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S omewhere on a different floor, the people from WNCR’s morning show were probably bouncing around, midway through their shift. On my floor, the editing room was dead silent. I sat in the haunted chair beside the copier with a cup of chamomile tea cradled in my hands and my legs curled up.

“Move,” I told the chair. “I dare you.”

It didn’t move, because ghosts weren’t real.

I’d spent the night panicking, peeking outside through the curtains, and panicking some more. I wasn’t sure which I was more afraid of—the fake ghost man in the jungle or the possibility that my family had heard me screaming.

Dinner had gone so well.

If I’d ruined it by whiting out from reality, just like I’d done so many times before, I’d never forgive myself. I’d been too afraid to call Carson last night to find out. I was too exhausted and still too afraid to call now.

Those ghostly fingers on my arms had felt so real. But I must have hallucinated them.

My brain couldn’t let me have a win.

I was self-sabotaging and I hated it.

So, like a totally sane person, I sat alone, daring a non-existent ghost to prove its existence while I bided my time. I waited until the reasonable hour of seven a.m. to reach out to my best friends for help. I figured if I called both, I might catch one of them.

I set up a video call and hit send.

Immediately, they both popped on the video chat.

Daisy, with her sleek bun and flowy blouse looked like she was at her recording studio.

Morning light poured through the window to her left, sparkling against the blondest strands in her hair and highlighting the smattering of freckles on her cheeks.

She looked like the postcard version of spring—well-rested, optimistic, and happy in a way that only existed in memories.

Tess, on the other hand, looked more like I felt.

Her hair was slightly mussed. The blond dye had grown out to reveal her salt and pepper roots.

Darkness circled her eyes. The wall behind her was white and nondescript, like a mental ward prison cell with lighting so harsh it made my eye twitch.

Her expression was somehow both pained and neutral.

“Hey,” I said, thrilled to see them both. “You okay, Tess?”

At the same time, Daisy said, “What’s going on?”

“What’s the emergency?” Tess took a breath. “I’m okay. It’s just Doomface. What about you, Erika? Did the witches do something?”

“No witch drama,” I said.

They both looked at me expectantly. We didn’t group video call each other outside of our weekly chat unless something was wrong.

Something was wrong, of course. But where was I even supposed to start? “I went out to dinner last night with the guys.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath—Tess.

“It went well,” I said. Then for Daisy, I added, “My sauce-proof attire was perfection. Carson even wore a red shirt.”

Daisy’s lips curved in a smug smile.

“The bad part wasn’t until after dinner,” I said.

“I was leaving and it happened—a white-out. I was back in my dream forest. While I was in the forest, someone grabbed me. So I screamed. And the guys could have heard me. The threat was in my head, of course. I know this. I don’t understand why though. Why do I do this to myself?”

They were both quiet.

“Erika, move your phone to the left,” Tess said.

“What? Why?”

She flattened her lips into a line. “Just humor me.”

I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see...I didn’t know what. A creepy shadow lingering over my shoulder?

The office was still empty with no sign of anything amiss. Every single shadow—benign. Doing as Tess asked, I tilted the camera. I searched the screen for any hint of what she might be looking for.

Daisy shot up from her seat. Her eyes went wide. Tess brought her phone closer to her face and set her brows in a grim line. Strings of words burst from both of them at the same time. I couldn’t make out any of it.

As abruptly as they’d started talking, they both stopped.

Daisy sat down and took a breath. “You tell her. I’ll shut up.”

Tess ran a hand over her face as if needing to summon her courage, or at the very least a glass of wine.

I was so confused. “Tell me what?”

“Erika, you didn’t make up being grabbed.” Tess’s voice remained calm, a comforting lie covering suppressed distress. “There are bruises on your arms.”

“No there’s not. I would have seen them.” I inspected the skin below my sleeves.

“Other side,” Daisy said.

I propped my phone against the copier and twisted my arm.

A few inches above my elbow, three dark purple lines crossed my brown skin. “I don’t….”

The words died on my tongue. I ran my fingers over the darkened skin. The air seemed to thin, tight and sharp in my lungs.

A memory steamrolled through my brain—hands grabbing onto me in that exact spot. I tried to shake the memory away. I checked my other arm and found a matching set of bruises.

“Who did this to you?” Daisy asked. “You said someone grabbed you. What did he look like?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t even know that it was a guy. I thought if it was real, it was a ghost.”

