Trouble

“That’s it. We’ve got to call the cops.” I push off the floor, taking out my phone and tapping 911. “They have to see this. They have to get it on the record and do something…”

“Wait, Sly… I don’t want them coming here with Ollie in the house.” She jumps up fast, gripping my arm. “I don’t want to scare him with the lights and all the men and the guns. We can go to the station tomorrow. He won’t come back tonight.”

Our eyes meet, and I don’t feel good about this. He said no friend could stop him, which sends ice through my veins. All my Spencer anger is pushed to the backseat of my mind.

“At least let me take a picture of your neck. It’ll have faded by tomorrow.” She agrees, holding back her hair. I take several different angles. “And you really think we’re safe sleeping here tonight?”

Her eyes close, and she nods. “He did what he came here to do—he’s trying to scare me. Anyway, where would we go? And Ollie’s asleep…”

She exhales heavily, but I feel like we could find somewhere to go.

Going to the door, I quickly turn the metal switch. “We’ll lock the deadbolt and check all the windows. I have pepper spray and a baseball bat. If we all sleep in the same room, we can keep each other safe if anything does happen.”

She helps me pick up the spindly table off the floor, and I arrange the chairs around it, then she tiptoes down the hall to Oliver’s room and peeks in the door.

“I’m so glad he slept through it,” she whispers upon return.

“I can’t believe I missed it. It’s like he knows our schedules or something.” The thought scares me even more.

I’ve watched too many true crime shows to ignore what’s happening here, but I hold it together for my friend. We’ll get the police involved first thing in the morning.

Courtney looks at me with red-rimmed eyes, and I pull her to my side.

“Don’t worry.” I do my best to make my voice sound more confident than I feel. “We have strength in numbers, and we’ll get this all sorted. I’ll check apartment listings while we’re at it. We’re not exactly in the greatest part of town.”

“It’s all we can afford.”

She has a point, and I hate I’m not bringing in more money yet.

This tiny apartment with its lack of security, creepy neighbors, and absentee landlord is the perfect setting for a horror film—or a serial killer attack.

“I’m still going to check. You never know what might be out there. Maybe we could sublet…” She shrugs, shaking her head, and I have another idea. Holding my finger in front of my lips, I motion to the table. “Sit down. I’ll be right back.”

Creeping to my room, I slide my suitcase from the closet, doing my best not to wake Oliver. Chartreuse watches me with her orange freak eyes in her terrarium, and I want to flip off her weird little self. Instead, I hurry back to the living room.

Opening the case on the floor, I take out a thick, ancient book. It’s like something out of a Tim Burton film. It’s a super-old scrapbook with pockets and plastic photo pages, and it has a fabric cover with “The Palm is Sacred” embroidered on a large panel in the center.

Grandma Alice wants it back, but I’ve held onto it since high school, reading it voraciously. It’s filled with newspaper clippings and old black and white photos of women and groups of women.

They’re suffragettes and early 20th Century protesters. Some pictures show them gathered on the beach or being hauled off to jail. In every one, they look so happy, so full of life. They were standing up for what they believed, trying to make a difference.

“What in the world?” Court’s voice is hushed as she studies it with me.

“It’s the ancient book of the Fireside Women’s Society.”

“Ohh-kay, and what in the world?” She looks up at me with wide eyes, and I hold up my finger.

“First, shots.” I dash to the kitchen as she continues turning the pages.

Taking down the tequila and the salt shaker, I pull the refrigerator open and take out a lemon half.

“We don’t have lime, but this will do, right?”

“What is this, Sly?” She looks up at me.

“I haven’t been able to confirm it, but I think these ladies were witches.”

She slides her finger over the stitched cover. “What’s ‘The palm is sacred’?”