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I suppress a smile.

"Different how?"

"Restless."

Before I can answer, the lights overhead flicker. Once. Then again. Several customers glance upward. Someone near the candle display laughs.

"Guess the ghosts are getting ready for Halloween."

A few people chuckle. Everly doesn't. Neither do I. The lights are steady.

"Old wiring," I say.

"You don't believe that."

"I believe in electricity."

"You believe in explanations."

"Yes."

"Even when they don't fit?"

I look at her.

"Especially then."

She studies me with that patient expression she gets when she knows I am being stubborn. Which is often.

"You know this town has moods."

I cross my arms.

"The town."

"Yes."

"The collection of buildings and roads has moods."

"Exactly."

"That is somehow less convincing."

She ignores me.

"I've lived here my entire life."

"So have I."

"Then you know."

I don't answer. Because the annoying thing about Everly is that she is often wrong in ways that sound reasonable. And occasionally right in ways I don't want to discuss. She lowers her voice.

"You know how every October people come looking for ghost stories?"

"They keep your lights on."

"They do."