The table erupted into noise. Then faces split into wide grins. And with good reason. Because the Waynesfield Manor was known for being one of the most haunted locations in the United States. That everyone seemed to be on board meant that Moldavia had strengthened us way more than it had weakened us. Also, if we played our cards right, we might actually—if we were lucky—launch an official career for ourselves.

I smiled at my friends, which wasn’t so painful now that the split in my lip had finally healed. From there, I just listened to the conversation that careened into unbridled elation, everyone gushing and throwing out speculations over what the summer was going to bring. And here it was, one of those sweet in-the-pipeline deals Sam had mentioned. With whipped cream and a cherry on top.

When it was apparent their excitement wasn’t going to be something I could wait out, I tapped a spoon against the side of my glass, calling for order.

At once everyone sobered, eyes shifting to me. The seriousness of my expression caused Charlotte’s brow to knit.

“What is it?” she asked.

“The last official order of the day,” I said.

“Which is?” Patrick prompted.

“Stephanie,” I said.

To that, no one said anything. Pain flickered across my features, but I wasn’t interested in hiding it. I’d seen the damage masks could do.

“She’s not an official member of the group,” I said. “But she texted me that she’ll back to school on Monday, and that got me thinking.”

“About?” Charlotte asked.

“Holding a vote.”

“On Stephanie joining us officially?” asked Patrick.

“That’s the protocol we decided on,” I said with a shrug. “So. Those in favor say ‘aye.’ Those opposed? Well, you know.”

My friends all shared uncertain glances with each other, until Wes suddenly spoke.

“Aye,” he said.

“Aye,” said Patrick.

“Duh,” remarked Charlotte when I flicked my eyes to her.

Her response made me smirk.

“Aye,” I heard myself say.

Then everyone’s smiles became more lopsided. Like they wanted to be happy about this but weren’t sure if I was ready for that. My heartache wasn’t theirs. But that they were willing to share it with me still slapped a bit more balm onto all the hurt.

“A toast?” said Patrick, lifting his soda. “To SPOoKy?”

“And its newest member,” added Charlotte, raising her lemonade. “Finally, another girl.”

“To Stephanie,” said Patrick.

“And to looking soooo damn good.” Wes. Of course.

I picked up my milkshake glass. “Hear, hear,” I told my friends.

Because that seemed better than telling myself, “There, there.”

And then the four of us clanked our beverages together—a sound like old things breaking away. And like new ones coming together.

EPILOGUE

Stephanie
December Twenty-First

I finished placing the last ornament, settling it into the fragrant branches of the live Christmas tree Dad had yanked into the house and erected in front of the parlor’s bay window.