Suddenly Vera marched to Max with heavy steps. “I have spent my entire life dealing with the reality of what my parents do.” Her voice was so steely that Max lifted his head. They faced one another, her finger pointed in warning. “I have been shunned, ridiculed, and so lonely you can’t even fathom. I have resented my parents, I’ve avoided walking past a door in my own home, and I’ve learned to smile wide as person after person in this town—in my school, at your restaurant—treats me like a ghoul. But I can’t anymore. You came to me for help, that’s why we’re here, but if you don’t want it—fine. Because this isn’t just about you anymore; this is about the entire town.”

Max stumbled back, the word ghoul smacking him across the face. He couldn’t lose her too. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken this out on you.”

“Good, that’s settled.” Father Chuck abruptly stepped between them. “Now, tell me about the Sunshine Crew.”

Vera let out an exhale that puffed her cheeks, then she looked at the priest. “Half the town seems to be wearing yellow hats lately, carrying that stupid book. The group was started by Anatole Durand. Then, at the same time, shrines to the Angel of Tears start popping up in the hospital. I didn’t realize the two were connected until I had a vision of Max’s mom seeing the Angel and the book in the window of Durand Flowers.” Vera pulled her fingers, marking the evidence. “If my dreams are real—and I think they are—then somehow the Sunshine Crew is brainwashing followers, and, I don’t know, convincing them to worship a demon?”

Max dropped his head. For years, people in town joked about the yellow hats being a cult; it was said teasingly, sarcastically. He never considered it was true, not for one second. They had bake sales!

“I can’t exactly go to the cops and claim my dreams are proof, but I feel like I’m right,” Vera added. “You should have seen my friend at the hospital. Whatever this is, it works fast. She just started joining chat rooms a week ago, and now I don’t even recognize her. I’m afraid if we don’t stop this soon, what’s happening to your mom could happen to everyone else in this town.”

“Then we don’t have time to waste.” The priest stomped to a closet and began riffling through the clutter on the floor. “It sounds like this group is hiding its true face, drawing in folks with its self-help mumbo jumbo, and before they know it, they’re leaving offerings for the devil.”

“The men in Chicago didn’t leave flowers, they left body parts,” Max reminded him. How bad was this going to get?

“Well, sure, if you’re aimin’ to heal the sick, wine and crackers ain’t gonna do it. Demon’s gonna want something big.”

“You’re saying my mom’s going to start leaving…?” No. That wasn’t possible. No matter what was inside his mother, Max had to believe that wasn’t possible.