Her frown deepened. The harsh wind stole the noise ofher sigh; the only sign of its existence was the heavy rise and fall of her chest.
“Let’s hurry,” she said dismissively.
I got back to the RV, and as soon as I clicked on my seatbelt, Jonah asked, “All good?”
“Great.” I put the RV in drive. “Hold on. There are potholes.”
He gripped the handle over the door as I followed Octavia up the dirt road. We drove for at least two miles before pulling up to the two-story brown ranch-style home. A wraparound porch with accessibility ramps hugged the structure. Rocking chairs with quilted pillows tied on the seats blew back and forth in the wind.
“Welcome to Elmwood,” Octavia offered half-heartedly when we joined her on the porch. She didn’t have to use a key on the already unlocked door.
“That’s so cool,” Jonah marveled at the animals carved in the delicate dark wood of the door. Lions roared, monkeys climbed, and gazelles grazed.
“My brother.” Octavia’s eyes softened for a second as she scanned the door.
The second we crossed the threshold, a sweet scent of tomato soup and the warmth of a lit fireplace greeted us. The foyer hosted a couple of padded red stools and muddied pairs of boots. Two jean jackets hung on tarnished gold rungs where Octavia stopped to add hers.
“Wilson!” Octavia called out while she slipped off her sneakers. “Esther?”
Before Jonah could follow Octavia into the kitchen, I grabbed his elbow, holding him back.
“First impressions are important,” I reminded him.
Jonah straightened. “Right…I’m relatively good at them.”
I shook my head, gaze straying to the staircase in front of us. I couldn’t tell how many rooms were on the dimly lit second floor from this angle. But there was one downstairs, right off the living room. To our left was a formal dining room bloated with cardboard boxes and furniture cloaked in white sheets.
The kitchen stood at the back of the house, with plenty of large windows and a nice view of the stable.
“I’m talking about them,” I said. “When you start a job with people who live at the activity site, you watch them closely. Pay attention to how they greet you and how they interact with each other. The moment we step into that kitchen, we’re on the clock. And that clock doesn’t stop running until we’ve figured out what we’re dealing with and how to stop it. Got it?”
Jonah’s eyes were wide as he took it all in. “Yeah, yes. Definitely.”
“Good. So, what are we looking for exactly?”
Jonah’s brow furrowed as he blanked.
“There won’t be any exams or grades,” I promised. “You make a mistake, I correct you, and we move on. It’s that easy.”
He nodded, shoulders relaxing a bit. “Jumpiness, red eyes, sensitivity to light, excessive talking, or skin picking.”
“Why?”
“All signs of potential possession. A rare possibility but still warrants ruling out.”
“Perfect.” I smiled. “Now, what’s on your belt?”
“Huh?” Jonah ran his fingers over his pocketknife, wooden stake, vial of salt, and silver-coated twine.
I tsked, more teasing than scolding. “You should always have rosemary and garlic in your kit.”
He winced when he saw me pull some from my belt. “Right, right.”
I offered him the two plastic baggies containing the rosemary leaves and garlic we needed to rule out one of them being a paranormal creature of some sort.
“You’ve got this.” I squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s get in there.”
I let Jonah lead the way. A warm, orange overhead light struggled to illuminate the large kitchen. The soft lighting revealed sandy brown walls and a backsplash of hand-painted tiles behind the counter. Two large pots shimmered on the cast-iron wood stove. The hardwood moaned underneath our feet, worn with scratches from years of wear and tear. Their house was the type of sturdy structure that no longer existed.
