The Blackwater Ritual
The heat in Blackwater did not lift. It sat on the town like a wet wool blanket, heavy and suffocating and impossible to shake off no matter how many fans you ran or how many windows you threw open. Silas Blackwood stood on the porch of Blackwood Manor and watched the cypress trees sway in the humid air, their Spanish moss hanging like the tattered remnants of a dynasty that had once been...
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