Page 53 of What Happens at Nightfall

“You don’t know that,” said Ben darkly. “You don’t know what she wants.”

Adam knew what he wanted—sort of. He also knew it wasn’t going to happen. It was all too complicated. Kids and demons and murky motives. When all he wanted was—well, anyway.

Rising from the bed, he said, “I should go make sure she gets home okay. Do you think you can get some rest?”

Ben held on tightly to Chomper. “You’ll be here?”

“I’ll be here.” Adam might not be much, but he was what they’d got. The one thing he could do was be here. The most basic of the Dad skills. Showing up and staying put.

It wasn’t about him anymore. It was about them. It was about Ben and Melinda.

Adam started slowly down the back stairs to the kitchen, apprehension building with every step. Kissing Jess—it had been a bad idea on a dozen grounds. Even if it hadn’t felt like a bad idea in the moment. But that was just hormones.

Did he even still have hormones? It had been so long he wasn’t even sure. He’d started dating Kate their sophomore year of college. They’d both been twenty. Which meant the last time he’d dated anyone who wasn’t Kate was half his lifetime ago. And these past four years—he’d just been beginning to deal with the concept of a life without the person he’d thought he’d spend his life with, for better and worse.

Adam paused, the polished wood of the banister cool beneath his palm. Maybe he’d just thought there was a connection with Jess because the situation was so fraught. Maybe it was because she was the only woman he’d met in a while who wasn’t either one of his colleagues or a member of the PTA. Maybe Ben was right and she was an occult Mata Hari who had seduced him for her own ends.

Taking a deep breath, Adam took the final steps that brought him out into the kitchen.

The kitchen was empty.

His charging cord dangled from its usual outlet. The kitchen chairs had all been pushed neatly into their spots against the table.

Where Jess had been sitting was a piece of folded paper.

Got myself an Uber. Good luck with everything. —Jess

Huh. Adam sank down into the seat where she’d been sitting. It smelled faintly of roses. Whatever shampoo she used, it was potent. He read the note again, not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

Relieved. He should be relieved.

You don’t know what she wants, Ben had said.

Jess had brought up evil Cookie Monster—and evil Cookie Monster had appeared on a screen. Jess had picked up that parasol—and light had poured out of it. It was Jess who had told him about Domiciles of the Damned and Jess who had led him to that conveniently unlocked apartment.

It was Jess who showed up in a supposedly 150-year-old picture of the Brooklyn Theater Fire.

There was a buzzing in Adam’s left ear. Probably a late-season mosquito. Adam absently swatted at it as he dug out his phone, typing Brooklyn Theater Fire into the search bar. There’d been a newspaper, The Brooklyn—something with a bird. The Brooklyn Daily Eagle.

It took only a moment’s search to find the appropriate digital archive and navigate to the correct issue. And there it was. The etching. With the woman who looked like Jess in the corner.

Adam leaned back in the chair, tipping it back on its hind legs. So they hadn’t photoshopped that. Not unless they’d hacked the NYS Historic Newspapers database.

But that didn’t mean Jess and Ingrid weren’t in cahoots. It didn’t mean Jess wasn’t lying to him. It just meant she wasn’t lying about that.

Adam felt hopelessly befuddled. He had no idea what was true and what wasn’t. He thought he’d kissed her—but maybe she’d kissed him? He thought he’d seen the grass turn into snakes. He thought he’d seen Cookie Monster with his eyes glowing red.

There was a faint smell of burning in the kitchen. Adam got up and unplugged the toaster, just in case. Melinda always singed her toast. Breakfast was a long time ago, but sometimes these smells lingered.

Adam took out his phone, his finger hovering over the text app. He should send Jess a message and make sure she got home okay. He felt a stab when he remembered how woebegone she’d looked, her face streaked with tears, having screwed up the most important relationship in her life because of him.

If any of it was true.

He’d be a jerk not to text. But what if Ben was right? What if this was all some complicated con? What did he know about this woman anyway?

Slowly, Adam clicked the button on the side of his phone that made the screen go blank. Slowly, he lowered the phone to the counter.

It felt like someone was guiding his hand.