“She revolutionized them. Mathilde fled France not because she was cursed, but because her healing abilities threatened those in power. She came here to build something lasting, a place where wisdom could flourish instead of being suppressed.” Vivienne closed the grimoire, her hands steady and sure.
She withdrew Emmeline’s journal and opened it to the familiar page marked with a silk ribbon. “This is Emmeline’s account of the Aldrich family’s activities during Prohibition, as told to her by my great-grandmother Josephine, who witnessed them firsthand.”
Brooks accepted the journal with care, his expression focused and professional as he began to read. The entry described regular nighttime deliveries, boats with darkened lanterns, and crates moved through concealed passages beneath the town.
“This is remarkably specific.” Brooks looked up from the pages. “Was your great-grandmother working with law enforcement?”
“Not officially. The sheriff at that time was Winston Aldrich’s grandfather, which complicated matters. But Josephine passed information to federal agents when they occasionally visited the area. The Hawthorne women have always maintained a complex relationship with local authorities.”
Brooks nodded, returning to the journal. As he continued reading, his expression grew more serious. “According to this, the smuggling operation involved not just alcohol during Prohibition but continued afterward with other contraband. And the tunnels remained in use.”
“Yes. The Aldrich family transitioned to legitimate business enterprises over time, but rumors persisted about occasional illicit activities. My grandmother believed that Gerald Aldrich resumed using them in the 1980s and 90s, though for what purpose, she was never certain.”
“And you believe Lily Morgan may have discovered evidence of this while researching for her school project.”
“I can show you what Lily discovered.”
Vivienne moved to a small wooden box on her desk, one that had belonged to Martha Morgan. Inside lay a few personal items: a hair ribbon, a silver locket, a fragment of paper with Lily’s handwriting. She lifted the locket, centering herself with breathing techniques her mother had taught her.
The moment her skin made contact with the silver, impressions flooded her mind.
Water filled desperate lungs, salt burned her throat. Hands dragged her through stone passages while she fought and screamed. The beacon spun overhead as blood streamed down her face. Winston Aldrich’s voice echoed off stone walls: “She knows too much about our operations.” The splash as they threw her into the tidal pool beneath the structure, where the current would carry her body out to sea.
Vivienne gasped and dropped the locket. It clattered onto the desk.
Brooks was on his feet. “What just happened? Your eyes—they went completely white.”
Her hands trembled. She reached for her water glass with shaking fingers and took a measured sip, using the grounding techniques her mother had perfected. The room spun, then steadied.
“Vivienne.” Brooks moved closer but didn’t touch her. “What did you see?”
She pulled a small cloth bag from her desk drawer, removing dried herbs that she crushed between her palms. The familiar lavender and sage scent helped center her. “Water. Drowning. Lily fought—she fought so hard. But they dragged her through the tunnels.” Her voice caught. “Winston Aldrich. I heard his voice. He said she knew too much about their operations. Then they threw her into the water beneath the structure.”
“Jesus.” Brooks ran a hand through his hair. “You’re still shaking.”
“It always happens after. The intensity . . .” She tucked the herb sachet back into her drawer and met his eyes. “That’s why no one ever found her. The tidal pools connect to the underground river system. The current carried her deep into the flooded chambers.”
Brooks stared at the locket on her desk. “What I just watched—your eyes, the way you weren’t here—that’s not possible.”
“And yet.”
He paced to the window, then back. “This is insane. Except you knew about the cove. You knew about the blood. And now you’re telling me exactly where to find a body that’s been missing for twenty-five years.”
“There’s an entrance through the sea caves, accessible only at low tide.”
“If you’re wrong about this—if I drag Chief Sullivan and a forensics team out there based on a vision?—”
“I’m not wrong.” Vivienne’s voice was steady now despite her trembling hands. “My mother spent years developing techniques to manage these abilities. Previous generations thought the gift would kill them. She proved it was just exhaustion, that with proper preparation you could help the dead without destroying yourself.”
Brooks stopped pacing. “The dead.”
“Lily is still there, Brooks. Still calling for justice. The dead don’t rest until someone hears them.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his rational mind clearly at war with what he’d just witnessed. Finally, he nodded. “What do you need to prepare for this?”
“Just my grandmother’s compass and some protective herbs. The spirits want to help us. They’re not a threat, they’re our allies in this investigation.” As they prepared to leave, Vivienne cast one last glance at the grimoire. The symbols on its cover seemed to pulse with warm light, responding to her confidence in her family’s true legacy.
Someone had to speak for the dead, but that didn’t mean sacrificing the living.
