Polly drove this time. For this trip, she needed no direction, so there was no need for Lillian to lead the way. Besides, Lillian and I needed rest. We were beginning to feel the strain of our connection again. All that talking and switching back-and-forth was starting to wear me—us out. I already felt the buzz at the back of my head, nestled right over the start of my neck.

Fortunately, I was also beginning to feel real hope for the first time since I had left The Gathered HQ. Where it had irritated me at first, now I was starting to find comfort in the idea of fate. Maybe fate was on our side.

Maybe this plan could work.

Octavia had assured us that it would. Using Matilda as our vessel had been a stupid idea from the beginning, but it had seemed like our best—only option.

Thankfully Octavia had another way.

When I first saw the bones in the tea leaves, I could barely believe my eyes. But Octavia was sure of what we saw. This was the solution, she had said. The only solution that would succeed.

What else could I do other than believe her?

Polly turned off the main road and onto a smaller side street lined with trees and houses. We had left the tightly packed homes of the inner city behind a while ago. Out here, in the suburbs, the lawns and houses were bigger, sprawling out as much as they liked.

Another turn onto another side street. Unlike the other streets, one side was a thick wall of trees. I thought it might be some kind of park before the trees began to space out, allowing me to see through.

A massive iron fence, black and barbed, broke free from the trees, running parallel to the street. Beyond the fence was a large expanse of sprawling greenery, rows and rows of headstones of every shape and size.

A graveyard.

Close to the fence was a crowd of people, dressed all in black. In the distance, a cluster of low buildings.

Polly kept driving, following the fence until she reached the gate. It was huge, taking its cold iron frame and decorating it with curling shapes and designs, and wide open, welcoming all visitors. I expected her to pull over into one of the few parking spots just beside the gate, but she drove right through and onto the narrow road that wove through the grounds.

"Don't you have to park?" I asked, turning to look back at the parking spots. Though most of the places were filled by cars, there were a few free spots left.

"There's special parking for us," Polly explained, keeping her eye on the small winding road.

"For us?" I echoed.

You'll see, Lillian assured me.

I sat back in the seat. Despite the narrow roads, and many turns, Polly was confident in her journey, like she had done this many times before.

She probably has, I realized.

Lillian stirred inside me but said nothing.

Finally, Polly found a place to park. Deep within the grounds, near the back, several stone buildings loomed large over the road. Polly pulled into one of the parking spots tucked neatly tucked away beside one of the buildings.

"Alright," Polly said, snapping off her seatbelt. "We're here."

"Here?"

"The Greenbury Crypt," Polly explained, nodding towards one of the grand stone buildings.

I had seen crypts and mausoleums before. My hometown had small neat little structures made of simple brick, and even then, they were for only the oldest and wealthiest families in the area. They were like sheds compared to these massive buildings of silver marble and polished white stone. Some looked like Roman temples; others had epic domed ceilings made of stained glass. The Greenbury's mausoleum—the crypt of Polly and Lillian's family—was not as dramatic. It was a simple structure, with clean straight-lines and a single stained glass window positioned over the archway. Its elegance came from the material it was made from, a dark polished stone that was almost black. Above the entrance was a single line of text, recessed into the stone and highlighted with what looked like gold inlay: GREENBURY.

Polly approached the archway and the iron grate that guarded it. A heavy lock hung from its middle. Polly extracted her keychain and sorted through them until she found the right one, then slotted it in. The lock popped and the gate squealed loudly as she pushed it open, stiff from lack of use.

She stepped aside to let us pass.

"It's sure been a while since I've been here," Lillian said, as we stepped past her sister and into the cool shade of the stone building. "I didn't think I'd be coming back to rob the place."

Inside, it was just as lavish as the outside. It was simple in shape—just a long, cavernous rectangle—but the polished stone gleamed on every surface, even in shadow. There were many stone slabs placed evenly along the floor, and many more set into the wall, each bearing the names of those whose remains rested on the other side.

I stepped further in, walking along the wall, reading their names.

Thaddius Angus Greenbury

Margaret Madeline Greenbury

Lillian Rebecca Greenbury—

Lillian froze my body in place. My breath hitched in my throat. She raised my hand to press it against the cold metal plate that guarded her own resting place.

"There's not much there," Polly said, her voice gentle as she came up behind us. "Not enough for what we need."

"I want to see," Lillian replied.

"Well, I don't!" I snapped. If she were to see it, then so would I... And I didn't want to look at more dead bodies than was necessary.

Please? Lillian begged. I could feel the tangle of curiosity and pain that was emanating from her.

"It's not so bad," Polly added. "There wasn't much to bury, and it's been a while. I doubt it'll be too gruesome."

I clenched my teeth. It didn't seem like I was going to get much of a choice. I almost wished I could disappear into another memory.

Lillian took my lack of response as approval. She reached for the metal plate's edge and tugged on it. It took a few tries, but eventually, the metal plate slid free, revealing a small compartment cut into the stone behind it.

Inside, instead of an urn, was a small, delicate box made of carved and polished wood. It looked like a jewelry chest. Lillian reached for it with my hands. When she lifted it, it was lighter than I was expecting. It rattled lightly as it was moved.

