.

Mama gets home later and we sit down together at the table, pick at the chinese food she brought home and plan the refreshments menu for the wake. There’s an air of melancholy that blankets us and it’s stifling. It makes me squirm, makes my blood burn. I’m usually very honest with my mother about the goings on of my life, but I don’t mention my plans to ask the ancestors about Grandmother’s death, even though she’d likely be able to help find the spell for it.

Something tells me she wants to just leave it alone for now. The vial of protection herbs on a chain around my neck seems to be her solution to any possible problems. But I’m not even sure if what’s driving me to find out is fear or righteous anger. It feels more like the latter, and Mama’s always taught me to not take action when I’m angry, to wait until I’m thinking clearly. But this time, just this once, I’m going to act. It’s almost like I’m compelled to do so. I need to find out what happened to her.

I go to bed with the odd sensation of unsaid words hanging in the air between Mama and me. A large part of me wants to tell her my plans, to lay it all down and hash it all out. But I know she’d talk me out of it, and the part of me burns so fiercely to know is overpowering. So I toss and turn in my bed for a few hours, chancing glances at Dev’s darkened, vacant bedroom.

That’s right, he had dinner with Claire’s parents tonight. I wonder how that went. I wonder if he’s still there.