Page 30 of Where the Roses Bloom (Gospels & Grimoires #1)

Willow

I woke to the sound of rustling fabric and Rhett’s quiet voice humming low under his breath—some old song with no real words, just a rhythm that made me feel safe before I even opened my eyes.

Light poured through the curtains, soft and gold. I blinked against it and stretched, only to find the bed next to me empty, still warm. Rhett stood at the dresser, halfway through pulling on a worn white Waylon Jennings t-shirt, his gaze fixed on me like he hadn’t looked away since I fell asleep.

“You watching me sleep?” I asked, voice rough.

His lips curved, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Just makin’ sure you stayed.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Rhett.”

He crossed to the bed and leaned down, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Good.”

I sat up slowly, feeling the ache of yesterday settle back into my bones. It had been a long day and an even longer night…hard to sleep, even wrapped in Rhett’s arms. But when I had fallen asleep, it had been to good dreams, not nightmares. “Where are you headed? ”

He hesitated, brushing a strand of hair back from my face. “Nowhere. Wasn’t gonna leave you alone. Not after last night.”

My heart tugged. “Thank you.”

Then I heard it—voices downstairs. Not just one. Several. Warm and familiar and…cheerful?

“Wait,” I said, squinting toward the door. “Who’s here?”

Rhett straightened, something like amusement flickering through his features. “Delilah showed up about twenty minutes ago. Said she thinks she’s got a solution.”

I blinked. “She what?”

“And she brought backup,” he added. “You better get dressed, baby. Looks like the whole damn family came to rally.”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the hardwood cool beneath my bare feet. “Backup?”

Rhett just grinned like he’d been waiting for me to ask.

“Silas is still on the couch, but Beau came by not long after with Mabel in tow. Whit showed up out of nowhere like he always does—didn’t say where he’d been, just made coffee like he lived here.

Delilah’s got ‘em all in the kitchen like she’s runnin’ a war room. ”

I stared at him. “And they’re here…because of me?”

“They’re here for you,” he corrected, kneeling to grab the hoodie I’d draped over the armchair the night before and handing it to me. “Because they care. Because something’s messin’ with our house and our people, and that means it’s their problem too.”

My fingers closed around the soft cotton of the hoodie. I looked down at it, then back up at him.

“Is it weird that I’m…kind of emotional about that?”

His smile softened. “It’s not weird. It’s Willow Grove.”

I slipped the hoodie on over my tank top and padded to the door, my body still heavy with sleep, but steadied by the quiet resolve in Rhett’s voice.

We walked down the hall together, side by side, and by the time we hit the stairs, I could smell bacon and coffee and hear Delilah’s unmistakable laugh.

She was holding court at the kitchen table, red lipstick already on and glowing like she’d just waltzed in from a magazine spread.

She had her a leather-bound book open—the red book she carried everywhere, which I now realized was some combination of address book, journal, and grimoire—and a mug that said Hex the Patriarchy in bold script.

Mabel stood behind her, pouring coffee. Beau leaned on the counter, arms crossed and curls still damp from a shower.

Silas looked like he hadn’t slept at all, but someone had given him a biscuit, so he was halfway to human.

Whit sat on the windowsill, a toothpick in his mouth, sleeves rolled up to show his tattoos. He caught my eye and gave me a lazy two-fingered salute.

“Morning, darlin’,” Delilah said like we weren’t all dealing with a haunting. “Hope you’re up for a little sacred mischief, because we’ve got plans.”

I looked at Rhett.

He just smirked and said, “Told you.”

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 you love-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.

Silas stood, his biscuit forgotten on the table, eyes narrowed and body rigid like he was listening for something no one else could hear.

The light above the kitchen flickered once.

Delilah didn’t flinch. “He’s listening.”

I felt it then: the shift in the air, cold threading in through the seams of the walls. A prickling sensation crawled up the back of my neck, curling around my throat like the subtlest clench of fingers.

Carter was listening.

I looked at Rhett, and he looked at me. Neither of us said a word. We didn’t have to.

Our new ghost had heard the plan.

And he wasn’t pleased.