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Marcellus held the bottle against his chest and glared at me, his eyes blazing.

“Fine!” he shouted back, his voice strained.

Then he picked up his things and headed downstairs, his footsteps heavy, like he was trying to put as much distance between us as possible.

By the time he finished, Lakelyn was waiting in the foyer with Willow beside her. Both of them looked expectant, worried, like they were bracing for bad news.

“Well… what’s the verdict?” Lakelyn wasted no time asking.

Her hands were clasped in front of her, her fingers twisting together.

Marcellus looked around the mansion, his eyes sweeping over the high ceilings, the chandelier, the expensive furniture… then they landed on me.

I stood behind Lakelyn with my arms folded, watching him… waiting.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t sense anything malevolent in this home.”

Lakelyn’s shoulders relaxed slightly, the tension easing from her posture. “You don’t?”

“No.”

“Nothing evil?”

“Nothing evil,” he reassured her. “But I do believe there may be a restless presence lingering here… territorial, even.”

“Restless?” I retorted in offense. “Nigga, I’m trapped! Don’t make it sound like I’m pacing these halls because I needed a hobby. Territorial, though? Aight. I could live with that one.”

“A restless spirit?” Lakelyn asked, her voice small.

Marcellus nodded, his expression serious but not alarming. “Restless doesn’t automatically mean dangerous. Sometimes it simply means something is keeping a spirit connected to a person, a place, or something unfinished.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Lakelyn rubbed her palms against her thighs, a nervous gesture I’d seen her do a hundred times. “Do you think we’re safe here?”

Father Maxwell’s eyes found me again.

I raised my eyebrows. “Choose wisely, Father Maxwell.”

“Yes,” he said, his voice firm. “Actually, if my instincts are right, whatever is here seems far more interested in protecting this home than harming anyone inside it.”

“There you go.”

Lakelyn released a breath, her whole body sagging with relief.

Willow, naturally, wasn’t finished.

She never was.

“So… no ghost?”

Father Maxwell hesitated, his mouth opening and closing. “I didn’t say that.”

Willow’s eyes widened. “Oh, hell.”

“What I said is that I cannot tell you with certainty that a spirit is responsible for everything you’ve experienced.”

Willow squinted at him, her head tilting. “That was a very politician-ass answer.”