Chapter Four

I took my time making sure the prep room was neat and tidy before I left.

The funeral home itself was more than a hundred and fifty years old, but the prep room had been remodeled a few times so it was sleek and up-to-date. I wiped down every surface until it shined, hoping I’d be less unsettled by the time I was done.

Soon the place was sparkling.

I looked around.

It could use a sweep, too.

The door at the top of the stairs opened. “Kimmy?” Mom called down. “Are you coming?”

“Yep, one sec.” Shutting off the lights, I took a deep breath and headed upstairs to the kitchen. Mom and Grandma were sitting at the table, watching me as I made my way into the room. There were three glasses of milk and a plate of Grandma’s special cookies in front of them. A peace offering.

I decided to allow it. At least everyone’s mouths would be too full of baked goods to share any more earth-shattering news.

Joining them at the table, I snagged a cookie and bit into it with a sigh. Nothing beat the chocolate-butterscotch-and-just-the-right-amount-of-crispy goodness of Grandma’s special cookies. She had yet to share the full recipe with me, but she kept the kitchen well stocked.

Having a bad day? Come home and grab a special cookie.

Having a great day? Cookie.

Before she stepped back, it wasn’t unusual to walk into the kitchen and find Grandma in there helping someone make their final arrangements over a cup of tea and a plate of cookies.

I could never put my finger on why they tasted so good. Another family secret.

“This is the last of them and we’re out of flour,” Grandma said. “I’ll go to the store in the morning to pick some up so let me know if you need anything else, Julia.”

We finished our snack quietly, everyone lost in their own thoughts, before Mom started making noise about it being time for me to get ready for bed.

I headed upstairs with everything I’d learned today still leaving me off balance. Grandma puffed her way up behind me, snagging my elbow and steering me toward her room.

“One last thing,” she said as I tried to pull away.

“Can it wait?” I asked. Today had already been a lot.

“It’ll be worth it,” she promised. “Trust me.”

Turned out, even huge revelations couldn’t shake my trust in Grandma because I immediately followed her through her doorway. It paid off when she made a beeline for the bookshelf. The bookshelf. The one with the Jones family journals on it. The ones I was allowed to look at from two feet away and never, ever touch.

Grandma plucked four books off of the top shelf and came back to stand in front of me.

“Now that you’re further into your training,” she said. “It’s time to start your own journal.” She handed me the first book—a leather-bound journal with a J cut into the front. “And I think you’re ready to begin reading our history.” She handed me the other books.

Their covers were nearly identical to the first one, but the edges of the pages inside were worn and speckled with ink. I flipped one open and let out a little gasp at the name on the first page. Nathan Jones. Dad’s journals.

“It’ll take you some time to read through them all,” she said with a nod to the large collection of diaries on the shelves. “But I think these might be the best place to start.”

“Wow.” I traced a finger over my father’s handwriting. One more connection. “Thank you, Grandma.”

“Mind you take good care of them,” she said, looking more pleased than stern as I nodded vigorously.

Later, once I was tucked up in bed with Morris and my journal, working away on the first entry, there was a knock on the door. Mom came in cautiously, shutting it behind her.

“Hey,” she said as sat down on the end of the bed. “I know that must have been a shock. How are you doing with everything?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

“Yes!” She grabbed my ankle through the covers and gave it a shake. “Talk to me, please.”

“The video of Dad was . . .”

“Tough?”

“Yeah.” Understatement. “I don’t understand why no one told me any of this before now,” I said, and she nodded with an understanding hum. “Grandma explained her reasons, but what about you?”

“At first, you were too little,” Mom said. “I didn’t know how to explain what had happened to him in a way you’d understand.”

I could see that. “But what about later?”

“As you got older, your grandma and I fought about it quite a few times, but eventually I realized she was right,” Mom continued. “It was important for you to have an understanding of the power and a certain level of control first. We agreed to wait until you started training. To follow the process.”

“You fought about it?”

“Big time,” Mom said, eyes going wide. “I was torn. I wanted you to love exploring your power as much as your dad did. It’s a gift. Your gift. But at the same time, I was scared you could end up following his path.”

I hadn’t thought about what it had been like from Mom’s perspective. “I’m surprised you even let me train.”

“Oh, I thought about taking you and leaving,” she said.

“Seriously?” I couldn’t imagine not growing up in the funeral home with Grandma. “What made you decide to stay?”

Mom tucked her feet up on the bed and curled in beside Morris. “I didn’t want us to leave your grandma all alone,” Mom said. “And even if we had left, the magic is a literal part of you. I didn’t want to risk you growing up and figuring out how to tap into it without training. That would’ve been more dangerous. Plus, there’s the protection the house offers.”

“Grandma said something about that,” I said. A shield? “What does it mean?”

“I’m trying to remember what your dad told me,” she said. “Something about runes being carved into the wood as the house was built. The only magic users who can enter the house are members of the Jones family or the family that helped set up the protections.”

That sounded fascinating, and on any other day, I’d want to learn more. I sighed. Everything she’d said made sense. I could understand, at least a little bit, but—

“I still don’t like that you both kept something so huge from me.” I fiddled with the blanket as I tried to sift through my thoughts. “It made me miss Dad a lot,” I said. “And I’m kind of upset with him, too. It’s weird—” I cut myself off, not sure how to continue that thought.

