Shit. I yelled down, “Can it wait?”
“I don’t think so,” Morgan answered.
Ronnie reached for the doorknob.
I gauged the distance between us. Even if I vaulted the counter, he’d be out the door before I reached him, and I didn’t want to explain to the neighbors why I’d jumped a kid a third my age in the middle of the street.
“Mind the knob.” I brushed the wall behind me to get the house’s attention. I hated asking it for help. It always seemed so self-satisfied afterward, like a puppy waiting to be praised. “There’s a metal spur that can prick your hand. The downside of hand-cast, period-accurate brass. I’ve been meaning to file it down.”
Ronnie frowned and checked the doorknob. There was nothing to see, of course. As if I’d ever leave a problem like that untended. But when he turned the knob and opened the door, he hissed in pain and brought his hand to his mouth.
“Sorry about that,” I said. “Do you need a band-aid?”
He scowled, wiped the edge of his palm on his pants, and hurried away.
The instant he left, I grabbed a tissue and went to the door. A tiny smear of blood streaked the old brass knob. I dabbed it onto the tissue. That should be more than enough for Temple to track our guest.
“Grandma?” Morgan yelled.
I locked the door, hung theBACKSOONsign in the window, begrudgingly patted the wall to thank the house for its help, and went to find out what kind of hell my grandchildren had gotten into.
“You have questions? Do tell.”
“We put together a list.”
“I can already tell this is going to be painful. All right, let’s hear them.”
“Noah wants to know if we can get cloaks. He has a black cape he uses for his Batman cosplay, and—”
“You watch too much TV. No cloaks. What’s next?”
“Sophia asked whether we’ll be able to bring her labradoodle ‘Scooby Doodle’ back to life after the ritual.”
“She wants to reanimate a dead pet? Haven’t any of you ever readPet Sematary? The answer is no. Next?”
“Next is a question about getting matching tattoos. Symbols of power to mark our devotion to R’gngyk.”
“It’sR’gngyk, with soft g sounds. And this isn’t a street gang. We’re not— Actually, tattoos do sound kind of badass. I’m gonna mark that one as a Maybe.”
CHAPTER3
Temple
Each day, it was a little harder to wake up. A little harder to drag myself out of my warm, comfortable bed. A little harder to care about mundanities like putting on pants.
Someone was calling my name. Jenny? No, that was last night’s crisis. Past and present and occasionally future were too easy to mix up these days, especially first thing in the morning. I rolled onto my back and tugged down my nightcap and wrapped the pillow around my head, but the call continued.
It was Annette’s voice, tinny as it echoed through the pipes to reach me. She sounded worried.
I sat up and yanked off my nightcap and CPAP mask. Without my glasses, everything was a blur, making it easier to lose myself in other senses. I felt people throughout the house like they were crawling beneath my own skin. Annette and her grandkids were in the basement, while Jenny was asleep in her room. I sensed animals, too. Spiders lay in wait in their webs. The mice in the attic were gathered at the gable vent, plotting against a red-tailed hawk who’d been hunting in the neighborhood. Outside, the earth teemed with life: worms and grubs and moles and grass and flowers.
The older I got, the thinner the boundary between this place and the blood-and-meat-in-a-loose-package-of-skin known as Temple Finn became. Which would give out first, my body or my sense of self?
I feltwet. Never a good start to the day.
Thankfully, it wasn’t me. The dampness was coming from the basement, as if the limestone walls had cracked and leaked. Which shouldn’t have been possible.
I put on my glasses and eased myself out of bed. My body ached, and my joints were stiff like dried-out wood that would rather break than bend. I ignored the pain the best I could, being more concerned with the pains of my home. I made it halfway to the stairs before turning around and returning to my room.
