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“Yeah. That was where she’d go for alone time when I was a kid. I don’t know the reason why, she had only ever said that’s where she went to think. We were never allowed up there. Why do you ask?”

My heart plummets to my stomach as an unwanted thought intrudes.

I don’t feel comfortable telling her what I found. So instead, I shrug and say, “I thought I remembered her going up there a lot, too, but couldn’t be sure. Just curious.”

“Okay, well, if that’s all, I have to cook dinner for your father. I’ll text you the details,” she says.

“Bye,” I grumble before hanging up the phone.

“What did she say?” Daya asks softly, but I know what she’s really asking. What did my mother say to make me look so damn wounded.

I scoff. “She thought I might’ve prostituted myself to Mark.”

Her mouth drops, but she quickly picks it back up. “That’s terrible, Addie. I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, her face twisting with empathy. Daya’s always had a wonderful family, but she’s been around long enough to understand what growing up with my mother is like.

I wave a hand. “She’s said worse.”

“What did she say about Frank?”

I reiterate everything Mom told me, and when I’m done, she just stares at me with wide eyes. I got the same reaction after I told her what I found out from Mark about Ronaldo and John.

“All I know is Gigi started a lot of shit by falling in love with Ronaldo,” I finish on a sigh.

Daya rolls her lips. “Speaking of stalkers… are you not going to tell your mom about Zade?”

I shoot her a look. “That’s like asking if I’m going to tell her about how one time, I let a guy fingerbang me in the middle of a concert.”

She snorts. “Yeah, okay, you win that one.” Hesitation flashes across her green eyes, and I know the question that’s coming. I straighten my spine, preparing for it.

“He hasn’t said anything else about what he does for a living? Or why he’s involved with Mark?”

That last question right there is exactly why I can’t tell her who Zade is. He had said no one else knows about Mark and what he’s really involved in except the few people who assist him.

I shake my head, refusing to give voice to my lie.

Daya nods, accepting my answer without thought, and the guilt that resides within me is almost unbearable. I lied to her face, and she didn’t even question it.

She pours a shot of rum and hands it to me. “Here, this will cheer you up. Pregaming before a haunted carnival is like, law.”

I accept the shot and gulp it down. When I lower the glass, the smile is back on my face. Alcohol won’t cure the guilt, but at least I’m not mad about my mom calling me a prostitute anymore. She snorts when she sees my face.

“What do you think the haunted houses will be like this year?” she asks, patting some shimmery brown eyeshadow on her eyelid.

She’s going to look dangerous when she’s finished. The eyeshadow will bring out her sage green eyes to hazardous levels and attract all the monsters.

“I don’t know, it’s always hard to guess. It’s like trying to guess the next theme for American Horror Story.”

The houses in Satan’s Affair usually all follow the same theme. One year, most of the haunted houses were set up like prisons, and in each house, you had to figure out how to escape.

That’s still one of my favorite themes thus far. That was also the same year Daya peed herself.

She brings an extra change of clothes now, and I tease her every time.

“You ready?” she asks, swiping at her eyelashes one last time with her mascara wand.

“Girl, I was born ready. Let’s go pee-body.”

“Bitch,” she mutters, but I barely hear it over my evil cackling.