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“Nope.”
“What do you mean nope? Of course he needs a different girl. If this one makes him feel horrible about himself, then he needs someone who lifts him up and makes him feel safe.”
She rests her chin in her hand and peers at me from beneath white-painted lashes. “You know something?”
“What?”
“I bet you wouldn’t even flinch.”
While I wrestle with what she could possibly mean, Willow continues, “Wanna go somewhere with me that will mildly upset my husband?”
“Your…husband?”
“Yeah. Zylus.”
Oh. She’s married to Zylus. I guess they don’t wear rings.
Tentatively, I nudge the last leaves of my salad around beside the remnants of my half sandwich. “I suppose it depends on where you want to go?”
“Haunted mansion.”
My mouth gapes, and I stammer, “Uh… I’m not… I don’t really…”
“Cool. It’s settled then.” She stands. “We’re going.”
¤
Alana says I don’t have a backbone. I used to laugh it off. Obviously, I have a backbone. How else would I stand up straight enough that Mom doesn’t tell me to stop slouching? Ridiculous.
Almost as ridiculous as staring past a broken iron gate at a house covered in a muted green kudzu.
The sight of the dilapidated building alone turns my stomach, but when phantom giggles whisper from the overgrown yard, I take a self-preserving step back.
“That’s new.” Willow hums. “I wouldn’t think him the type to giggle.”
Him?
“Then again, it’s something a little different every time.” Lifting the brown bag she picked up from Vale Liquors after we left the deli with Zylus’s to-go sandwich, she calls, “I have alcohol!”
If it’s possible, the entire scene before me seems to let out a sigh before the front door creaks open. A figure looms in the passage, larger than any man I’ve ever seen in real life.
I think Alana’s point concerning my backbone is moot. What I really need is to stop trusting people I don’t know very well.
“Willow,” I whisper, catching her free hand before she trots up the sidewalk. “Is this a cult? I don’t really… I mean. If you’re not hurting yourself or anyone else, I don’t want to judge you, but…I’m not interested in…joining a cult? Please.”
“Cults are bad, Brit. I am in genuine awe of your attempt just now to make it sound like a lifestyle choice you should respect. I promise you’re safe, and the weird stuff isn’t sinister.”
Her thinking I’d find whatever weird stuff she’s talking about sinister makes me want to throw up, but I still follow the petite woman up the walk and into the house.
Like an idiot, might I add.
Up until the very moment the door shuts behind me the stupidest thing I ever did was move for Noah. Now, it’s probably about to be getting murdered in a creepy mansion by perfect strangers.
“Willow.” A chilling voice scratches from the darkness, burrowing deep into my soul and kicking my heart rate up. “I don’t recall allowing you to bring friends.”
“I do what I want, Pollux.” Willow marches forward, between two sets of stairs leading up to a balcony that overlooks the foyer, and I stick right on her heels, horrified at the sheer number of cobwebs clinging to every corner. A shadow streaks off to the left, in a space vaguely kitchen-like, and light flashes across an entire butcher knife sticking out of a cutting board on the counter.
I gulp.
