“So who’s in?” Lucas asked when he finished his debriefing.

I glanced up at this to find Charlotte staring straight at me.

I returned her gaze unblinkingly, and she frowned.

“I’m in,” said Wes.

Eyeing Wes, Patrick gave a long sigh of mock resignation. “I guess that means I’m in, too, because who else is going to watch you?”

I smirked at Patrick, and he snuck me a wink, which told me a smile was all he’d been after.

Charlotte opened her mouth next, and I braced myself, waiting for her to start rattling off reasons why we shouldn’t be messing with stuff this dangerous. She didn’t, though. Instead, she seemed to rethink whatever she’d been about to say and, averting her gaze from mine, gave Lucas a stiff nod.

LOW-HANGING CLOUDS, DENSE and dark, threatened rain the whole drive to my house. They didn’t make good on the promise, though, until all five of us were standing under the portico of Moldavia. Now here we all were, at the threshold, with everyone in SPOoKy aware that, in being present for this cleansing thing, they were risking more than they had at any prior investigation.

The plan was to split up in pairs while one person waited at the door. I had been the one to insist on that last part to ensure we had a way to escape. Patrick had volunteered for the job, and no one had fought him on it. After Charlotte called dibs on going through the main floor with Lucas, Wes had jumped to say he would take the upper floors with me. I could tell Lucas had wanted to protest on both counts. I agreed to the arrangement, but only with the stipulation that no one went into the basement. According to Lucas, though, the basement had to be cleaned just like every other room in the house. So, on that point, we made a compromise.

After we finished “cleaning” our respective areas, we would meet at the base of the grand staircase and, from there, four of us would go down to clear the cellar together while someone again stood sentinel at the door.

Once we entered Moldavia, Lucas and Patrick carried the corner chair out of the parlor and propped it up against the front door to ensure it stayed open. Meanwhile, Wes drifted farther into the foyer, ogling the walls and ceiling as Lucas had done when he’d first entered the house, moving with slow, careful steps toward the downed chandelier.

While Wes crouched to one side of the mangled fixture, I turned my attention to Lucas, who unzipped the duffel Charlotte had left on the corner chair. Then, one at a time, he began to extract small whitish-gray twine-wrapped bundles.

Before I could ask what the bundles were, Wes interrupted.

“Problem,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically sober. “The chain on this chandelier.”

“What about it?” Lucas asked, as he handed me one of the bundles, which turned out to be small wads of dried and tightly wound leaves.