“In this context? Nothing good.” Stella thought it for the best to keep that potentially nasty tidbit from her. She hoped she’d jumped to a conclusion that would end up being way off base. “That clue had Ouija board written all over it.”

“I got that part. It’s not real, so it’s fine.”

Stella’s eyebrows shot upward. Logical, she was. Rationality was her patron saint. Still, she’d grown up a believer in the idea of a soul, of energy existing after a body’s death. She kept her tone cool. “Atheist?”

Harlow shook her head. “I’m not religious, but I’m equally not opposed to the idea of religion. I just don’t think Ouija boards are real. It’s a mass-produced board game with a registered trademark symbol. Hardly a gateway to the great beyond.”

“Believing is the gateway, not the board itself. It’s the law of attraction.”

“I don’t believe in that either.”

“Unsurprising.” Stella laughed.

“It’s seriously just a stupid game designed to scare gullible people. Someone has to push the planchette thing to make it move. Some unseen force isn’t controlling it. The players are.” One hand hovered over the flashing BEGIN button on her tablet, and the other held the doorknob. “Ready?”

“I suppose.”

Harlow had the nerve to look disappointed.

The room beyond the old red door was little more than a broom closet minus the tools. A small table faced the back wall with the board on top, planchette resting at an angle pointing to the letter R. The lit candles nestled in candelabras on the wall flickered and created shadows.

And once they were inside, the door swung shut—loud enough to make Stella jump. “It won’t open,” she said, thoroughly and absolutely not panicking. “Hey!” She knocked on the door. “I’m not claustrophobic, and I’d like to keep it that way, thank you!”

“It’s fine, Stella, jeez. Sit down. It’s probably remote controlled.” Harlow pointed to the camera in the corner on the ceiling. “Once we were inside, they closed it. It’ll probably open once we’re done.”

“Probably,” Stella echoed.

“The sooner we do this, the faster we find out.”

“You’re way too cavalier about this.” Stella narrowed her eyes. “You’re not Black, are you?”

“Will you please stop wasting time? Do you want to lose?”

Stella exhaled through her nose, fuming with frustration. Reluctantly, she sat down next to Harlow and kept her hands firmly at her sides. The board screamed one of a kind, crafted with care. She took in the carved letters, numbers, and words. Pictures and symbols told a story she couldn’t read along the border. It had been made from a thick plank of wood—the sides had been scorched in a fire and the top had been coated with a soft polish.