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The rider stopped the sword’s progress with ease, as if the sword had no weight to carry the momentum.

Thaddeus cowered his head low and said, “He does not know the rules yet. He is new. We ask forgiveness this time.”

The rider held the sword aloft, not moving, waiting.

“He is learning,” Thaddeus pleaded. “I take responsibility for this one.”

The door to the carriage opened, and a woman stuck her head out. Her face was painted white like a skeleton, with black circles around her eyes and one around her nose. Black circles on her cheeks. Her face was the embodiment of death itself.

“Mr. Price, are we having trouble with this one?” she asked.

“No. No, ma’am. I am teaching him the rules,” Thaddeus answered.

“Good,” she replied. “Rider, please put your sword away.”

The Rider did as instructed, never taking his blank void of a face away from Hugo. The Rider’s hood followed Hugo’s every movement. Fire erupted from the horse’s nostrils. Hugo’s stomach sank, an uneasiness washing over him. A chill ran up his spine. He gulped.

Three more knocks rang out, their beats increasing.

“I assure you this will not happen again, Ms. Sinclair,” Thaddeus said.

“Sinclair?” Hugo asked in a hushed murmur, breaking his concentration from the cloaked figure before him.

“Good,” she replied. “I expect quick results.” She closed the carriage door with a soft grace. The only sound was the door locking shut.

Thaddeus exhaled. He rubbed his mouth and chin with his hands. Thaddeus pushed Hugo toward the house.

“Who is she?” Hugo asked. “And who is on the horse?”

“The Rider on the horse . . .” Thaddeus started as he peeked a quick glance over his shoulder toward The Rider. “It is your path to oblivion should you ever be struck down by its sword. Now get back in the house before you anger him again. We have much work to do.”

Three more knocks rang out.

Chapter 4

Afraid of a Ghost

Ten more days until Christmas. I hope this works.

Alice kneeled on the hardwood floor of her living room. The exact spot she had staked a mind-controlled, attacking Hugo over a week ago. The room smelled of sage and incense as they burned into ghastly vapor trails. Candles flickered around the room, providing the only source of light.

Alice picked up chalk from her makeshift box of supplies and drew a five-pointed star on the floor. She picked up a wet cloth next to her. “North is that way,” she exclaimed as she wiped the floor clean. “You need to focus.”

She repositioned herself again and drew another star. She drew a circle, touching each point of the star. She sat back on her heels to examine her work. The lines of the star weren’t symmetrical, and the circle line meandered from point to point.

Alice shook her head. “Not good enough.”

She wiped the chalky image clean. Her body pulsed with anticipation. Her fingers quivered. She closed her eyes and inhaled, breathing deeply. Alice exhaled slowly, calming her mind. Her thoughts focused on one thing.

Hugo.

Alice focused on Hugo’s face, conjuring an image in her mind. His icy blue eyes. His coifed hair and short beard. His smile. The mental image winked at her. She allowed herself to smile. She breathed deep one more time and exhaled. The image was gone from her mind.

She focused back on the pattern as she drew each meticulous line of the star. Perfection in length and angle. The five-pointed star had to be perfect, and as far as she was concerned, it was.

She breathed deep and exhaled once more. Alice drew the circle not by drawing one continuous line, but a series of connecting curved lines from point to point. She leaned back on her heels, satisfied the symbol met her specifications.

Following Alice’s command, Max stayed off to the side, quietly observing Alice’s movements. Her tail wagged back and forth, creating more fur tumbleweeds bouncing along the dark, hardwood floor. Alice turned to the impatient golden retriever. Gwennie hovered above, standing guard over the room like a quiet sentinel.