“Yes.” He groans and shrugs. “I have the basics down. Baxter will have to be satisfied with that.”
“What if they replace you with someone who follows the script?” I wave it in front of him.
“Fine by me.” He takes my hand and leads me into the front room of the shop.
“Oh, good. You’re both still dressed.” Lucy blows out an exaggerated sigh of relief and flicks her gaze to the ceiling. “Praise Lillith.”
I slap my hand over my mouth and smother the laughter threatening to break free.
Declan side-eyes me. “Don’t encourage her.”
“Settle down, Big D. You know my special brand of humor can’t be contained.”
“I’m aware,” he groans.
Lucy grins and grabs her coat from behind the front desk. She shrugs into the oversize puffy jacket and zips it to her chin. “Let’s ride!”
Declan grabs a black wool coat from a rack by the door and shrugs it on, then pulls a wool golfing-style cap on his head.
“Very dapper, Mr. Sterling,” I say in a low tone.
The corners of his mouth twitch. “Thank you.”
“Oh, Lordy,” Lucy mutters and rolls her eyes, then swings the door open and gestures grandly toward the street. “After you, fearless leader.”
Declan mutters something under his breath and steps out first, tugging his coat closed against the cold. I follow, the night air biting at my cheeks immediately. The street’s brighter than it was earlier—string lights overhead, storefronts glowing, people bundled up and drifting toward the town square in loose clusters.
Lucy locks the shop and turns toward us. “Okay,” she says, falling into step beside Declan. “Have you decided how you’re opening?”
He blows out an irritated breath. “I’m not opening withWelcome, foolish mortals.If that’s what you’re asking.”
“Rude,” Lucy scoffs. “That line is a classic.”
I smile to myself and tuck my hands into the pockets of my coat, listening.
Lucy swipes the script out of Declan’s hands and flips through it. “This is goofy. You need to set the proper mood.”
“I plan to. How about—” He clears his throat and drops his voice a few notches. “Crowsbridge Hollow may seem quiet at night, but the Hollow Hill asylum has never slept.”
Lucy wrinkles her nose. “Eh. Nailed the creepy voice but it doesn’t make sense. How does an asylumsleep?”
I snort, then cough to cover my laughter.
“See, Emery knows.” Lucy jabs a finger in my direction. “She writes compelling scripts for a living.”
“Uh, I don’t write scripts,” I correct, trying not to sound like I’m scolding her. “I write investigative stories based on facts I’ve uncovered.”
Lucy waves a hand. “Details. You tell scary truths. Similar skill set.”
“Yes, but I don’t dramatize,” I insist.
“I’ve watched tons of your videos.” Lucy snorts. “You absolutely dramatize. You just call it context.”
I roll my eyes but bite my tongue. There’s no point arguing with Lucy.
Declan holds up his hands like a ref worried we’re about to tackle each other. “Facts make more of an impact when you don’t overwork them. But like Emery said, nothing I’m saying tonight is factual.”
“I have faith in you, Big D. You’ll figure it out.” Lucy makes an exaggerated motion of twisting her wrist to check her watch. “Within the next thirty minutes.”
