Chapter 4: Fires, Ghosts, and Family Lies

Late at night, the front half of the house was ablaze, the air itself burning.

The East Wing was cool and quiet, every sound amplified.

Savannah asked sadly: “At a time like this...”

Queen Bee closed her eyes, vein throbbing: “Can you two stop cracking pistachios!”

Mariah: “Why not join us? Crunch, crunch.”

The four of us sat on the steps, shelling pistachios together. It felt like a slumber party at the end of the world.

When we ran out, Mariah clapped her hands and stood up.

Queen Bee: “That’s it?”

Mariah: “Wait, I’ll go restock from the pantry.”

Queen Bee: “These are good. How come I never had them?”

Savannah: “You, the Queen Bee, never had them?”

Queen Bee: “Getting bold, aren’t you?”

After the snack, the two quieted down, then started chatting again.

Savannah asked, weren’t the mayor’s and general’s families in-laws? How’d it come to this?

I was distracted, but perked up at this.

Queen Bee gazed at the moon. After a while, she said, her excellent, gentle sister died mysteriously.

I could only close my eyes and breathe deep.

I had two uncles and a younger one. Back then, the four Bennett brothers—the youngest was the smartest and most capable. He married a famous beauty, the mayor’s oldest daughter.

That year, trouble hit up north—riots, fires, two towns lost. The old patriarch sent the four brothers to the border. The youngest led surprise attacks, holding out for five years. The women at home waited in vain. In the end, the youngest died in battle, and the always-average third brother took the credit.

After coming back, the Bennetts never saw the mayor’s daughter again.

Until refugees flooded in, the old patriarch honored the third son. The men went to the border again, led by the eldest. With victory after victory, the Bennetts peaked. But then things went south—eldest vanished, second was killed, news came that the mayor’s daughter died. Rumors spread that the old patriarch was jealous of the Bennetts’ success.

Queen Bee looked at the firelight, her voice drifting: “They said the Bennetts were famous, with the mayor’s support. The old man burned bridges, sowed discord, afraid the Bennetts would overshadow him.”

Queen Bee asked Savannah, your fiancé rose fast, why’d you end up here?

Savannah said she volunteered. Before coming, her dad was a county judge. Her old flame, Zeke, lost his dad young and lived with the Rileys, worked hard, passed the bar early. The old patriarch, thin-skinned, abdicated. Harrison took over, working to clean things up. But the old man left a mess—drought, higher taxes, corruption everywhere. Savannah’s dad knew his complaints wouldn’t reach the top. He stopped eating, sat two days, then talked with Zeke for hours. That night, Savannah’s dad went to the city alone to file a formal complaint. The powers were going to retaliate.

That year, Zeke and Savannah came to the city. One topped the bar, one joined the Whitmore house. One rose, one struggled. “I grew up without a mom. Zeke said, we’re both on our own. The Whitmore house is quiet, safer than life outside. I tried, I struggled. But I’m just one girl here—I can’t do anything.”

Savannah turned to me: “Laying low is better, after all.”

Queen Bee and Savannah stared at me. I thought a while, then said: “It’s late. Time to sleep.”

I ran into Mariah in the hallway. She held pistachios, confused: “Miss, didn’t you say you’d stay up later than the moon?”

I just wanted to dodge the drama: “Early to bed, early to rise makes you prettier.”

Can’t you learn from the Lady? Sleep more, worry less!

That night, maybe many tossed and turned. But I slept like a rock.

In a haze, I smelled blood. I opened my eyes. A man sat by my bed, smiling.

I closed my eyes, pulled the blanket up, and turned over: “Go shower first.”

He sounded hurt: “You’re so cold.”

Half-asleep, I kicked him: “Don’t mess with my dreams.”

After all, I rarely dream.

In my dream, I went back more than a decade. I’m not originally from here—someone from another world, dropped into this mess.

Of the four Bennett brothers, only my dad was average. That year, trouble up north—riots, deaths. His three brothers volunteered for war. He followed. I was far away, clueless about the fight. As a transplant, my life was all house drama, sometimes spreading modern culture.

