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“May I?”

“Yes, please.”

I push the doors apart from the center, all the way open to let in as much light from the single flickering flame behind me.

“Oooh, fireplace in the bedroom. Sexy.”

“It doesn’t work,” she calls from the living room. I assumed as much when I noticed how clean it was the other day, not to mention she had candles placed inside instead of a grate or pile of ashes.

Am I supposed to chase down a ghost? I don’t understand what I should even be doing right now. I pull out my phone and turn on the flashlight, pointing it toward the mirror above. Glancing over my shoulder, I ask, “That’s where you saw a ghost?”

She takes a step backward and I’m hit with another pang of guilt. “Yeah.”

I shine the light briefly over it. “Looks normal. Maybe it was just a weird shadow from the lightning.”

“Dude, I know what I saw.”

“I believe you.”

I pick up a zippered hoodie lying on her bed. “Want this?”

She holds out her hand and I toss it to her. While she puts it on, I shine my light over her bed, and it catches on the corner of her room. “Jesus Christ, Duchess. The fuck is that?”

Her head snaps up. “What? Where?”

Her shoulders relax when she sees the spotlight on her stack of throw pillows piled near her bed.

“My God, woman. How many pillows⁠—”

“Shut up,” she chirps. “I like them.”

I nod toward the candles and fish the Zippo out of my pocket. “Can I light these?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

There’s at least a dozen pillar candles of different heights. “Let’s get this bad boy roaring,” I say, pausing the flame at each wick until the bedroom grows brighter. When I’m finished, I pocket my lighter and glance back at her. “Are you coming in or are you going to hide out there all night?”

Her gaze darts around the room before she steps inside and does one of those leaps on the bed like an arm is going to fly out from underneath and grab her by the ankle.

“Seriously?” I ask.

“Seriously.”

I make a show of rolling my eyes, then go back into her living room and carry the upholstered chair next to her bed so I can be comfortable while I, what, watch for a ghost? This is absurd. As soon as I drop into the padded seat, I’m made aware that Goldilocks’s chair is much too small, but I’ll make it work. I kick my feet up onto the mattress to stretch out.

“Now what?” I ask.

It’s like her focal point is fused to that fucking mirror, waiting for something—me—to lunge out of it. This girl needs a distraction.

“Okay, um . . . What’s the strangest dream you’ve ever had?”

“Huh?”

“Strangest dream. Go.”

She leans her back against the headboard and tugs the blankets up to her chin. “Um . . . a few weeks ago I dreamed Edie Beale and I were on a Viking ship in the middle of the ocean with all these emperor penguins. The penguins were in charge. For the entire dream, Edie wouldn’t stop explaining the purpose of a stop sign.”

I blink at her.