I finally understood what the fog represented. It wasn't a threat but protection against those who threatened me.
"It's my ancestors. They are causing this," I whispered.
"Your ancestors are doing this?" Zeke asks, blinking hard.
"It's my ancestors. Every woman who came before me. Even the ones who don't possess the gift," I explain. The fog pulses with purpose at my words. "They're not here to hurt us. They're protecting us from Dunhill and his network."
"A barrier," Agent Williams says, his expression shifting—not to fear, but to respect.
I nod. "A warning, a shield, or an extra layer of protection. However, you want to look at it."
"So the fog's basically ghost security?" Uncle Donovan asks. "Good. I was worried we were getting haunted without a warranty."
"Rocky, you sure about that?" Zeke asks, still watching the fog as if it might lunge at me.
I nod again, feeling the truth deepen in my heart. "They're watching the property. Guarding me," I tell him.
"Then we use that," Zeke says, his hand brushing my back, steady and warm. "For now, nobody touches you."
"Safe" feels like a big word for us right now, but it's great our family of ghosties is carrying a lot of weight out there, even if it all goes wrong," Uncle Donovan explains. "However, I'm willing to stay optimistic for a moment."
Agent Williams nods once, eyes scanning the fog. "Protective response. Which means something pushed it to activate."
I open my mouth to answer, but I'm cut off by footsteps thundering down the stairs. Andy. We all rush back into the house, locking the door behind us. Andy stumbles right into us, breathless, pale, his eyes wide with shock.
"Andy," Zeke says, catching him by the shoulders. "Talk to me. What happened?"
He doesn't answer at first. He looks at me. Really looks at me, like he's seen a ghost—or spoken to one.
"Amber," he whispers. "Amber came to me."
"My mom?" I ask, my breath catching.
He nods, shaking. "S-s-she woke me up. She was standing at the foot of my bed. Clear as day. Not a dream. Not a memory. She was there." A pulse pushes behind my ribs. Warm, familiar, and aching.
"What did she want? Did she say anything?" I ask, quietly hoping she asked about me.
Andy ran a trembling hand through his hair. "She said Dunhill is more dangerous than we think, and that we can't underestimate him. That he'll hurt anyone in his path to get what he wants."
"She's right," Agent Williams says. "Dunhill escalates when he thinks he's cornered."
But Andy isn't finished. "She said there's a way to bring him to his knees. Make him weaker." The room goes still.
"How?" Zeke asks, already tense. "Tell us what we need to hit."
"Please don't say it's a demon, a cursed knife, or some haunted tax document," Uncle Donovan mutters.
Andy shook his head. "It's a book."
"A book," Agent Williams repeats, frowning. "That's easier to move than a weapon. Harder to track."
Andy nods. "She called it The Book of Grey." Something pulses inside me. Sharp and electric, like it recognizes the name.
I shiver. "What is it?" I ask. Andy looks at me, his eyes full of something between awe and fear.
"Everything," Andy whispers. "Everything about your gift. Its origin. Its rules. The name of the woman before you. Its weakness and power. Even a ritual to control someone who has the gift. Your grandma left you that journal because the book disappeared." My stomach drops.
"So he's using that thing against her," Zeke says, jaw tightening. "Then we take it away from him."
Andy nodded. "Amber said if the book is gone… he can't hurt Roxanne. Not the way he wants to."
"Okay, great, awesome," Uncle Donovan says. "So are we stealing it, or are we pretending this town has a very aggressive library return policy?"
"We take it," Agent Williams says. "But first, we confirm location, security, and access points."
"Amber said something else," Andy says, shaking his head. We all turn to him. "She said the book doesn't belong to Dunhill." His voice softens as he stares straight at me. "It belongs to Roxanne." A wave of warmth and recognition surges through me. It's the veil acknowledging the ancient truth. I stagger at the intensity of the feeling, grabbing Zeke's arm.
He catches me instantly. "Easy, baby girl. I got you."
"I'm okay," I reassure him. "It's just the veil. It knows. It's reacting strongly."
"If the book is rightfully hers, that means Dunhill definitely stole it," Agent Williams adds.
"Amber said it has been passed down through generations of the bloodline. A gift from the original carrier of this gift, Yurei. Her mother had it, and Dunhill had people break into the house and bring it to him," Andy says, nodding. The fog outside thickens, swirling like a protective wall.
"We're getting that book back," Zeke says, tightening his grip on me. "One way or another."
Agent Williams nods. "And when we do, Dunhill loses leverage. That gives us a cleaner path to take him down."
The next three days blurred together. The fog never fully lifted from the property. Some mornings, it thinned, drifting like pale ribbons dancing across the yard. Other times, it thickened into a white wall, unmoving, impenetrable, protective, and alive.
Inside the house, we work. Agent Williams and Zeke check the windows and doors, making sure everything is reinforced. Uncle Donovan installs motion sensors and alarms so we'll know if anyone gets close to the house—an early warning system. Andy helps where he can, though he moves like a man carrying a weight no one else can see. I keep everyone fed, clean, and stock the hidden room just in case we need to hide out there. Every night, the veil pulses softly. A reminder that time is running out.
