Mr. Zanger’s eyes sliced through the night. Maybe he felt them, or maybe he wanted to see what his dog was howling about—either way, the moment the man’s eyes turned upward, the pet ran. Not toward his home, not even toward Vera’s home, it ran away. The little puff streaked straight to the back fence, which consisted of two wooden horizontal beams designating the lines of the property. It offered no protection, no security.

“Where is it going?” Vera’s body shifted toward the doorway.

She should go down and help. Mr. Zanger was too old to chase after an animal. It was dark.

Aunt Tilda grabbed her arm. “You won’t be useful.”

“The dog could get lost.” Despite how the man treated her, Vera didn’t want him to lose Snowball. That puff was all he had.

“Yes, but the animal hates us. If we go anywhere near it, it will keep running. He’ll have a better chance of calling it back if we’re nowhere around.”

Aunt Tilda had a point. But still, guilt sank to the depths of Vera’s gut. Mr. Zanger’s wife died years ago, he had no children, and no friends came to visit. He was about as pathetic as she was, only crotchety. He needed that pet.

“The dog will come back.” Aunt Tilda patted her elbow. “Get some sleep.”

Vera nodded. Her aunt was probably right. The dog correctly sensed the evil in their house, and so did Mr. Zanger. The Angel of Tears was released from these walls. Darkness lurked in their basement.

But Vera was not choosing to do nothing.

She marched to her bedroom and snatched her phone from its charging station. She didn’t care how late it was.

To Chelsea: Text me as soon as you get this. We need to talk about Sam.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Max

It was his idea. Though Max had to convince Vera.

Her friend Chelsea, from the hospital, informed them that the Sunshine Crew was hosting a rally in the town square at noon. Actually, rally was probably the wrong word. It was more like a free summer camp. There was going to be an adult obstacle course with a rock-climbing wall, a dance party with a DJ for kids, and a stage hosting a smattering of speeches to encourage indoctrination. Chelsea agreed to approach their coworkers—janitors, orderlies, food service, anyone complaining about being creeped out—and convince them to “accidentally” remove as many Angel shrines as possible. She also promised to keep her girlfriend far away from Max’s house, without even asking why. Vera said she just seemed happy to do something.

It was over the something that Max and Vera disagreed.

Vera wanted to break up the rally, bring a bullhorn and shout, You’re all worshipping a demon! You’re in a cult and being brainwashed! Like people would listen to her. Max couldn’t say it to her face, but he knew she was aware of her family’s reputation.

He gently encouraged a different approach.

Max slowed his truck outside the home of the other most notorious family in Roaring Creek. It was unassuming—an old split-level, half stone and half white siding. It had black shutters and a black door. There was a faux floral wreath. The sidewalk was cracked and the shrubs looked scrawny. It was a house fit for a mailman, a school secretary, or, apparently, a cult leader.