“That’s a Maple Leaf pour right there,” Jess called out as she tucked her legs under her. We called a double pour the Maple Leaf pour, for the street that Jess and I lived on, as opposed to the fancier Oakton Lane, where Melissa’s and Heather’s houses were. Liz was the one who coined the term, and I smoothed my hands over the library books in my lap, wondering how we had gotten here.

“Jess?” Melissa lifted the carafe in the air and gestured toward her.

“None for me, thanks. I have—” She stopped and rolled her eyes at us before continuing. “A workout in the morning. See? I didn’t say it that time.”

Melissa and I grumbled as Tony handed me the drink, and Jess settled in next to me. The couch shifted as she sat down, and I maneuvered my body so the dark liquid that sloshed out of my glass hit my black pants instead of the velvet fabric. We always joked that Melissa needed to put plastic coverings down when any of us came over since we had the fine motor functions of toddlers.

I noticed Tony was still standing in the kitchen, staring at me, waiting for me to try the drink. I took a cautious sip, and the bitter taste of the beer filled my mouth.

“Mmm,” I murmured.

Tony beamed and then launched into a soliloquy about how he had secured the rare varietal of the Goose Island Bourbon County beer in January, standing outside the liquor store at 4:00 a.m. like a college student on a bender.

“I think I hear the twins,” Melissa said with a wave of her hand. “Can you go check on them?”

He nodded and said over his shoulder before he left the room, “Have Mark text me next time and I can get some for him.” He frowned. “You do have a French press, right?” He looked at Melissa and then continued upstairs when he saw her expression.

There was a pause as Jess opened her mouth, but she closed it when she saw Melissa’s warning face. Without Liz’s kind presence, her ability to smooth the edges in the group, the tension was much higher. No one really knows what a group is actually like until one piece is missing, one cog breaks off, and then the whole operation starts to veer slightly off track.

I cleared my throat. “So, here are the books that I found.” I spread the collection across the gray reclaimed-wood farmhouse coffee table in front of us. There were five books, each with a more horrifying title than the last: Demon Inside Her, The Possession, To Hell and Back, Dark Places, and True Stories of the Demonic Realm.