By the third day, we have a plan—a real one. We sit down at the dining room table, with maps and notes spread between us. Another agent at the Bureau has intel on where the book is kept. He's someone Agent Williams trusts and has been helping us quietly behind the scenes. He doesn't want us to know who he is so that he can go unnoticed by the corrupt agents. We respect that and don't press for answers. We found out it's at City Hall, inside Dunhill's mayoral office.
Williams taps a finger on the blueprint of City Hall in front of us. "Dunhill keeps The Grey Book in his private office in a locked drawer. Probably reinforced. Likely alarmed."
Zeke nodded. "We go in after hours. Minimal staff. Cameras in that wing are older. We can loop them."
Uncle Donovan grins. "So I get to break into the mayor's office? Wow. Small-town crime really does have perks. Bucket list, baby."
"Amber said the book is the key. If we get it, Dunhill will be more vulnerable," Andy says, not smiling.
"Then we have to get it, for the sake of me and any future females in our family," I say.
"You don't need to carry that alone, Rocky," Zeke tells me, squeezing my hand under the table. "We're handling it."
"We'll finalize the entry route tonight. We move tomorrow," Agent Williams says, leaning back in his chair. But before anyone can respond, there is a loud knock at the door. Sharp. Official.
"Well," Uncle Donovan says, grimacing, "that knock had badge energy all over it. Pretty sure it's the po-po."
Agent Williams moves toward the front door, with the rest of us trailing close behind him. He opens it slowly, cautiously expecting danger, but what awaits us are two sheriff's deputies standing on the porch. Their faces are grim. I don't recognize either of them.
"Evening, folks," the first officer says. He is a short man with a round belly. "We're looking for an Andrew Dawson. His father said he would be here."
"That's me," Andy says, stiffening.
Both officers remove their hats. "We're sorry to inform you that a woman's body was found at Lake Briarwood this morning. She had a driver's license on her person. We believe it's your wife, Sharon. We need you to come and identify her body," the other officer says, hesitating. He is tall, with kind eyes.
"W-w-who did you say it was?" Andy stammers as his legs collapse and he hits the ground, struggling to breathe. He is overwhelmed by shock and denial, unable to believe it could be her; it's all he can think about. Despite her betrayal, he still loved her deeply. How could he not? They had shared many years as husband and wife. He never suspected she had an ulterior plan. I can't believe what we're hearing. She was just here a few days ago, taunting us. This can't be real. My mind is racing. I can't begin to imagine what Andy is experiencing right now.
The taller officer hesitates, then repeats, "We believe it's Sharon Dawson. Your wife." Andy looks like he's been punched.
"Oh, damn," Uncle Donovan whispers. For once, there's no joke in it.
"What happened?" I ask.
The shorter, rounder deputy responds, "We're not making any statements about the cause of death at this time." Of course, they won't say anything. Not when they're probably in Dunhill's pocket.
"I'm going with him," Agent Williams says, stepping forward. The deputies exchange a strange look. He flashes his badge. "FBI. He doesn't go alone."
"Alright," the taller deputy says hesitantly, nodding.
"Dad, do you want me to go? Will you be okay?" I ask, concerned. My heart was breaking for him and the woman I had thought Sharon was.
"I'm okay," he says, lying to me. "You stay here where you're safe." I nod and walk up to hug him tightly.
"Okay," Agent Williams says, steady and low, putting a hand on Andy's shoulder. "Let's go. Stay with me."
Andy steps away from me and looks me in the eyes. He is broken and lost. "Roxanne, I'm sorry," he whispers—then leaves with Agent Williams and the deputies. The door closes, and silence settles over the house.
"This is bad," Uncle Donovan says, sinking onto the couch. "Like 'nobody touch anything and maybe start praying' bad."
My breathing starts to become erratic. Zeke pulls me close. "Rocky, look at me," he says, trying to soothe me. "Breathe, honey. Stay with me." I try to do as he says, but I can't. The veil is violently pushing through my body. It's cold, sharp, almost urgent.
I gasp, clutching my chest. "Something's happening." Zeke holds me tighter, trying to ground me, but it isn't working. The veil is stronger—the room blurs, the air thinning.
Then suddenly I'm standing back in the veil. My living room has disappeared. The cold of the endless gray surrounds me as shadows and figures move around me, ignoring my presence. Then a lone figure steps forward frantically. It's Sharon. I feel a sense of déjà vu. I just went through this with Ted. Sharon runs to me, her hair flowing around her. Her eyes are wide, terrified, but clear.
"Roxanne," she cries. "I don't have long." I flinch away from her closeness.
"What happened to you, Sharon? How did you die?" I ask, my throat tightening.
"He killed me," she says, tears shimmering in her eyes.
My stomach drops. "Who?" I ask, even though I already know. "Who killed you?"