But the brain whips back to logic then, and I remember Teddy wanted to capture Mama, wanted to keep her, and maybe, just maybe, there’s evidence of a dangerous obsession here. Something to show Noni. Something that proves us right.

My brain decides to multitask, thumbing through my phone while rummaging through the drawers and cabinets in the princess room for Evidence of What Teddy Did Wrong.

I have about a dozen texts from Nons.

Where are you?

Meet at Stökéwood. IMPORTANT!!!

Are you there?

I’m almost at Stökéwood now.

Are you in the house somewhere?

Hello!

And the latest, from moments ago: I’m at Stökéwood. Where ARE YOU?

My mouth tastes sour, like a citrus rind has rotted in between my teeth and cheeks. I wretch onto the ground, expelling nothing, and type a text out to her—so I might be tripping but is def the vampyrrhic boy but I need your spidey-sense to figure it out for sure … be there soon after I collect evidence as long as the shadows leave me alone—and continue the search in an old, mirrored armoire, with its piles and piles of soft clothes inside. The feel of the fabric calms me. I wish I could burrow in them. So familiar—they’ve been here since I was a kid, untouched—and so funny, the capital-B Bad fashion filling me with rib-breaking laughter in my fucked-up state. I pull out an old-fashioned swimsuit, with a superhigh leg cut and the words BARBIE GRILL on it and can’t stop the giggles.

I push my way to the back of the armoire, and my fingers feel the splintery planks. There’s the faintest click. Oooh, I think: I bet I’ll find the Pocket Girlfriend’s secret stash of Playgirls. She probably hides some retro BDSM stuff there to give her that edge when the thousands of kinky boyfriends come to town. I wonder if she can give her human boyfriends commands. Like sit, stay, heel like a dog. Like don’t smash my red button. Like don’t suffocate me in the pocket next to your sweaty balls all the time.

I hear noise outside, and my deflated awareness balloons into something, definitely something, as my pulse waltzes all uneven.

The scarred man who Nons hallucinated, Tai! A man in black! Teddy! The little people!

I make a rule: I … I won’t open the door if it’s not Teddy. But if it is, I call up the excuse I’ll use to get out: Argh, Nons called! She’s constipated, surprise surprise. Thanks for the unwanted drugs!

A mournful moan escapes the back of my throat.