I tuned them out, my brain beta-waving through all that Lucas had revealed.

If Zedok was real, and what Lucas had just explained him to be—a rightfully teed-off walking, talking dead guy—then wouldn’t I have seen him, too, and not just Charlie? It was doubtful as well that an Ancient Egyptian priest would be speaking English to my little sister. And Erik. If he truly had been evil—a psychopath, my father had called him—would he have warned me in a dream to leave?

Stephen Hawking’s theories surrounding a multidimensional universe could allow for something like spirits—in some capacity—to exist.

But reanimated mummies? Walking corpses?

Not. Possible.

I WALKED LUCAS out to his car after dinner, wishing the whole trek that I’d grabbed my jacket instead of just a cardigan. While the late September days here could get up to seventy, the evenings had no interest in pretending like summer was still a thing.

“Here,” Lucas said once we reached his car, a red Dodge Dart, and he opened the passenger’s side door for me. “Get in and I’ll turn on the heat.”

I climbed in, huddling into the seat as he shut the door after me. Taking advantage of the time it took for him to round to the driver’s side, I scanned the immaculate dash and floorboards. Because you could tell a lot about a guy by the way he kept his car. He drove a stick shift instead of an automatic, too, which was hot in a James Bond–ish kind of way.

Once inside, Lucas started the car, and music began pouring through the speakers—old, slow-swaying, big-bass music with some dude singing about asking a girl to dance with him, and a chorus of guys in the background with harmonized “doo-bee-doo”s and “wa-wa-wa-wa”s.

I tilted my head at his radio, which, instead of switching off, Lucas turned down to a low, mood-setting buzz. Like this was 1952 and we’d just “parked” on Lover’s Lane.

A moment later, he flicked a switch that sent lukewarm air rushing from the vents.

“Your sister,” he said, killing the mood I guess he hadn’t been setting. “You know, I think she saw something in there today. Normally, I don’t like to jump to conclusions regarding the status of a site. But, given the history of the property and Charlie’s involvement, I think there’s enough here to warrant concern. This thing. You said she’s been talking to it?”

Thing. It. His choice of words was not lost on me.

Was this the moment to tell Lucas about my dream encounter with Erik? Or . . . was it better to wait?

“Stephanie?”

“Mm?”

“Can I ask . . . where your mom is?”

I flinched, blindsided by the question. Then again, we were dealing with ghosts here. How could I hold it against him when I’d also thought that Charlie’s invention of Zedok somehow tied back to the person Dad and I made it a point never to talk about?