Chapter 10: When the Past Bleeds Through

Rosemary POV

The Thornwick Hollow Library smelled like old paper and lavender, a combination that should have been comforting but instead made my skin crawl. I hadn't slept after discovering those headstones—every time I closed my eyes, I saw six versions of my own face staring back from weathered photographs. Dead women who looked exactly like me, all buried before their thirtieth birthday.

Paige Elliott emerged from behind the circulation desk like she'd been waiting for me. She was younger than I'd expected, maybe early thirties, with the kind of severe beauty that belonged in Gothic novels. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her pale skin had an almost translucent quality in the morning light.

"Rosemary, thank you for coming. You look terrible."

"Thanks for the honesty." I managed a weak smile. "I didn't get much sleep."

"I can imagine. Finding family graves unexpectedly can be quite a shock." Paige gestured toward a small seating area near the tall windows. "Why don't you sit down? I'll make that tea I promised."

The library felt different than it had during my first visit—more intimate, more secretive. Shadows clung to the spaces between bookshelves, and dust motes danced in shafts of sunlight like tiny spirits. I settled into a leather armchair that had probably been expensive fifty years ago, watching Paige disappear into what looked like a small kitchen area behind the desk.

"I brought Millicent's journal," I called out. "There are references to things I don't understand. Eclipse cycles, harvest ceremonies, something called a covenant."

"Your great-aunt was a remarkable woman," Paige's voice drifted back. "Very knowledgeable about local history. Perhaps too knowledgeable for her own good."

The tea service she returned with looked like it belonged in a museum—delicate porcelain cups with hand-painted roses, a matching teapot that steamed gently. The liquid she poured was amber-colored and smelled earthy, with an undertone of something I couldn't identify.

"This is a special blend," Paige said, settling into the chair across from me. "My grandmother's recipe. It helps with clarity of thought."

I accepted the cup gratefully. The porcelain was warm against my palms, and the first sip tasted like herbs and honey with a bitter aftertaste that made me want to cough. But the warmth felt good after a sleepless night, so I drank deeper.

"Now then, what specifically would you like to know about your family's history?"

I opened Millicent's journal to a page filled with increasingly frantic handwriting. "She mentions six generations of women. Eclipse cycles every twenty-seven years. Something about a debt that passes through bloodlines."

Paige's expression remained carefully neutral. "The Decker family has deep roots in Thornwick Hollow. Your ancestors were among the original settlers."

"What about the Ashworths? She writes about them like they're... dangerous."

"The Ashworth family has always been influential here. They've held positions of power since the town's founding." Paige rose and moved to a section of shelves marked 'Local History.' "Perhaps some documentation would help clarify things."

The tea was making me feel strange—not exactly dizzy, but like my thoughts were moving through thick liquid. Colors seemed brighter, shadows deeper. I blinked hard, trying to focus as Paige returned with an armload of leather-bound volumes.

"These are the original town records," she said, placing them on the table between us. "Land grants, marriage certificates, death records going back to 1852."

I reached for the oldest book, my fingers tingling as they touched the cracked leather binding. The moment I opened it, the world shifted sideways.

Fire. The scent of burning sage and something else, something metallic. A woman's scream cutting through the night air, echoing off mountain peaks.

I jerked my hand back, gasping. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Paige's voice seemed to come from very far away.

"I saw... there was fire. Someone screaming."

"The tea can sometimes make people sensitive to residual energies. Old books absorb a great deal of emotion over time." Paige's tone was clinical, like she was discussing the weather. "Try touching the documents again. Sometimes the visions become clearer with repeated exposure."

Every rational part of my mind screamed warnings, but my hand moved toward the book anyway. The leather felt electric under my fingertips, and this time the vision was stronger.

A circle of stones under a red moon. Women in white dresses standing around a stone altar while men in dark robes chanted words that hurt to hear. The scent of blood mixed with incense.

