Chapter 5Stace’s house squatted in a small clearing surrounded by giant cedars and sycamores. The log cabin style cottage featured brown trim and leafy green accents with whimsical whorls and curves, as if Stace wanted people to mistake her home for undecorated gingerbread.
Gabe had stopped on the road, so I could see Stace’s bright red mailbox perched on a post. Another car sat on the narrow gravel driveway. I recognized it as belonging to another member of the Petal Society, Anne. She and I had a common ancestor five or six generations back.
Stace, for the record, wasn’t really my aunt. Her mom was my great-grandmother’s niece. Or something like that. Everyone in the coven could trace her lineage to Jacqueline Whidby or her daughter, Sophie, which made us all cousins of one remove or a