“What’s weird?” Mom prompted gently.

“There’s this whole other side of our power that I’ve never known about.” What had been so cool and special was now something dangerous. Was it allowed to be both?

She covered my hand with hers when I started picking at a thread. “Do you want to stop?” she asked me. “Or take a break maybe?”

“I don’t know,” I confessed. Mom had always said it was an option, but I’d never considered it before.

She let that sit between us while she petted Morris and his rumbling purrs filled the room. I worked up the nerve to ask the question that had been eating at me for the past hour.

“Were you mad at Dad?” Mom looked up with a frown. “When he died,” I clarified.

She froze, caught off guard, but if today was a day for answers then I might as well tick all of the boxes.

“I was,” she said slowly. “For a long time. But that wasn’t the part I wanted to hold on to when I remembered him. And I never wanted to pass that anger on to you so I worked through it. Having you and your grandma around helped a lot.” She nudged at my legs. “It’s okay if you’re upset too right now. I’ll help you work through it. Whatever you need.”

I had no clue what I needed.

“Grandma gave me my journal,” I said, ready to be done with this topic for now. Thankfully, Mom rolled with the subject change.

“Oooh, adding to the family history,” she said. “That’s an exciting milestone.”

“And she said I could start reading the others.”

Mom’s eyes went wide. “That’s huge,” she said. “I’ve yet to be granted that honor.”

Grandma was pretty firm on it being a “Joneses by blood only” privilege.

“She gave me Dad’s to start with,” I said, holding the journals out to Mom. She took one carefully and stroked a gentle finger down the spine.

“I remember him writing in these,” she said with a fond smile before handing it back. “It’ll be a great way for you get to know your dad more. I’m excited for you.”

Morris stood up all of sudden and meeped at us. He headbutted Mom’s shoulder before turning in a circle and lying back down again. We both burst into giggles.

“I am sorry, you know, for the random pet adoption,” I said. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“Oh, honey, no,” she said. “In the future, please talk to us first before diving into a big decision like that, but I understand why you did it.”

Glad she did. “Grandma’s not marking it down as a successful first last-wish run.”

“You were trying to do a good thing,” Mom said firmly. “I hope that’s what you always try to do. Whenever possible.”

“I’ll remind you of that when I end up bringing home more strays,” I said.

“‘When,’ she says.” Mom laughed as she tweaked my nose. “Don’t stay up too late reading. Lights-out in ten, okay?”

“Okay,” I agreed. “Night, Mom. Love you.”

She leaned over and pulled me into a hug, squeezing extra tight. “Love you, too,” she said. “So much.” After one final cuddle, she left, shutting the door behind her, and I cracked open the first of Dad’s journals.

Touching a finger to the first page, I traced the little indents made with each letter. Morris crawled his way up to tuck into my side. “Listen to this,” I whispered to him.

Hi. I’m Nathan Jones.

I’m twelve years old and I’m kind of freaking out. My mom is teaching me how to bring people back from the dead. It’s cool, but also very VERY strange.

I couldn’t help chuckling.

You’re not wrong, Dad. You’re definitely not wrong.

Turning the pages, I tsked when I found a few spots where pages had been ripped out. That was not treating your journal with respect, Nathan Jones. Hope Grandma never caught him doing that.

I kept reading and had just started to nod off when my door creaked open again.

“Lights out, Kimmy,” Grandma Bev whispered as she poked her head into my room. She fussed at the sight of me with the journal on my bed and hurried over to gather it up. “I expected you to take care of this, not sleep on it.”

“I was going to put it on the shelf—”

“With your eyes closed? Impressive.” Grandma set the journal on my side table and sat down on the bed beside me. She reached out to brush the hair off my face, her gaze softening. “Good read so far?”

“Dad’s talking about how strange bringing people back from the dead is.” I smiled.

“I’ve been doing this for fifty-eight years and I still think that too sometimes,” she said with a laugh, patting my leg before standing up with a groan.

Fifty-eight years. That was a lot of Wakings and last wishes.

And goodbyes.

“Hey, Grandma?”

“Hmm?” She paused in the doorway.

“Thanks for sharing Dad’s journal with me,” I said. “And for teaching me.”

“Nothing else I’d rather do. You’ve been an excellent student.”

My face must have betrayed my doubts about that because she laughed softly and leaned against the frame. “You’ve been putting in a lot of training time this week,” Grandma said. “Why don’t we take a break tomorrow and do something wild.”

“Like what?” I couldn’t wait to hear Grandma’s idea of something wild.

“Like go see a movie and sneak in all our own snacks. I’ll have fresh cookies in the morning. We can take those.” Her face creased into a satisfied grin like it was the most evil genius plan ever.

I had no arguments. It was a great plan.

“I’m in,” I said.

“Okay, then. The sooner you get to sleep, the sooner we adventure.” She blew me a kiss. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Night.”

I rolled over and turned off my lamp as she shut the door. Today had been unexpectedly overwhelming, but tomorrow was a new day. One full of adventure, according to Grandma.

The thought put a smile on my face as I drifted off to sleep.