Esther wanted the world to know the truth. But that wasn’t all the curse was based on, surely. The family had been killed, their home stolen. Their murderers had stepped into their shoes, claiming the wealth and respect they had been robbed of. An announcement on a website felt inadequate in the face of that.

What do they want? What would it take to break the curse?

Margot thought she knew the answer. It was achingly simple, and nightmarishly complex all at once.

They wanted justice.

But how did you give a family justice two and a half centuries after their deaths? The killers were long gone. So were their children, and their children’s children.

There was only one descendant left. Margot.

She could tell the truth to anyone who would listen. She could arrange for gravestones to be placed in the cemetery. She could donate the winery’s proceeds.

It still didn’t seem like enough.

Ephraim stole the land and the house, so in retaliation, the curse holds his descendants here. Squeezes them. Kills them.

Until they’re all gone.

Ezra’s lineage had been snuffed out in a single night. The curse was going to kill Ephraim’s line in return.

That would be justice.

The scanner continued to whirr in the background. Nora must have been capturing earlier pages from the journal too. The noise was starting to ache in the back of Margot’s head, and she abruptly found it hard to breathe.

“I need some air.” She made it as far as the door before hesitating. The sun was low. The sky’s blue was beginning to turn dusky. Chills crawled over her skin, leaving her feeling vulnerable and cold, and she glanced back at Kant.

“Want some company?” he asked, and Margot nodded.

He followed her outside. They only traveled a half dozen paces from the store until they reached the signpost. There were decorative barrels there, and she and Kant leaned back on them. Margot crossed her arms over her chest, staring toward the trees lining the driveway and, beyond, the sky.

Kant waited beside her, silent, patient. Margot was grateful for it. She felt like she needed to get some of her thoughts out of her head, but the words were difficult to gather.

“Do you think my parents knew the curse was caused by the murders?” she asked.

Kant rolled his shoulders, loosening the muscles, then said, “I can’t say for sure. But they knew a lot they never told me.”

She nodded. There was something else weighting on her, though. Something that felt almost petty compared to everything else but was hard to shake. She dabbed her tongue across her lips, tasting the tang of old blood where they’d split.

“I never thought my family were heroes. But I didn’t believe they were, you know, evil either.”