Of the Bennett women, I liked my little aunt best. A classic Southern belle, gentle and sharp, quick to pick up new ideas. Dang, if I were a guy, I’d have fallen for her too!

When the army returned, the city cheered, girls tossed flowers. But my aunt was in mourning, never even got her husband’s body. Everyone knew the youngest uncle was a genius lost, my dad just average. But my dad as the hero? Please.

My aunt thought it fishy. But the uncles kept silent, and suspicion lingered in the air. Later, I saw her arguing with my dad. She said he caused her husband’s death, then took the credit. She wanted justice. Her family, the mayor’s, was stronger than ours. I never saw her again. The mayor sent people, but the Bennetts dodged. They even forged her handwriting, trying to claim her benefits. For burning my aunt’s letters, I got punished. The aunts and nannies tried to help me. After five years, I changed them. They stopped blindly obeying. My aunt died wronged, but the Bennetts wouldn’t seek justice. So they blamed, resisted, rebelled in silence.

When the uncles died, the aunts nearly snapped. Even when my dad punished the eldest aunt, they still tried to protect me. As a kid, I was so scared, clutching my aunt’s locket, sneaking out. At dawn, the orange sun rose.

Mariah lay by my pillow. When I woke, she grinned: “Miss, guess who’s here?”

I blinked. Of course, it was him. Showered.

I got ready fast. The walk to the main hall never felt so bright.

Harrison sat at the head, a crowd outside. Even Savannah was stunned. Zeke pulled her away. The Lady, in full regalia, glanced at Queen Bee: “Why aren’t you surprised?”

Queen Bee: “Don’t you know?”

Lady: “Of course I know. You all know?”

Queen Bee: “About half and half.”

At this point, everything was settled.

I smiled: “Lady, remember your question in the parlor?”

She thought: “Some cry and shout, some just choke? You said, some fear ghosts, some don’t.”

I laughed. “Exactly. Some have a guilty conscience, some don’t.”

The girls in the house had ties to the old guard. Whatever their families did, as daughters and sisters, they knew something. The haunted house was carefully set up. Some saw vengeful spirits, others...

Queen Bee touched her hair. “Some found the secret room and saw Mr. Evans by Harrison’s side.”

As a messenger, Evans stayed in the background, hiding his importance.

Queen Bee glanced at the Lady: “Why are you still here?”

Lady: “I have to know what’s next.”

She’d been assigned to Harrison by the old patriarch, truly unrelated to the old regime. This coup, she was just a bystander. But even bystanders need closure.

I’d already talked with Harrison, and said: “Unless something wild happens, you’ll stay Lady of the House.”

Lady: “Okay, I was ready—”

She was dumbstruck: “Huh?”

She looked at Harrison, who was playing with the cat, unreadable. She’d survived by being cautious, not naive. Who knows what she imagined, but she looked at me and Harrison, ready to slip away.

She tugged Queen Bee: “Why aren’t you leaving?”

“I...” Queen Bee’s pride crumbled, and she cried: “I’m waiting for my niece! Jamie! Auntie hug! Boohoo!”

Mariah, cracking pistachios: Huh?

“You were young then, you don’t remember.” I patted her head, eyes soft. “Your real name was Jamie Bennett. Sorry for making you my roommate all these years.”

Mariah looked at me, suddenly understanding: “No wonder everyone says I’m not a real roommate!”

Queen Bee wept prettily: “People laughed at my sister for marrying down, then the Bennetts rose, but my sister never got to see it. Jamie, come home to the mayor’s house? Your grandparents and uncle miss you.”

I gently pushed Mariah, signaling her to go. Through her, I saw the gentle, beautiful aunt of the past.

Everyone left for their own places. The cat snuggled in Harrison’s arms, meowing lazily.

Harrison looked disgusted. “It’s too fat.”

I smirked: “Who keeps sneaking it snacks? I’m not saying.”

The cat often sneaks out of the East Wing—don’t think I don’t know.