With her son off to Hogwarts—he had written like a good boy and told her all about his sorting and first week of classes—Melinda hadn't been entirely sure what to do with her weekend. Typically, she spent it working at the Abbey. The midwives had insisted she take some time to herself and wouldn't hear any of her disagreements. So she had half-heartedly invited her husband to accompany her that morning. His muttered excuse had been exactly what she'd hoped for, and she was able to enjoy the Harvest Festival all on her lonesome. Some women might find that sad or assume she was lonely. They couldn't have been more wrong. Melinda was happiest when in her own company.

Except for now, as she ran through the streets of Irvingly, away from the square and whatever that strange mist was that she knew without a doubt was not something that should be near anyone. Hudson wouldn't know. He wouldn't be aware of it, and he'd be trapped in the house. They may not have gotten along, but she didn't want him dead.

Melinda had never been the most athletic person, and she certainly wasn't now that she was a middle-aged mother. She clutched her skirts in her fists so they wouldn't trip her up as she ran, coming up behind a man who was knocking on doors and calling out warnings. Her steps slowed as she called as best she could, short-winded, "My husband! He's another three blocks down. He doesn't know!"