The council chamber was colder than Evie remembered. The air seemed to press in around her, heavy with the weight of old decisions and forgotten secrets. As the carriage rumbled to a stop, Lucas helped Evie down, his hand steady at her back. She didn't even glance at him—her mind was too focused on what awaited her inside.
The grand doors creaked open, revealing the towering, vaulted ceilings of the council's chamber. Evie's heart beat a little faster. The walls were lined with ancient tapestries depicting long-forgotten battles, the flicker of torchlight dancing across their faded colors. It should have been familiar, comforting even, but today it felt like a prison.
"Are you sure about this?" Lucas asked softly, though his gaze didn't leave the door ahead. His tone was carefully neutral, though his worry was clear.
Evie took a slow breath, her pulse still a little erratic. "I have to see for myself. I need to understand. What happened to her... why it happened."
Lucas nodded, but he didn't move closer, his eyes scanning the empty space beyond the doors. There was something almost cautious about his posture. A quiet wariness that reminded her of the creature in her grandmother's form.
The room felt impossibly still, save for the creaking of the door as it opened wider. As they entered, two council members stood to greet them—one old, his thin gray hair almost transparent under the dim light, and the other younger, with dark eyes that bore into Evie as if they were weighing her soul.
"Miss Evie," the older man spoke first, his voice frail but commanding. "It's brave of you to come. The body has been prepared for your review."
He nodded to a nearby table, where a black cloth draped over an object, its shape unmistakable. Evie's stomach twisted. Beneath that cloth, it was her grandmother's body, but it wasn't her anymore. Not after what Lucas had revealed.
She swallowed hard but forced her feet forward. The younger council member stepped aside, allowing her to approach the table.
Evie took a steadying breath before pulling back the cloth.
The sight that greeted her was worse than she expected.
The body had been cleaned, but the once-familiar face of Anny was gone. The features were still there, distorted, stretched, and unnaturally stiff. The woman who had raised her—cooked her meals, taught her how to read, comforted her when her heart was broken was unrecognizable. This thing, this witch, had stolen everything that had made her grandmother Anny.
Her breath caught in her throat, and her vision blurred. She couldn't look away, even though the pain was too much. A part of her wanted to scream at the council, ask them how they had let this happen. Another part wanted to run away, to escape the suffocating truth.
Evie's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her throat was tight, strangled by the weight of too many emotions crashing down at once. Grief, rage, relief, confusion. It swirled in her chest like a storm. Her hands trembled where they hovered above the edge of the table, and for a brief moment, she swayed on her feet.
Lucas stepped forward in an instant.
"She needs air," he said quietly but firmly, turning to the younger council member. "Take her outside. Let her sit somewhere with light."
The man hesitated only a second before nodding and stepping toward Evie.
Lucas moved to her side and leaned in close, his voice low. "You don't have to stay. I'll take care of the rest. Just breathe."
Evie didn't reply, but her eyes—glassy with unshed tears—met his for a fleeting second before she let herself be led away.
Once the echo of her footsteps faded beyond the heavy chamber doors, the silence settled again like dust. Lucas stood still for a moment, staring down at the lifeless form. The resemblance was barely there now, a hollowed husk wearing Anny's shape. But he bowed his head respectfully before turning to the far end of the chamber, where a figure had quietly appeared.
He was a stocky man in a dark, simple robe. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing pale, strong forearms. His face was lined with age, but his eyes—a pale, faded blue—were sharp and watchful. The mortuary keeper. An old title for an old duty.
"You prepared the body?" Lucas asked as he approached.
"I did," the man replied. His voice was rough, like boots over gravel. "Cleaned her myself. May the dead sleep well."
Lucas studied him for a moment, then gestured toward the body. "What did you find?"
The mortuary keeper glanced around as if checking for unseen ears before stepping closer. "This wasn't an ordinary possession," he murmured. "The witch… she was a small one. Barely a flicker of true power. Enough to twist flesh and mimic voice, sure—but not enough to resist burning salt and silver. She shouldn't have lasted more than a few hours."
Lucas narrowed his eyes. "Yet she did."
The old man nodded grimly. "More than that. While I was cleansing the body, I felt it—an echo. Something deeper. Older. A residue that didn't belong to the witch."
Lucas's expression darkened. "What sort of residue?"
"A different magic," the man said slowly. "Faint, but embedded. Like something that had lived in the body for a long time. Years, perhaps. Maybe longer. Not active… just present. Dormant."
Lucas folded his arms, his jaw tight. "Not the witch?"
"No." The mortuary keeper shook his head. "Different flavor altogether. The witch was like frost. Fast and cold, stealing warmth. But the other thing? It was like mold in old wood. Deep. Slow. Patient."
Lucas looked back toward the chamber doors, where Evie had disappeared. "Does she know?"
"I don't think so," the keeper murmured. "She believes the witch came only yesterday—and in that, she's correct. But that other thing—whatever it was—had made the old woman its home long before. It might not have even been conscious, but it was there."
Lucas was quiet for a moment, absorbing the weight of the revelation. "And it didn't fight the witch off?"
"Perhaps it couldn't," the mortuary keeper said. "Or wouldn't. Sometimes, old spirits don't care who shares their shell. They sleep… until something wakes them."
Lucas's gaze returned to the shrouded form on the table, his thoughts shifting like shadows. Anny had been possessed, yes—but perhaps she had also been carrying something else all along. Something no one had noticed. Not even Evie.
Whatever it was, it changed things.
"Thank you," Lucas said at last. "Let no one else touch her. I'll handle the rites myself."
The keeper gave a small, respectful bow. "As you wish, my lord."
Lucas turned away then, cloak trailing behind him like a whisper of nightfall, his mind already reaching into darker corners of memory, trying to piece together what had truly lived beneath the skin of the woman Evie had called Grandmother.