Page 100 of What Happens at Nightfall

“You’re in the dark together on a path while things happen around you. So, basically the old Tunnel of Love with artistic pretensions.” Kimmy thought for a moment. “And no boats.”

“So not the Tunnel of Love at all,” retorted Jess.

“I don’t know. Wandering hand in hand along the candlelit paths . . .”

“Dodging angry ghosts and misogynist demons.” Less love story and more low-budget action film. “It sounds like a bad novel. Love in the Time of Demons.”

“You’re just being sarcastic because you don’t want to admit you like him.”

“What, like, like like him?” Jess mocked. I like you, he’d said. And then he’d compared her to a tree. But in a good way. “Okay, so I do like him. I like him a lot. But—what if it’s just the circumstances? What if we’re just demon-fighting buddies and once this is over he decides I’m not magical and I can’t make rainbows with my hands—”

“Make rainbows? What?”

“Never mind. Figure of speech. But the point is, what if it’s just—”

“Bed fur passion?” offered Kimmy. It was an old joke, dating back to the bodice rippers they’d passed back and forth in tenth grade, in one of which the heroine accused the hero of only wanting her for her performance on the bed furs. Jess couldn’t even remember which book it came from but through most of college they’d vetted each other’s relationships with is it real or is it mere bed fur passion?

“Not bed fur passion. I mean, there could be bed fur passion.” If the demon ever left them alone to get on with it. It was amazing how she now just accepted the demon as a factor in their lives, a recognized threat, like bedbugs or hurricanes. “There’s the potential for bed fur passion. But I’m worried that this is ‘being thrown together in impossible circumstances that no one else could understand’ passion.”

“That’s not as catchy as bed fur passion,” Kimmy agreed. “But it might be longer lasting. Shared experiences are what make a relationship. Intense and crazy shared experiences don’t mean something isn’t real; they just mean you have more to lie to your children about later.”

That was another problem. Adam’s children. Yes, Melinda had offered her chicken, but she wasn’t sure if offering chicken was like inviting a vampire across your threshold or just a onetime offer of chicken.

“I like your Adam,” said Kimmy. “He seems like a good guy. Erin always felt he was wasted on that girl he was dating.”

“You mean his wife?” said Jess.

“Not his wife anymore.”

“Because she’s dead!”

“You don’t get much more out of the picture than that,” said Kimmy practically. “At least you won’t have to worry about joint custody and visitation schedules.”

“It’s hard to compete against a ghost.” Guilty and angry, Adam had said. You weren’t guilty and angry unless you still had feelings for someone. Of course he had feelings. She was the woman he’d dated since college; she was the woman he’d married. They’d still be married if it hadn’t been for that reckless driver.

“You don’t know that she is a ghost,” pointed out Kimmy. “The only ghost you’ve seen so far is Cornelia Vanderwilt. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

That wasn’t the kind of ghost she’d meant. “Nope. Just Cornelia. Every time I’ve been at Green-Wood, Cornelia has tried to communicate with me. If she shows up tonight, do you think I should apologize for misjudging her?”

“Maybe try to get in the apology before she throws more masonry at you,” suggested Kimmy. “I guess the question is, why did she throw masonry at you? What was she trying to tell you?”

“Stop being an idiot and listen?” Cornelia had said as much to Jess before. Maybe she’d gotten fed up with words and decided to say it with stonework.

“I feel like nearly killing you is a bit of an extreme way to convey that. You know, there was that key I picked up . . . Weren’t you the one who suggested it might have been in the urn? Maybe that’s why she threw it at you.”

Jess stared at her. “The key. How did I forget about that key?”

“We don’t know that it was in the urn,” Kimmy said soothingly. “It might have just been dropped there. It might have been anyone’s key.”

“It wasn’t.” Take the key, the ghost had told her. Use the key. “Cornelia wanted me to use it . . .”

They both jumped as the doorbell squawked.

“Are you expecting someone else?”

“No.” Ghosts didn’t ring doorbells. At least, Jess didn’t think they did.

The bell shrieked again, longer this time, as though someone was leaning on it.