“Could it have been one of the witches?” Daisy asked.

“I don’t know,” I said again. I didn’t know anything. “How would a witch get into my dream? Or if the forest is actually real, how would she follow me there?”

“I might have an answer to that.” Tess raised her hand and shifted in her seat. “I used the photo you gave me, and asked around about the witch who threatened you.”

The one who didn’t look threatening. The one who told me she’d ruin my life.

“Her name is Imogen Barrera,” Tess said. “She’s restricted.”

“What does that mean?” Daisy asked.

“It means I’m not allowed to know anything about her,” Tess said. “It means her connections are way above my pay grade.”

“You think she works for The Library, too?” I asked.

“Impossible to say,” Tess said. “But some witches do have dream powers, so she could be one of them.”

“All of the witches’ actions so far have revolved around hiding what happened at the adoption fair,” I said.

“She was worried about the truth being told on the news,” Daisy said. “You haven’t done that.”

“The segment runs tonight,” I said. “It’s perfect timing for a reminder not to mess with her and her friends.”

But if that was true, why did she want me to open the door? Why not threaten me directly, as she’d done before?

It didn’t matter.

I had my answer.

“After I prove that everything’s fine tonight, that I won’t tell the world about them, the matter is closed,” I said. “The witches will leave me alone. And everything can stay on track with reclaiming my family.”

“Can you talk to Carson about this?” Daisy asked. “Have him come over just in case?”

“I can’t,” I said. “It’ll set us back, and after things went so well at dinner…I just can’t.”

“I wish I could be there.” Tess pressed her lips together. “Doomface definitely won’t release me.”

“I could come?” Daisy furrowed her brow and leaned back, clearly conflicted. “Hugo can watch the girls. I can reschedule my meetings.”

That was way too much to ask. Daisy had her own life, in an entirely different state. Plus, practically, what could she do to save me? “I’m fine. Really. It’ll all be over soon. If there’s an emergency, Albert and Carol are right upstairs.”

“If there’s an emergency, call me,” Tess said. “I’ll use a portal. I’ll be there in an instant.”

And suffer Doomface’s wrath after.

“I can’t compete with instantaneous travel, but I’ll come as fast as my car can carry me,” Daisy said.

“I know. Thank you. Both of you.”

Daisy’s office phone started ringing.

A crash came through Tess’s line. She pressed her lips together and glanced to the side. We all agreed it was time to go.

The rest of the day went by in a blur of editing and planning with Albert. Keeping busy almost distracted me from the upcoming animal shelter live follow-up. But the entire time, an ever-nagging sensation remained in the back of my mind.

This evening, the segment would air.

This evening, I’d have to see the witches again.

Too soon, this evening arrived.

Nothing about the Barnacles building suggested witches lurked inside. There was no cauldron on the porch, no potions lined up on the window sills.

I stood with Albert in front of the completely ordinary little building, waiting for the pre-recorded segment to finish airing. Any moment, we’d get the signal to start rolling the second part—the live follow-up.

Albert furrowed his brows at me. “Why are you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

He lifted one of those furrowed brows and twisted his lips to make it clear he knew I was lying.

Nervous energy flowed through my limbs. It was all I could do to stand still.

“Everything okay with your boys?”

Why would something be wrong with my boys? “They’re fine.”

“Hormones?” Albert asked.

At first I thought he was asking about the boys’ hormones, which would be weird. Then I realized he was talking about mine, which may or may not have been worse. “Never ask me that.”

He opened his mouth and shut it again. “Carol doesn’t like when I ask her that, either.”

“Albert, no one does.”

He looked off into the distance with a glassy, contemplative look in his eyes.

A car pulled into the lot. Three college-aged boys got out and headed into the building.

“Whatever you’re worried about, I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” Albert said. “Everything always works out.”

“Thanks, I guess.” Even though that wasn’t true.

“I know that face,” he said. “And it is true. For you.”

I shook my head. “This again?”

“Your luck is ridiculous.”

I rolled my eyes.

“It is. Like whenever you use the vending machine in the lobby, it gives you an extra quarter. Or an extra pack of those peanut butter crackers for free.”

“Not always.” Maybe. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t use the vending machine often, so his data sample could only be like two or three times, max. “And I gave you the extra crackers.”

“Yes you did. But you know what happens when I use the machine?”