“Ruh-roh, Raggy,” Wes said as a low boom of thunder sounded in the distance. “We’d better step on it, before the lights go out and suddenly we’re all starring in that movie.”

“Something tells me we might already be there,” said Patrick.

Wes started up the stairs, and I moved to follow but paused to glance after Lucas, who’d gone into the parlor with Charlotte. I only caught a glimpse, but that had been enough to show me they were arguing. I didn’t want to think it had something to do with me but then, what else could it be?

“Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle,” Wes chanted. “Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil . . .”

I halted on the steps while Wes muttered the next portion of the incantation—or whatever it was he was intoning—under his breath.

“What’s that?” I demanded. “What are you doing?”

Ignoring me, he continued, his volume building again. “And do thou, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.”

I gaped at Wes, images of hellfire leaping in my head, and of Erik being dragged backward again, this time into an inferno instead of the darkness of Moldavia.

Reaching the topmost step, Wes, sensing I hadn’t followed him there, turned back.

“It’s a Catholic prayer,” he explained. “To help rid a space of evil forces.”

“But,” I said, still unnerved, “what if there’s an entity here that isn’t evil?”

Wes’s expression underwent an odd change. He frown-scowled. Then, squinting one eye, he tilted his head at me.

“Sorry,” he said, “but . . . that question seems to imply you have your doubts about the thing we’re about to engage with. Even after said monster dropped a chandelier on your father.”

He gestured over the banister, toward the wreckage.

“If there’s a dark entity here—and there is,” I said, “isn’t it possible that there could be a good one trapped here, too?”

“Hoooold on just one freeze-dried minute,” Wes said. “You said your sister had spoken to one of the entities. But what about you?”

Lucas. Why had he left out the details surrounding my interactions with Erik? Why, when Erik was the reason we were here?

“I . . . might have,” I admitted. Because if Wes was going to put himself on the line, he deserved to know.

“What’d she just say?” called Patrick from the doorway.

“You . . . might have?” asked Wes, speaking loud enough for Patrick to hear. And the way Wes had asked this told me how big of a misstep I’d made.

“Does Lucas know about that?” asked Patrick, causing me to glance his way until Wes took several steps back down the staircase, stopping when we were eye level.

“Stephanie.”

Wow. Was this the first time he’d called me by my first name? His voice had lost its wry and flirtatious edge, too.