Melissa grumbled, but she donned one. I had to laugh as I looked around at us, a nervous, squeaking laugh. We looked like we were ready to tailgate out of the back of a pickup truck, not pull a demon out of our friend.

Melissa raised her eyebrows at me and shook her head. “This is so wrong.” Her twang was back.

“What about any of this feels right?” I said as I smoothed the pink-and-blue shirt down over my hips.

“You guys will thank me—and Jimmy—when these shirts save our collective asses,” Jess said.

“All right. Should we proceed?” I said.

They nodded, pink-and-blue blurs in the dark.

We were ready.

A silent moment passed between us, everything unsaid but understood. We knew what we were about to do was the epitome of dangerous, and I just hoped our friendship was enough of a shield to protect us.

“Let’s go,” I said.

—

Jess bounded up the stairs to Liz’s door, and I had a flashback to the night when everything started, when the only thing we were worried about was our hangovers the next morning. She lifted her fist to rap on the door, but it opened before she made contact.

Tim stood in the doorway, wearing a black suit with a blue-and-red tie. “You guys are late,” was all he said. He did a double take when he saw our T-shirts and then shook his head, eyes closed.

Jess slowly turned around, mouth twisted in anger, and looked at us. Melissa shook it off first.

“Hi, Tim. Good to see you.” Her tone was placating. I assumed it was the same composure she used at work when dealing with difficult clients, or possibly with the intern she’d had last year who spent all day on TikTok and repeatedly said, “That slaps,” during conference calls. “Don’t worry, we can sign any liability waivers you require.”

He responded with a smirk.

Jess tried to crane her neck around him to peer inside the house. “Where are the kids?”

“My mother came and picked them up an hour ago.” He stepped aside for us, impatiently waving his hand around.

“Where’s the dog?” I remembered that I hadn’t seen Bucky the last time I was at the house, either.

Tim rolled his eyes. “At my sister’s. He started snapping at Liz and acting strangely.” He again waved at us to come inside.

My body tensed as I took a step forward. I ignored it and walked over the Home Sweet Home welcome mat.

The house was still, dark. I had an awful sensation that we were being watched. That every piece of furniture—and the walls themselves—had eyes and their threatening, amused gaze was on us.

Did you really think this would work?