Margaret. Her name was Margaret, and she was twenty-five years old with my face and my eyes and terror that made her whole body shake as they lifted her onto the altar. She was fighting, screaming, begging them to stop, but the ropes held her fast and the red moon shone down like a malevolent eye and—

"Stop." I yanked my hand away, but the visions kept coming. "Make it stop."

"You're seeing the past," Paige said, and her voice held something that might have been excitement. "The covenant ceremonies. Your bloodline has been connected to these rituals for six generations."

"They're killing them." My voice came out as a whisper. "Those women in the cemetery. They were murdered."

"Sacrificed. There's a difference." Paige leaned forward, her pale eyes intense. "The power has to come from somewhere, Rosemary. The Ashworth family's longevity, their influence, their ability to bend this town to their will—it all requires fuel."

The teacup slipped from my numb fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor. Amber liquid spread across the boards like spilled blood. "You drugged me."

"Enhanced you. The tea opens psychic pathways that most people keep closed." Paige made no move to clean up the mess. "Your sensitivity is remarkable. Most people need much stronger doses to achieve this level of connection."

I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't support me properly. The room spun gently, and shadows moved in my peripheral vision like living things. "What do you want from me?"

"I want to help you understand what's coming. What your role is supposed to be." Paige pulled another book from the stack, this one bound in what looked like human skin. "The eclipse is in twenty-four days. The covenant requires renewal, and you're the designated offering."

"I'm not offering myself to anyone."

"You may not have a choice. But there are... alternatives. Ways to redirect the power instead of simply feeding it to another Ashworth male."

Through the drug-induced haze, I focused on her face. There was hunger there, ambition masked as concern. "You want to take my place."

"I want to claim what should have been mine from the beginning. Six generations of women have died to fuel male power. It's time that changed."

I forced myself to reach for the leather records again, despite the way my hand shook. This time I was ready for the visions, prepared for the assault of images and emotions that weren't mine.

A woman who looked like me but older, silver threading through dark hair. Millicent. She was in the bookshop, but it looked different—dustier, more cluttered. A man stood in the shadows, tall and elegant with eyes like winter frost.

"The time has come," he said, and his voice carried the weight of centuries.

"I'm not her," Millicent replied. "I'm not the one you want."

"You'll serve. The bloodline is what matters, not the specific vessel."

She backed toward the counter, her hand reaching for something hidden beneath it. "Stay away from me."

He moved faster than humanly possible, crossing the room in a heartbeat. His hand closed around her throat, and her feet left the floor. "The covenant will be fulfilled, one way or another."

The last thing she saw was his smile, cold and patient as winter.

I came back to myself screaming.

The vision faded, but the horror remained. Millicent hadn't died of natural causes. She'd been murdered by someone who looked exactly like Holden Ashworth, but older. Someone with the same elegant features and predatory grace.

His father. It had to be his father.

"She fought," I gasped, tears streaming down my face. "Millicent fought, but he killed her anyway."

"Elliot Ashworth has been the covenant keeper for thirty years. He's killed before, and he'll kill again if necessary." Paige's voice was matter-of-fact, clinical. "The question is: what are you going to do about it?"

The drug made everything feel surreal, like I was watching myself from outside my body. But the grief was real. The terror was real. And somewhere in this town, a man who had murdered my great-aunt was planning to do the same to me.

"I need to leave," I mumbled, trying again to stand. "I need to get out of here."

"Running won't save you. The covenant is bound to your bloodline, not this location. Elliot's son is already tracking you, drawing you deeper into the web." Paige stood and moved to the window, gazing out at the empty street. "But there might be another way. A way to turn predator into prey."

The visions were fading, but echoes remained. Screams. Blood. The scent of burning sage and terror. Six generations of women who'd died feeding power to men who saw them as nothing more than fuel for their immortality.

I thought of Holden's dark eyes and magnetic smile, the way electricity ran through me whenever he touched my hand. He'd been charming me, seducing me, preparing me for the same fate that had claimed every woman in my family for over a century.

But this time might be different.

This time, the sacrifice might fight back.