Page 86 of Where the Roses Bloom

I swallowed the lump in my throat and stepped fully into the kitchen, bare feet and messy hair and all. Mabel handed me a steaming mug of coffee before I even had to ask.

“Just how you like it,” she said. “Milk and honey.”

I blinked at her, overwhelmed. “Thank you. So…Rhett said y’all have a plan?”

Before anyone could answer, a blur of fur bounded around the corner and nearly took me out at the knees.

“Milo!” Beau barked, stepping forward just in time to grab the golden retriever by the collar before he launched straight into my lap. “Down, buddy. You gotta let her get caffeine in her system before youlove-bomb her.”

Milo wiggled and whined and tried valiantly to obey, tail wagging like he was part Labrador, part caffeinated squirrel. He settled for leaning against my leg with his entire body weight and licking my bare knee.

“I didn’t know you brought him,” I said, grinning despite myself.

Beau shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to. He jumped in the truck bed when I wasn’t looking. Guess he wanted in on the exorcism.”

Milo thumped his tail in agreement.

Delilah didn’t waste time. She closed her book with a sharp little snap and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the table. “I called a friend. An expert. She’s on her way.”

“An expert on ghosts?” Beau asked, eyes wide.

“Nah…more like an exorcist,” Whit offered.

“She’s not just an exorcist,” Delilah corrected him. “She’s a priest. Episcopalian. Queer. Kickass. Her name’s June Fontenot, and she’s the real deal. She doesn’t come with holy water and Latin, if that’s what you’re picturing. Think candles, hymns, sacrament, and the kind of authority that doesn’t flinch when a man throws a tantrum—alive or dead.”

“She’s a friend of yours?” I asked, still petting Milo absently as he sighed against my shin.

“Old friend from New Orleans,” Delilah said. “She reads energy like some people read palms. You’re gonna like her.”

“She’s not gonna think we’re all crazy?” I asked.

Delilah arched a brow. “Willow, she performs queer-friendly house blessings and spirit releases across three counties. She once drove a demon out of a church basement using a communion chalice and a Dolly Parton record. She won’t bat an eye.”

Whit gave a low whistle. “I wanna be her when I grow up.”

Delilah grinned over the rim of her mug. “She’ll be here by nightfall. Figured we could get the place prepped before she arrives—sweep the energy, lay out some protections.”

“We’re really going full The Craft here, huh?” I asked.

“I was thinking more Practical Magic,” Delilah winked.

The room was warm with laughter and clinking mugs, the smell of bacon and coffee mingling with Milo’s distinct scent and a faint note of lavender. For one strange, glowing moment, it almost didn’t feel like a haunted house.

Then Milo growled.

Low and deep in his throat, the sound of it cutting through the morning like a warning bell. He turned away from my leg and stared across the room—ears pricked, tail stiff, eyes locked on the hallway that led to the back of the house.

A second later, the floorboards above us creaked.

Not the soft, familiar kind of creak from an old house settling. This one was…heavier—like a shoe dragging across the upstairs landing.

Rhett tensed beside me.

Milo barked—sharp and loud—and leapt to his feet, growling now, hackles raised.

“What the hell—” Beau started, but fell quiet as all of us turned toward the hallway.

Another creak.