Twyla's expression grew more serious. "Not recently. But there was something similar back in the fifties, maybe earlysixties. My grandmother talked about it sometimes—a period when the dead wouldn't stay buried and strange things happened all over town."
"What caused it?"
"No one knew at the time. Or if they knew, they didn't share the information with younger generations." Twyla pulled out a cloth and began wiping down the already spotless counter. "But it stopped as suddenly as it started. One day the town was overrun with spiritual activity, the next everything went back to normal."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. Though my grandmother always said someone had paid a price to make it stop. She never elaborated on what kind of price, but she got a haunted look whenever the subject came up."
Before Leenah could ask more questions, the bell above the door chimed again. She turned automatically to see who was entering, and her pulse did something embarrassing when Luka ducked through the doorway.
He looked tired, she realized with a flutter of unexpected concern. His usually perfect hair was disheveled, and there were shadows under his amber eyes that suggested he'd slept about as well as she had. His flannel shirt was wrinkled, and sawdust clung to his jeans despite the early hour.
"Morning, Twyla," he said, his deep voice carrying just a hint of wariness as he spotted Leenah at the counter. "The usual, if you don't mind."
"Of course, honey." Twyla's smile could have powered the entire café. "Why don't you sit right here next to Leenah? I'm sure you two have lots to talk about."
Leenah shot the matchmaking fae a glare that could have curdled milk, but Twyla just hummed innocently while preparing what looked like enough coffee to caffeinate a smallarmy. The woman had all the subtlety of a supernatural bulldozer when she decided two people belonged together.
"You don't have to—" Leenah started, but Luka was already settling onto the stool beside her, close enough that she caught the scent of cedar shavings and mountain air that seemed to follow him everywhere.
"Rough night?" he asked, echoing Twyla's earlier question but with genuine concern rather than fishing for gossip.
"You could say that." Leenah studied his profile, noting the tension in his jaw and the way his large hands wrapped around the coffee mug like he was trying to absorb its warmth. "You look like you didn't sleep much either."
"Workshop got rearranged sometime after midnight. Tools scattered everywhere, protective symbols burned into my workbench." Luka's amber eyes met hers over the rim of his mug. "Doesn't take much imagination to guess what might have caused it."
The casual observation stung her, specifically coming from him. "You think I'm responsible for whatever happened to your workshop?"
"I think whatever you awakened at the cemetery is spreading," he corrected gently. "Big difference."
"Is it?" The words came out sharp, but between Twyla's matchmaking and the implication that her research was causing problems for other people, her defenses were at full alert.
"Yeah, it is." Luka's voice carried the kind of patient certainty that should have been infuriating but instead made her reluctantly calm down. "You didn't set out to cause supernatural chaos. You were just doing your job."
The understanding in his tone was unexpected and dangerously appealing. Most people treated her necromantic abilities like a necessary evil at best, something to be tolerated rather than appreciated. But Luka made it sound like herwork mattered, like the spirits she helped were worth the complications they brought.
"For what it's worth," she said quietly, "I'm sorry your workshop got caught up in whatever this is."
"Don't be." Luka's smile transformed his entire face, softening the harsh angles and making him look years younger. "The spirits seem to approve of me, judging by the protective symbols they left behind. Could be worse ways to spend an evening."
Leenah felt her lips twitch upward. "Most people would be terrified to find supernatural graffiti in their workspace."
"Most people haven't lived in Hollow Oak as long as I have." Luka's expression grew more serious. "Besides, if the alternative is you dealing with this alone, I'll take rearranged tools over that any day."
The simple statement meant more than any elaborate declaration could have. Not because he was offering to help, plenty of people had done that over the years, usually with strings attached, but because he seemed to understand that accepting help was difficult for her. That her independence wasn't just stubbornness but hard-won self-reliance born from years of disappointment.
"I might have found something," she admitted, the words coming out before she could second-guess herself. "In my grandmother's journals. References to a blood pact between the founding families and the indigenous spirits of this land."
Luka's eyebrows rose. "What kind of pact?"
"The kind that required regular renewal ceremonies to maintain. Ceremonies that apparently stopped happening over a century ago." Leenah wrapped her hands tighter around her coffee mug, using the warmth to anchor herself as she shared information she'd been guarding all night. "I think the spirits are trying to remind us that we've broken our end of the bargain."
"And the increasing supernatural activity?"
"Their way of getting our attention. Politely at first, but with escalating urgency the longer we ignore them."
Luka was quiet for a long moment, processing the implications. Finally, he asked, "What do they want us to do about it?"
