Maxwell’s grip grew clammy in Vera’s fingers, and when the three of them finally reached the doorway of the master bedroom, Vera slammed to a halt. The space looked massive; his mother rested on the bed, but it seemed impossibly far away. And there was smog. Smoke no longer plumed out of her nose and mouth; instead it was everywhere, hovering in the room like a low-lying cloud. Vera could see his mother’s face, but the legs of the bed were obscured. The fog stayed low, oily and swirling.

More black candles lit the room, covering the dresser, the nightstands, the hope chest, and the shrine in the closet. There were assorted bouquets of flowers, and crystal glasses full of dark burgundy wine. There was a dead goat rotting in the closet, flies zigzagging between it and a pile of charred chickens and pigeons, their bodies blackened. People had been here. A lot of people. A lot of offerings. She was holding court.

Vera clutched her stomach as the stench of decomposing flesh mixed with the smoke in the air.

“I would have cleaned up”—his mother gestured to the mess—“but I didn’t know you were coming.” She formed a Joker’s grin.

“Mom?” Max’s voice was unsteady, his head flitting around as if unsure where he was. “Can you hear me? Are you in there?”

“Ah, Maxie-boy, your mutha’s not here. Wanna talk wit’ me?”

Vera’s eyes pulled wide, her mouth halfway to the floor. That had to be his father’s voice. Max’s skin turned dishwater gray, tears springing to his lower lashes.

“It’s not real,” she whispered.

“Oh, his dad’s real dead.” Its voice returned to a deep bass.

This was beyond cruel. Rage built in Vera’s chest, which only added to the hellish joy in its expression.

Then its skin grew brittle. White foam oozed from the corner of its mouth, and its hair shriveled into crusty black cotton candy. But it was the eyes, brimming with fiery vengeance and intellect, that made Vera’s chest burn like lava.

It wants you, Vera. Oh, how it wants you….

She forced herself to stand taller.

“I know what happened, between you and my parents.” Her voice was strong. Her parents had beaten it before. Or, at least, temporarily. And she was their daughter.

Serpentine sounds sissed with a flicking tongue. “They failed. All these years, I was right here, and they didn’t notice.” It leaned forward, body swaying like a cobra. “Others have. Sooo many others.”

“Because you prey on the weak,” Father Chuck shot back. “Why not pick on someone your own size?”

“Careful, careful. Is that an invitation?” It took a deep inhale, the smog in the room heaving toward its flared crimson nostrils with such force, it lifted Vera onto her toes. “I…smell…fear….”

Maxwell whimpered. It was involuntary, and Vera knew he was probably embarrassed, but she also understood that this was the person who kissed his boo-boos and tucked him in.

The beast laughed, a snarl of a hell dog barking with delight. “You like ’em weak, don’t you? So malleable, aren’t they? We have that in common.” Its sinister eyes held Vera’s. “Tell me—have any good dreams lately?”