The kitchen reveal party that only Melissa had been invited to was on Wednesday. I smiled sweetly at her. “Good luck with the party.” I wanted an invitation to the party like I wanted a hole in the head, but I wasn’t going to let her slip-up go unnoticed.

She frowned and then turned to leave but stopped.

“Actually, I would love it if you came. Eight p.m. sharp. Light appetizers and drinks.”

I shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of a plausible excuse. Mark would be home that night, and she would see his car in the driveway and know he was back. I couldn’t even use the excuse that he had a work dinner thanks to his conspicuous Honda.

The path of least resistance it was.

“Thanks. I’d love to stop by.” I regretted the words the second I spoke them, wanting to reel them back in with my mental fishing rod.

“Invite anyone you like. Just maybe not you-know-who.” Heather whirled around, her hair floating, and then left with her robotic kids.

I sighed and glanced over at my kids, who were still happily playing and quiet. Scanning the library, my gaze fell on the horror section, and then on nonfiction.

I was in the perfect place to do some quiet research.

I glanced around as I sat down at one of the computers and typed in a keyword search for demons, possessions, dark spirits. As I waited for it to load, the air in the library seemed to grow colder, and I rubbed the tops of my arms. I scanned the results and found the section where the occult books were shelved.

The stacks housing the books seemed quieter and darker than the rest of the library. They were in the corner furthest from the kids’ section, which I appreciated when I plucked a title off the shelf and looked at the cover—a black lake, with a skeletal hand reaching out of the water, pointed up toward the sky.

I swallowed hard and opened up the book.

Ten minutes later, I had a stack of books to check out next to me, all about blood sacrifices and demonic possessions. One book had a picture of a dark shape floating above a bed; underneath lay an elderly woman covered in scratches. I shivered as I thought of Carole, one of my last patients. She would scream all night, terrified of spirits attached to the ceiling. She would scratch at her arms until she drew blood, calling for help. The doctors told her family her delusions were due to her dementia, but now I wondered just what she had seen.

I scanned the back cover.

Demons, once they have been able to enter our mortal world, will become addicted to creating evil. Much like an addict who won’t stop until they destroy themselves, dark spirits will cause havoc and pain until they consume everything they can.

That, I understood.