Excerpt from A Rose in the Forest

The Roses: A Rose in the Forest

 Her first case. A missing boy. Sometimes being a rose is the hardest thing.

INTRODUCTION: The Gift

 The diamond rose pin caught the November morning light, scattering tiny rainbows across the cluttered desk of Rose Cortez Paranormal Investigations. Sylvia Olivia Langly—Sylvie to everyone who mattered—stared at it like it might bite her.

 "It was your grandmother's," Lana said softly, settling into the chair across from her youngest daughter. "She wore it on every case for forty years. Never once did it fail to bring her home."

 Sylvie reached out tentatively, her fingers hovering just above the delicate piece of jewelry. The rose was exquisite—petals formed from tiny diamonds that seemed to glow with their own inner light, set in white gold that had been worn smooth by decades of use. It was beautiful. It was terrifying.

 "Mom, I don't know if I'm ready for this."

 "Nobody's ever ready, sweetheart." Lana picked up the pin and held it out. "But you've been preparing your whole life, whether you knew it or not."

 Sylvie thought back to that first time—she'd been seven years old, standing in the backyard of their old house on Maple Street. Dana had been nine, practicing cartwheels and complaining that she was bored. And then Sylvie had seen her.

 The old woman in the garden, smiling and waving, wearing a dress that looked like it belonged in an old photograph. Sylvie had waved back, asked her name, offered to show her the flower beds her mother had just planted.

 Dana had looked at her little sister like she'd lost her mind. "Sylvie, there's nobody there."

 But there had been. There absolutely had been. And when Sylvie had described the woman to their mother—the silver hair, the floral dress, the sad eyes—Lana had gone pale and pulled out an old photo album.

 "That's my Aunt Maureen," Lana had whispered. "She died three months ago. You never met her."

 That had been the beginning. The moment Sylvie realized she was different, that she could see things others couldn't, feel things that had no business being felt. The dead didn't rest easy around Sylvia Olivia Langly—they sought her out, drawn to her gift like moths to flame.

 Dana had been furious at first. "Why does she get the cool powers? I'm the oldest!"

 But as the years went by and the reality of Sylvie's abilities became clear, Dana's jealousy had transformed into something else. Concern. Worry. Eventually, distance. Dana had gone off to college, buried herself in psychology textbooks and "normal" academic pursuits, determined to build a life that had nothing to do with ghosts and psychic impressions and the weight of seeing too much.

 Sylvie had stayed. Had apprenticed herself to Rose Cortez, learning the trade from Chicago's most respected paranormal investigator. Had taken the small cases, the residual hauntings, the confused spirits who just needed someone to help them find their way home.

 But always with supervision. Always with Rose or her mother nearby. Never alone.

 Until now.

 "The pin means you're officially one of us," Lana continued, pressing it into Sylvie's palm. The metal was warm, almost alive. "One of the Roses. We protect the innocent, we bring peace to the restless, and we never—ever—turn away someone who needs help."

 Sylvie closed her fingers around the pin, feeling its weight. It was heavier than it looked, as if it carried the accumulated responsibility of every case, every spirit, every scared person who had ever walked through that door seeking answers.

 "What if I mess up?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "What if someone needs help and I can't give it to them? What if I'm not strong enough?"

 Lana reached across the desk and took her daughter's free hand. "Then you call for backup. You ask for help. You remember that being a Rose doesn't mean being invincible—it means being brave enough to try even when you're scared."

 "Is Dana ever coming back?" Sylvie asked quietly. "To the family business, I mean?"

 Something flickered across Lana's face—hope mixed with resignation. "Your sister needs to find her own path. Maybe it leads back here, maybe it doesn't. But that's not your burden to carry, sweetheart. You have to decide what you want for yourself."

 Sylvie looked around the office that had become her second home. The walls were covered with photos of resolved cases, letters from grateful clients, protective charms from a dozen different spiritual traditions. Rose's desk was cluttered with research materials about her current investigation in Madison—something about a theater that kept replaying the same tragic scene from 1923. Her mother's corner was organized chaos, files and herb sachets and blessed candles arranged in a system that made sense only to Lana.

 And there, in the corner by the window, was Sylvie's small desk. The one Rose had set up for her three years ago when she'd first started learning the trade. It was neat, almost obsessively so, as if Sylvie was afraid to take up too much space, to presume she belonged among these women who had been fighting supernatural battles for decades.

 "I want this," she said finally, surprised by the certainty in her own voice. "It's hard, and it's scary, and sometimes I wish I could just be normal like Dana. But when I help a spirit find peace, when I can look a terrified client in the eye and tell them I'm going to fix what's wrong... that feels right. That feels like what I'm supposed to be doing."

 Lana smiled, and there were tears in her eyes. "Then welcome to the Roses, Sylvia Olivia. Officially."

 Sylvie pinned the diamond rose to her jacket, right over her heart. It caught the light again, and for just a moment, she could have sworn she saw her grandmother's face reflected in the stones—smiling, proud, and maybe a little worried.

 The office phone rang, shattering the moment. Lana reached for it, then paused.

 "Your pin. Your call."

 Sylvie's hand trembled as she picked up the receiver. "Rose Cortez Paranormal Investigations. This is Sylvie speaking. How can I help you?"

 The voice on the other end was desperate, breaking, barely holding together. "My son is missing. The police are dragging the lake. But he's not dead. I know he's not dead. I can feel him. Please... please, someone told me you could help find people when nobody else can."

 Sylvie grabbed a pen, her training kicking in even as her heart hammered in her chest. "Sir, I need you to take a deep breath. What's your name?"

 "Robert. Robert Mitchell. My son Tommy... he's been missing for three days. He vanished during a school field trip to Whispering Pines Forest. Just... vanished. Like he was never there."

 "Whispering Pines," Sylvie repeated, writing it down. Something about the name made her skin prickle. "That's up near Rockford, isn't it?"

 "About two hours north of Chicago, yeah. Please, I'll pay anything. The police think I'm crazy, but I know my boy is still out there. I can feel him calling for me."

 Across the desk, Lana was shaking her head slightly, concern etched on her face. A missing child. A father's desperate plea. This was exactly the kind of case Rose usually handled personally. The kind where mistakes could cost lives.

 But Rose was in Madison. And this father's voice held the kind of desperation that couldn't wait.

 Sylvie touched the diamond rose pin, feeling its warmth against her chest.

 "Mr. Mitchell," she said, her voice steadier than she felt, "I'm going to help you find your son. Tell me everything."

 As Robert Mitchell poured out his story—the field trip, the moment Tommy had wandered away from the group, the search parties that found nothing, the police who were starting to give up hope—Sylvie felt something shift inside her. This was it. Her first real case. Her first chance to prove that she belonged among the Roses.

 Her first chance to fail spectacularly if she wasn't good enough.

 She looked at her mother, who was watching her with a mixture of pride and fear. Lana nodded slowly, giving permission for what they both knew was about to happen.

 Sometimes being a rose was the hardest thing in the world.

 But Tommy Mitchell was out there somewhere, scared and alone and calling for help.

 And Sylvie was going to find him, or die trying.