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“That’sthe silver lining here? I’m not impressed.”

This is my life. Summed up by complete insanity in a nutshell. I can feel a headache coming on.

Peacemaker: “Just give him a chance, please. He will spoil you just as much as the dog, if not more. You’ll never have enemies. They’ll be dead.”

Impressive selling point.I’m not buying.

“I would also never have friends because he would kill them! Oh shit. What about Ben? Is he going to hurt Ben? Please, say no. He’s the only person who’s ever given a damn about me. If he takes that from me, if he takeshimfrom me -”An unstoppable tide of anger begins to rise inside me, and Peacemaker starts to panic.

Peacemaker: “Whoa! No, no, no! He knows you’re attached to it - him. He won’t jeopardize what small favor he’s gained with you by killing him. He hasn’t touched him at all since they met. Do you think that's a coincidence?”

I try to stuff the rage that suddenly came up back into the background and catch my breath with my eyes squeezed shut.

Peacemaker: “He’s actually trying, which is saying alot. He'll comply if you tell him what you won’t accept.”

“He’s a person, not a robot.” Treating him that way seems wrong. Can’t I just convince him to leave mealone? Yeah, he’s gorgeous and I have a crush but I’m trying to not step any further into the depths of madness.

“Bees?”

My eyes snap open as Ben touches my cheek. He’s frowning in concern as he tilts my face towards his. I’m still stuck on the conversation I just had in my head and can’t work up what to say to him.

“We’re here,” he says hesitantly and frowns at Mitri.

“Ok, cool!” I practically shove him onto the pavement in my rush to get out of the car. I don’t want to think about what Peacemaker was talking about. I would happily convince myself that it was all in my head if I could picture telling myself someone likes me. High school never ends, right?

04. Can’t Go to Hell

Salt House is not what I expected.

According to my searches on the Other version of the internet, Salt House is made up of Witches and Warlocks who specialize in hexing. A hex is a tiny curse in the form of a symbol spell directed at a particular person to cause harm. It activates and you carry it around with you like cooties until someone removes it.

I’d always heard witches believed in the Karma Goddess, but I guess not.

These little buggers can cause anything from complete hair loss to infectious curses that spread like the common cold to anyone the victim interacts with. There was a section of complaints to anyone who would listen about people affected by the curses. You can’t even see them being cast at you.

I’ve been picturing a house from the old-world class of witches with a straw-roofed hut or even a dilapidated house with broken windows and an eerie wind that blows only in the yard.

Instead, there’s a white picket fence with an archway entrance leading to a picturesque two-story home. The lawn is well maintained, with a cobblestone pathway leading to the front door. At least twenty lawn gnome statues, in various positions of innocent fun, and lanterns line the walk. I can see the tops of trees over the roof, and they look healthy and happy.

I’m insane because I’m a little disappointed.

Ben joins me on the left, and Mitri takes a position on my right.Both are pressing against me almost as much as when we were in the car, and it’s too much right now.I’ve gotten used to one person being physical, not two.Claustrophobia, here I come.

“Why are we here?” Mitri asks his first question, and I roll my eyes.

“We’re looking for Laverne Rodriques and Darlene Reyes.I wasn’t sure which of the Houses to start with, so we decided to begin in uptown and make our way down,” I reply and eye a set of gnomes kissing.

Mitri gives me a raised brow, and I realize I just broke the silent treatment.Damn and I was doing so well.

“What is your preferred method of interrogation?” Question two quickly follows the first.

“Notinterrogating,” I protest, turning to smack his arm without thinking.

His other eyebrow goes up, and he eyes where I struck him.I swallow hard and try to stand my ground, but my knees are wobbling.Ben shifts to brace my back in support.

“No matter which phrasing you choose, it is an interrogation,” he meets my eyes, and there’s some kind of emotion there that I can’t readily identify.

“It’s a politeinquiry,” I argue.