“How’d you know that fact about the House of the Seven Gables?” Once my mom disappeared into the hotel, we’d started out walking but that had morphed into a full-on run once we’d cleared Essex Street. I don’t know who is more excited to see the house again, me or Mason. It’s nice to not be alone in this.

“Simon. He took me on a bike tour of Salem.” The doughnut bag is banging against his leg, but neither of us slows down. “I can’t wait to show you what else I found in the Salem Register. I even found an announcement about Lily’s party. It was called a ‘Victorian garden party.’ And did you know Frederick died only a year later? Also, classified ads used to be one of the best ways to track down those who had gone missing. I wonder if Lily posted more in other newspapers?”

His words are swimming over my head. Once again, he’s burying me in facts.

“So do you have any ideas about where we’ll find the next letter?”

He shrugs. “I feel sort of stumped on this one.”

“We’ll find it,” I say, but I’m not nearly as confident as I sound. The house is large, and we have limited time to search.

The top of the house comes into view, sending sparks of joy through me, but when we get to the gate, we both stumble to a stop.

The house has a new addition. A giant, ugly FOR SALE sign is now planted in the front. We both stare at it in horror.

“Oh no,” I manage. My heart is literally sinking into my shoes, the jelly doughnut Mason gave me suddenly heavy in my stomach. I make my way over to the sign, Mason at my heels. WITCHY CITY REAL ESTATE. Simon’s name and number are attached to the bottom in a swinging section.

“I hate this so much,” Mason says. His shoulders are slumped again, arms crossed tightly.

I’m drifting again, the shore too far from my grasp to reach. I’ve only spent a few hours in this house, but it already feels like losing a home. How much longer will I have with it now that it’s on the market? Will we leave immediately like my mom said?

I have the sudden sharp urge to run up the steps and hurl myself into the home’s depths. Maybe if I lock the doors and refuse to come out, my mom will rethink selling the home?

“Hey, who’s that?” Mason whispers. He’s looking over the top of the rosebushes, and when I follow his gaze my heart manages to sink even lower.

It’s the guy who gave me his card. “Hide,” I whisper, grabbing Mason’s arm.