As we wound our way through the house, checking out each room, I expected to feel out of place, like I was intruding on someone else’s space, but a sense of calm settled over me. The house was old and a mess but it had that lived-in feeling. Like people had laughed and loved there, shared meals and stories, celebrated birthdays and holidays. It felt warm. I wondered how long it would be before reality came to steal this moment of wonder and excitement from me.

The main floor had two separate living rooms, a formal dining room, a huge kitchen, a bunch of big closets with winter coats and boots for at least two or three people. There was only one bathroom and I prayed to Black Jesus that there was another one upstairs somewhere.

Near the rear of the first floor, the hallway seemed to narrow and the runner that ran down the center was faded and worn almost completely through. The hall terminated in front of an enormous wooden door, the surface carved with wide leaves of canna and Persian ivy. I ran my hand over the intricate woodwork.

“This is really beautiful.” I tried the ornately engraved handle. Locked.

“Let’s keep moving and come back to it later,” suggested Mo.

“Seriously?” I asked. “Mo, that’s how you miss the room that used to be a morgue or whatever and then, boom—we’re all possessed by demons.”

“Would you stop with the possession stuff?” Mom said, gripping Mo’s arm.

“Don’t worry, babe,” Mo said, shooting her a devilish grin. “I’ll protect you.”

“How?” Mom asked. “How you gonna protect me from a ghost?”

Mo pulled her close as I took the two keys Mrs. Redmond had given me and tried them in the lock. The skeleton key worked. The door opened with a creaking groan.

The room beyond was the size of the flower shop—maybe even bigger—and set up in a similar way. A wide counter, scattered with different kinds of scales, measuring cups, and scoops of varying sizes, ran the length of the room. Behind it and along the back wall, shelves went up two full stories, the height of the house. A ladder ran along a track that circled the entire room like in an old library, but there weren’t any books on the shelves, only glass jars. Dozens and dozens of glass jars of all different sizes and shapes.

“I’m so confused,” said Mo, her gaze darting around the room.

We filed in, Mom still clinging to Mo for dear life. The air was sweet and smoky, something like the lingering scent of incense. A fine layer of dust covered everything. I set my bag on the counter and walked to the ladder, pulling it in front of the wall of jars behind the counter. I put my foot on the bottom rung.

“Please be careful, baby,” said Mom. “I don’t know how far away the hospital is.”