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Funerals in the coven often happened quickly after someone died—usually the following day. Grammy’s spirit had already moved on, and we had to put her body to rest, too. Witches had a strange way of embracing death, and I was still learning how to view it like the rest of them. I wasn’t used to it yet.
“It feels too soon,” I admitted.
“We have to perform the funeral ceremony to release her,” Lucas stated softly.
“I thought she’d already moved on.”
“Her spirit has crossed over, but the coven must let her go, too,” Lucas explained. “We still have some time, though. We can wait.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want Grammy to have to wait for me. She chose to move on, so I have to let her.”
It felt like a lie on my tongue. I didn’t want to let her go, and I knew that it’d take a hell of a lot more than a funeral to do it. I was still grieving my parents’ death, and this only made all that grief and loss come rushing back. I had to go through it all over again—but this time without her.
She’d been at my parents’ funeral to hold me together when I was breaking down… quite literally. Grammy’s hugs were all that had gotten me through that day. She’d held my hand when their caskets were lowered into the ground, and she helped me walk across the cemetery when we placed flowers on their graves, because my knees were so unsteady I didn’t think I could do it myself. I felt like I was unraveling at the seams now, and Grammy wasn’t here to knit me back together.
Lucas helped me into the black dress, and I sat at the vanity while he brushed my hair back. Isa purred on my lap, trying to comfort me, but nothing could help right now. The lily bulb sat on the vanity, and I picked it up. There was still dirt under my nails from when I’d dug it up this morning.
We went downstairs, where the others were dressed in funeral attire. Everyone remained eerily quiet, and it was obvious they’d all been crying. I noticed my friends weren’t the only ones there, though. Hattie had arrived with her wolf Familiar.
She stepped forward and placed a bundle of blue flowers into my hands. “They’re forget-me-nots, because we will always remember her.”
I wiped my nose. “Thank you for being here.”
Hattie placed a gentle hand on mine. “I wouldn’t miss it. Let’s lay your grandmother to rest.”
We followed her outside in our bare feet, to connect us to the earth, which was Grammy’s final resting place. The grass was wet, and the sky overcast, but there were no raindrops. I noticed the decorations from the wedding from the night before had been cleaned up. It already felt like weeks ago. It was ironic and heartbreaking that we’d had a wedding and a funeral in the span of less than twenty-four hours.
Hattie led us through the trees and to a flat clearing that seemed so removed from the house. Lucas had said we needed to bury her far away so her body didn’t contaminate our water supply, but I hated that. I wanted Grammy close to me, but now she was going to be all alone out here in the woods.
A large stone stood at the head of her grave. Hattie had used her powers to etch Grammy’s name into the grave marker. The earth had been upheaved, and Grammy’s body lay four feet below us. We were giving her a natural burial, because even though the coven used caskets and held traditional funerals now, this was the way we used to do things. It’s what Grammy would’ve wanted, being in nature and surrounded by her flowers. It was a shallow grave, so Grammy’s body could return to the earth quicker and nourish the plants she so loved.
Grammy’s features were pale, and her arms were crossed over her chest. She wore a white gown and was laid on a thin cotton shroud to symbolize Mother Miriam’s skirt surrounding her, like it would if she was a child embracing her mother’s legs.
When I saw her corpse lying there, the crushing reality hit me all over again. She was really gone.
I was never going to hear her laugh again, or taste another one of her delicious homemade dinners. Her warm embrace would never envelop me again. She’d never bring me another cup of tea, and the garden she’d planted here at the safe house would wither away without her.
Cornelius stood beside the grave. He took one look at Grammy’s corpse, then turned his face to the sky and yowled. The other cats joined in the song of mourning.
Beside the grave stood a small table, which served as an altar and held a white, unlit candle and a silver goblet filled with a dark liquid. Verla approached the altar and lit a match. “We will begin by lighting a candle, to symbolize the light that Helena brought into this world while she was with us, and to guide her way home to Alora.”
Verla lit the candle. The wick instantly ignited, burning at least three inches high. Grammy was with us, all right. She had to be, because there was no light in this world brighter than hers, and this flame knew it.
Verla lifted the goblet. “You have all brought an item with you, which will serve as an offering to Mother Miriam. We pray that our offerings will be accepted as a symbol of our love for Helena, so that Mother Miriam may grant her a peaceful rest in Alora alongside her family, friends, and community. When you are ready, take a sip of the bitter funeral wine, which has been brewed by the Alchemists in attendance today. Drink the wine as a symbol of your acceptance of the bitterness of death, then place your offering within the grave and speak your parting words.”
Verla took a sip of wine, then placed it back on the altar. “Helena, you were a mother to us all. I’ve known you since I was a child and spent so many nights at your house when Faith, Nicole, and I had sleepovers. You helped me study through law school, and you came to all my graduations. When I was named headmistress, you brought me flowers you had grown from your own garden, and you told me you were so proud, when my own parents couldn’t even bother to show up. When Nicole died, you came to her funeral, and you stood next to me when I gave her eulogy.”
Tears streamed down Verla’s face. She never talked about her sister. Everything I knew about Nicole Verla was based on what others had told me. Grammy must’ve meant more to Verla than I ever thought, because she wouldn’t bring up her sister if Grammy didn’t mean the world to her.
Verla conjured a thin yellow shawl. “You bought me my dress to the Midnight Formal my freshman year of college when I couldn’t afford one myself. I’ve kept the shawl all these years, to remind me to show kindness to others the way you showed it to me. I offer this shawl as a symbol of your empathy and caring nature. I give you all my love, and I pray this love brings you peace in Alora.”
Verla gently folded the shawl and knelt down, lowering it into the grave beside Grammy.
“You told me when Faith died that Nadine would need someone to look up to, someone to help her and protect her,” Verla continued. “I promise to be that for her and look after her. Rest in peace, Helena.”
Verla finished by tossing her forget-me-nots into the grave, then stepped back for others to approach. Tears streaked my cheeks.
Professor Warren came forward next, holding a throw blanket in his hands. He took a sip of wine, then began to speak. “Helena, you made this house a home for all of us when we were cast out of our own. We cannot thank you enough. I offer this blanket that kept me warm for many nights here in this house, as a symbol of the home you built and the love we all shared.”
