Page 37 of What Happens at Nightfall

“You used to love it when I would walk you to school.”

“I was five. I also loved Paw Patrol.”

Jess drained her coffee cup, licking the last, precious drops off the rim. “It’s Friday today, isn’t it? No school until Monday. We have two days to figure this out. I mean, you have two days to figure this out.”

Melinda gave Jess a long, appraising look. It was the same way she looked when she was practicing for the math Olympiad, working out a complex equation. “You’re not getting off that easy. You have drunk of our Nespresso and now you must serve us one day for each pod.”

“I think you’re confusing Hades and Starbucks,” said Adam, looking from one to the other.

“What about the creamer?” asked Jess.

“That,” said Melinda regally, “you may have with no additional obligation.”

“As long as there’s unlimited creamer,” said Jess. “What do we do about this woman?”

Adam had no idea what had just gone on between his daughter and their new acquaintance, but apparently they had come to some sort of understanding.

“We could go back to her apartment and wait for her to come back,” suggested Adam.

“But is she coming back?” countered Jess. “The door was unlocked and the place looked—”

She didn’t need to explain. He remembered. It looked like a hurricane had come through. “So then what?”

Melinda flapped a piece of paper in his general direction. “Have you looked through these? Like really looked through these?”

“More times than I would like,” said Adam with feeling. Every time he saw that picture of Melinda in the window, it made him feel sick.

Melinda began dealing out printouts like playing cards. “Here.” A paper with a large Post-it reading AUTUMN EQUINOX?? “And here.” A photocopy of what looked like sixteenth- or seventeenth-century typeface. When the sun is in a warm and dry sign, it is good to conjure infernal spirits. “And here.” A close-up of the front of the tomb, studded with Post-it notes.

Adam had to squint to read them. One seemed to be a shopping list, another a weather forecast.

“I saw that too,” said Jess. “It looks like she’s planning some sort of ritual around the autumn equinox. Your dad thinks she means to offer you up as a sacrifice.”

Adam flushed. “I didn’t say that! Okay, maybe I did say that.”

“If you’d read this through carefully,” Melinda said sharply, “you’d see that there’s no mention of human sacrifice. Although it does recommend wringing the neck of a bird and presenting it as an offering.”

“Maybe she thought a girl would be more effective than a pigeon.”

“Dad, do you want her to sacrifice me? Because if you do, go on making those sorts of arguments.”

Adam plunged his hands into his hair. “How are we even joking about this?”

“Because if we weren’t joking we’d be screaming,” said his daughter.

“No one is going to sacrifice anyone,” said Jess firmly. “However tempting it may be.”

Adam looked at his daughter, at the beloved, familiar lines of her face, this person he and Kate had made. He wanted to wrap her in Bubble Wrap and keep her safe forever. Except then she’d suffocate and he’d lose her anyway. It was a no-win.

“She’s stalking you, Mel. She followed you to school and took pictures of you in your room. It’s not funny. It’s not a joke.”

“I know. And that’s why I agree we should confront her. But we don’t have to go all the way to the city to do it.” Melinda straightened, her eyes alarmingly bright. “All we have to do is crash her little ritual Sunday night.”

Chapter Eleven

On Sunday night, Jess arrived at Green-Wood Cemetery dressed as a cross between Audrey Hepburn and a cat burglar, in black pencil pants, a close-fitting black sweater, and black ballet flats.

They’d agreed to meet at the main gate rather than the Fort Hamilton entrance, on the off chance Melinda’s stalker might first swing by the house in search of her prey. They wanted to catch her in full spate at the tomb, not just lurking. Lurking was plausibly deniable; strangling pigeons was not.