I ran to the foyer and grabbed my bag, nearly blind with fear. I ripped it open, the fabric scratching my hands. I reached in, frantically groping around as Jess and Melissa began screaming and yelling for me to get the gasoline and lighter. Except all I felt was soft material. I looked down into the bag. It was a collection of men’s T-shirts and underwear.

A terrible wave of recognition passed through me as I realized that Tim had taken my bag by accident and left me with his overnight clothes.

“He took it!” I shrieked from the floor. “Tim took my bag!”

“No!” I heard Jess call from the other side of the island.

“Find something else!” Melissa screamed. “Or we’re all going to die!”

My head snapped around as I looked, my eyes going to the knife block on the countertop. The dark cloud was still hovering, cornering Jess and Melissa, who had stepped back against the wall of cabinets next to the back door. A knife wouldn’t do anything. The cloud wasn’t solid.

Fire. I needed fire.

Liz always had candles on the countertop. From the floor, I spied five white candles clustered together next to the oven. I crouched, grabbing the matches from the counter. They were long, fancy ones in a gold envelope that I remembered she had bought at HomeGoods.

Now I needed an accelerant.

“Amy, please!” Jess said, her voice cracking.

I needed gasoline, except that was in the bag in the back of Tim’s car.

There was propane outside, but I didn’t have time to detach the tank and bring it inside.

What else burns?

I had a quick flashback to the night when everything started, when Liz served us that terrible wine. The sweet rosé from a box. Gasoline wine, I had called it. Enough to burn our insides. And maybe a demon.

I wrenched open the fridge door and mercifully, the wine was still there. Apparently, Mavis was more of a red wine fan. I yanked the half-full box out and ripped open the top.

The dark cloud surrounded Melissa, pausing to rip the gold crucifix from her neck. She closed her eyes, her lips moving in silent prayer. Jess saw what I was doing and waved her arms.

“Now, Amy!”

I tossed the pink, sticky liquid in the air, toward the shape. It paused in the air, suspended in surprise. My hands felt like they were covered in sugar water as I struck a match.

“Melissa, get down!” I shouted before I tossed the match in the direction of the shape.

Except it didn’t burn. Even though the wine tasted like gasoline, it wasn’t an incendiary. Panicked, I looked around the kitchen. My eyes zeroed in on a bottle of cupcake-flavored vodka. That had to burn. I grabbed it and tossed the sticky liquid toward the shape, lighting another match.