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“Exactly. She keeps the wicked juju at bay.” Georgie adjusts the chain so Henrietta sits front and center on my chest. “Plus, if Felicity’s the killer, Henrietta here will know. Cursed dolls have a sixth sense about these things.”

“We’re outsourcing detective work to haunted antiques now?”

“Don’t you question Henrietta’s abilities. She’s been warding off evil since before you were born.”

Fish and Chip trot over, and I quickly scoop up Fish. No offense to Chip, but I don’t have time to throw my back out.

Fish gives Henrietta a long, flat stare. I’ve been protecting you for free this whole time, and you hired a head.

Relax, Fish Stick, Chip offers, attempting to leap into my arms, but his bottom and gravity get along too well. And yet I somehow manage to scoop him up, too. If it comes to life, I’ll eat it. Problem solved.

Comforting. My security team works for kibble and has a plastic-consumption backup plan.

Ree eyes the doll with a mixture of horror and fascination. “That thing is deeply unsettling.”

“That’s how you know it’s working,” Georgie says with a wink.

Ree takes Fish from me before my arms fall off—mostly Chip’s fault.

Chip catches me glancing down at him and gazes back, serene and unrepentant. It’s called presence. And well, a few too many funnel cakes.

We weave through the dispersing crowd toward Felicity, who’s carefully packing her antique magnifying glass into a velvet-lined case like it’s a precious artifact. For all I know, it is. Writers get strange about their props. Her fingers linger on the clasp a beat longer than necessary, smoothing the velvet the way you’d tuck in a child. Some people protect what they love. Some people protect what they can’t afford to lose. From the outside, it looks exactly the same.

Up close, she looks even more exhausted than she did onstage. There are dark circles under her warm hazel eyes that no amount of Victorian ghost-hunter costume can hide.

“Felicity!” Ree practically bounces over, clutching her well-worn copy of Death Among the Daisies. “That was absolutely brilliant! The way you explained the reverse-outline method! I was doing it all wrong for years! It’s no wonder I haven’t completed a single manuscript.”

Felicity’s tired face lights up with genuine pleasure. “Oh, thank you so much! That’s so kind of you to say. Are you a writer?”

“Aspiring. And I haven’t worked on a story in years,” Ree admits. “Though after attending your workshop, I realize I have a lot to learn about proper clue placement.”

“We all do,” Felicity says with a soft laugh. “I’m still learning myself. Every book teaches me something new, usually that I don’t know nearly as much as I think I do.”

I step forward, extending my hand. “I’m Josie Janglewood, the park owner. We met briefly at the opening night party. This is our friend Georgie Conner.”

“Oh yes!” Felicity shakes my hand, then Georgie’s. “What a wonderful park you have here. The theme you have going on in this particular hollow is just spectacular. I keep getting distracted by all the little details, the steam vents, the gears, the Edison bulbs. It’s like stepping into a novel.” She glances at my chest, and the smile slides right off her face. “Is that... is that a doll head?”

“This is Henrietta,” I say, as if that explains everything.

“We bring her along for protection,” Georgie adds. “She wards off evil spirits and bad juju.”

Felicity winces. “Well, it looks to me like she might just be bringing the evil spirits and bad juju.” We all share a quick laugh on Henrietta’s behalf. Although I’d stake my life that Henrietta just shot me a dirty look. Then, as if on cue, the haunted thing blinks, and everyone gasps.

Felicity takes a prudent half step back. “Does she always blink like that?”

“It’s a special effect,” I confirm. “Or possibly of her own free will. We’re not entirely sure. We’ve stopped asking questions we don’t want answered.” True as gospel.

“That’s the most unsettling piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen,” Felicity says, though there’s a hint of amusement in her voice. “And I once attended a conference where a horror writer wore a necklace made of tiny plastic severed fingers.”

Ree nods my way. “And now I know what to get you for Christmas.”

I frown at her for even going there.

“Henrietta is a classic,” Georgie says with pride. “She’s been haunting her owners since 1770-something. And going by that evil twinkle in her eyes, she’s got a proven track record.”

“Of what, exactly?” Felicity asks.

“Survival,” I say. “Which, given the body count around here lately, seems like a reasonable investment.”