Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“You’re okay. And you’re making sense. We know my mom was in the Sunshine Crew. I don’t know how people could go from that to devil worship, but both things are spreading through town. It’s possible.”

“It’s also possible I’m freaking out and conflating two completely unrelated things just to make sense of my own fear,” she croaked, a shiver rocking her shoulders.

Max leaned closer. “We’ll figure this out.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

He released her hand and reached for her, pausing. “Can I?”

She collapsed against his chest, and he hugged her tight, her legs pulled up and curled like a cat. He rested his chin on the top of her head.

When her breathing settled and he sensed she was falling asleep, her head sweaty against his chest, he didn’t move her. He didn’t want to.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Vera

Her parents called at eight in the morning. Finally. Vera was already awake, having opened her eyes at six a.m. with her head on Maxwell’s chest, which was covered in her father’s vacation T-shirt. The weirdness was too much for the early hour, so she snuck into her room before her aunt could find their bodies entwined. Vera never fell back asleep. Then the phone rang.

As soon as her mom said hello, Vera blurted everything.

“I think it’s all connected,” Vera insisted as she sat on the edge of her unmade bed.

She could hear Maxwell downstairs playing Jenga with Chloe. She told him that her mom was on the phone, and as much as she knew Maxwell wanted to speak to her parents, Vera wanted some time alone. She needed her mom. He understood.

“Mom, this shrine…it was in my patient’s room, it’s all over the hospital, and Maxwell’s mom had it. There were, like, worshippers in her room. And I’m not just sleepwalking anymore. I’ve been having dreams, lots of them, ones I didn’t tell you about before. I dreamt of being in the car when my classmates died. I’ve dreamt of Maxwell’s mom, hospital patients, the gas works employee. And I know what you said, but I don’t think the dreams are coming from the demon. I think they’re coming from inside me. I think I’m having them for a reason.” There, she said it. She thought her mom was wrong, for maybe the first time. Ever.

Vera clamped the phone against her shoulder, waiting for a response, twisting a bedsheet over her wrists. She wrapped it round and round, forming a winter muff, holding her breath.

“Honey, there’s something I need to tell you.” Her mom’s tone was unexpected, like she was bracing Vera for something. “I know this shrine. I’ve seen it before. In Chicago.”

Vera dropped the sheet.

“Twelve years ago, we were called out by the local diocese,” Mom continued. “There had been serial killings. Women were turning up mutilated. It was horrendous.”

Vera slumped back on the bed, listening as the ceiling fan whirled above her, the beaded metal chain rocking with each rotation.