She’d miss the apartment, even if she’d only be gone for a month—plenty of time between her return and the start of school in mid-August. It had become a haven. After all this time, Madeleine had managed to make her room reasonably homey, although it had taken a while to shake off her sense of austerity and put up a decoration or two. Now there was a poster of her favorite bookstore in the French Quarter and an illustrated quotation from Emily Dickinson.

On the bureau sat an older photo of her with her parents and brother, taken when she was sixteen, only a couple of months before the car accident. It was angled so that she couldn’t see it easily, but…well, it was there. Meanwhile, a crucifix hung on the opposite wall so that she saw it as soon as she woke up.

Becca propped her elbows on her knees. She was a widow in her early fifties, and five years ago she too had needed a fresh start—plus a cheap place to live while dealing with her late husband’s debts. Madeleine had left Philadelphia both to save money and escape painful memories, but she hadn’t known anyone in Lancaster. She and Becca had met on a site dedicated to finding roommates. Together they’d grieved the end of their marriages: Becca’s to Mark and Madeleine’s to Christ. At first, Madeleine had been sure they’d never be able to relate to each other, but she should have known that kinship could form in unlikely places. Becca had become a kind of sister when Madeleine needed one most, and she’d done her best to return the favor.

Too bad Becca couldn’t come along to Orkney and make sure Madeleine didn’t fall into the clutches of a supernatural force, but somebody had to stay home and feed the cat.

“How’re you feeling, hon?” Becca asked.

Madeleine gave a rueful laugh. “Scared senseless. But excited. And kind of in shock.”

Becca nodded solemnly. “There’s only one place that can hold all of those feelings at once.”

“Oh no,” Madeleine said immediately. “I’m saving every penny.”

“Relax, it’s on me. You can’t go off to the land of haggis without one last taste of great American cuisine.”

Twenty minutes later, they sat in their booth at Applebee’s, ordering their usual drinks. They’d started coming here as a joke—a tacky chain restaurant was so incongruous with Becca’s grief and the minimalist life Madeleine had fled. The joke had turned serious, and now Applebee’s was their Friday night routine.