Lillian held the box to my chest for a moment, just staring at it. I wished I could close my eyes and hold my breath, but she had control of me. I was forced to watch as she slowly lifted the lid. Inside was a bundle of cream silk, lying flat on the bottom. Brown stains marbled the cream, and it made my stomach turn. Lillian didn't care. She reached into the box and pulled back a corner of the silk. The edges were rough, tattered.

Inside the bundle, the stains were worse. But beyond that, all that was left was a scattered assortment of small off-white bones. They reminded me of the bones I had seen in the tea leaves, all neatly bundled together. At least it didn't smell horrible; it just smelled like damp and dust.

I remembered Polly explaining that all she had found of Lillian after she had leapt from the bridge was one of her feet, still in a shoe, that had washed ashore.

"So this is all that was left of me..." Lillian said with a sigh. She dropped the edge of the silk over the small collection of bones.

"One day," Polly replied. "There will be nothing left of us but dust, regardless of where your bones are kept." She walked away from us and began to survey the rest of the mausoleum.

Lillian sighed and closed the lid of the box again. She held it for a moment longer before placing it back into the compartment and sliding the metal plate back into place. Her spirit felt heavy in my body.

"So, who're we going to choose?" Polly said, waving her arms wide as if she was in some kind of showroom.

"Not Mom or Dad, obviously," Lillian said, pausing briefly at the side of two of the slabs set into the floor. The date of their deaths were the same.

"Of course not," Polly said, wandering farther out. "I'm thinking of one of the older ones. I didn't know them, but since they were rich and white and died a hundred years ago, they were probably hella racist. So, I won't feel as bad."

"Fair point," Lillian said, going to stand by her sister. Together they spent a moment surveying the floors and walls for names. I recognized none of the names, but I caught the dates. Some death dates went all the way back to the mid-19th-century. Some birth dates went back to the 18th-century.

"Ooh!" Polly said suddenly. She was studying one of the floor slabs. "What about Great-Great-Uncle Daniel? According to the stories dad used to tell us, he was a real bastard."

"Is that the one who had that super shady 'hotel' business that was basically a brothel?" Lillian asked, joining her sister by the wall.

"That's the one," Polly said. "And he had, like, five wives all die under mysterious circumstances." She pointed to the adjoining compartments. Each one bore the name of a woman who, judging by the dates, died young. "Never proven, of course, but it was enough that he was pretty much kicked out of the family after that."

"Then why is he in the crypt?" I asked.

"He was originally buried on the other side of this very graveyard," Lillian explained. "His older sister, who outlived him, had a change of heart in her later years. She had him—and his poor wives—exhumed and added to the family crypt. But his infamous memory remains."

"Even if I'm the only one living who still remembers it," Polly said with a sigh.

I was reminded that Polly really was the only living Greenbury left. All this family, all these years, and the line had dwindled to a single living remnant. And someday she, too, would be laid to rest here, amongst her kin. A breeze that swept through the room sent a shiver up my spine. Hopefully not anytime soon.

"Well, I say he's as good of a candidate as there could be," Lillian said, staring down at his engraved slab. "Help me with this, will you?"

Under her command, my body stooped down. She pushed my fingers under the edge of the stone, and Polly did the same.

"Ready? 1... 2... 3..."

I felt the weight of the thing though it wasn't me doing the lifting. It was cumbersome, and Polly and Lillian were only able to budge it a little, just enough to get it out of its inset edge. They placed it down and then pushed the rest aside until there was a good sliver of open hole in the floor.

I held my breath as Lillian leaned my body over to look inside. Inside was a simple wooden coffin without a lid. A skeleton, utterly devoid of all flesh and tissue, was laid inside, A tattered suitstill clung to the bare bones, which had turned almost orange with age. Atop his the orange skull was a ratty white tangle that looked like it had once been his hair.

"Octavia should be pleased with this," Polly said. "It's just what she wanted."

As Octavia had explained to us, we could create a vessel seal the Malix in, usually through constructing a special box. Only we didn't have time for that. So we went with the quickest—and dirtiest—option: flesh and bones. A body would work, of course, but that body didn't need to be alive. Anything that once housed a soul would be sufficient, even if it was just a part. Skulls, she had informed us, would be the best option.

And fortunately, Lillian and Polly had lots of skulls to choose from.

"He'll be perfect," Lillian said. She reached in, ready to grab the skull and pluck it from her long-dead relative's shoulders.

"No!" I cried. In my effort to stop her, I pulled my arms back, and they shot straight up, held in the air like she was being held at gunpoint. "I don't want to touch it!"

"You baby," Polly scoffed. "If you're going to seal the Malix inside it, you're gonna have to touch it sometime."

"I'll wait until after it's been cleaned, thank you," I sniffed. The dust in here was starting to irritate my nose. "Let's just get it and go."

Polly rolled her eyes and reached in herself. She took hold of the orange skull and pulled it off without any effort. His wispy strands of hair fell aside, and his jaw detached, falling back into the coffin.

Polly held the skull up to the light like she was imitating Hamlet. I stared at it, though it made my stomach feel hollow and gnawing. Its empty sockets stared back.

"Looks like you're finally going to make up for all your fuckery, you old bastard," Polly said to the skull.

Thankfully it did not reply.

✦

Could you rob a grave? ⚰️
I mean, if it was life or death...

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