After Amy left, the Manor felt quiet and empty for a while. I loved living with the Blotters, but only now I realized I'd been missing some regular human company as well. Especially someone like Amy, who didn't force me to hide what was actually going on in my life. I took a longer jog that day, and spent a long while playing the guitar, not at the east parlor, but in my room. The Blotters respected my need for solitude and didn't give any sign of their presence, save the usual little noises.

The next morning, a glance at the calendar was enough for me to understand why I felt so down and lonely. The anniversary of Mom's death was around the corner, but it'd never been about just that day. After years of fighting a lost battle against the cancer that kept coming back, she'd spent her last days in the hospital, drowned in morphine and still in excruciating pain. The day she'd passed hadn't been anywhere near as bad, because it had felt like a liberation: she was finally in peace, she wouldn't suffer anymore. What brought me down, every year since she'd passed, was the memory of that hideous last week.

I spent the whole morning in the third-floor study, updating my journal with everything about Amy's visit. And Brandon Price's visit, too. Writing about it, I realized I didn't know how to accurately express what I'd felt over those few minutes with him. And that was because I couldn't quite put my finger on it. He was taller than I'd expected and his poise intimidated me. He still refused to help me and treated me like a child. And I kept reminding myself about his age, trying to not find him so attractive. Well, he wasn't old enough to be my father, but he could've been Mom's hot little brother if she'd had one. That young uncle all your friends would go crazy over whenever he drops by. Whatever. I needed to learn to stop beating around the bush. He was twelve years older than me but he was still hot as hell, even hiding under his black baggy outfits and his baseball caps. And he'd showed up to give me the only thing he had that could help me, right? That had to count on his behalf, too.

In the afternoon, after Susan and Mike left, I felt like playing the guitar again. I knew it would make me feel sad as hell, so I thought I could do something more than just cry and be miserable. I grabbed my guitar and headed to the north parlor. The door wasn't completely closed, but I knocked anyway.

"Come in," said the phone app.

I did. "Edward? Joseph?"

"Edward. You're going downstairs."

I nodded, shrugging, and explained the upcoming anniversary, my mood and my plans.

"Isn't it dangerous?"

"I don't know. That's why I wanted to ask if one of you can come with me."

"Of course. Let's go."

My reasoning wasn't that complicated: I couldn't help being down and I wanted to do something positive with my sadness. Kujo would soon need all the strength he could master, so why not give him all these feelings I couldn't help.

He got it the moment I sat before his corner with the guitar.

"Fran sad," he said.

I tried to smile. "Yeah. Thought you could use a snack."

"Don't."

"Just see if you can have some of it without harming me, okay?"

I heard one of his muffled shuffles, like he was coming closer. Mom's ballads were perfect for the occasion, so I played and sang for about an hour, letting tears flow as they wanted. Edward didn't intervene until I was done.

"How are you feeling?" he asked when I finished the last song.

"Alright, I think. Let me get back at you in a moment." I tried to stand up and didn't feel anything out of the ordinary. "I'm perfectly fine. Thank you, Kujo. I think I'll have more for you tomorrow."

"Take care, Fran."

I frowned. "But I'm fine, Edward."

"That wasn't me."

A full sentence! I tried one last smile, eyes still wet. "You too, Kujo."

The kitchen felt crowded when I went back upstairs. The cat ball was flashing, and the tablets seemed to burst into words the moment I closed the door. I rested my guitar against the wall and went on to the coffeemaker, while the Blotters argued and complained and scolded me about what I'd just done. I let them speak their mind and went back to the table with my mug full of fresh coffee and a tray of cupcakes.

"Was I in any kind of danger, Edward?" I asked, sitting down.

Silence.

"Edward?"

"No."

"What did you see and feel?"

Another long pause, but the soft beeps of the TTS touchpad showed he wanted to give me a full response. Turned out Kujo looked reluctant to feed on my sadness and let it flow out of me without even touching it. Until it gathered like a pond in the corner. Only then he'd taken it, in what looked like little sips. He still had most of it at his feet when I left the basement.

"Call Amy," said Ann.

I sighed and did as she asked. "Hey, Amy," I said when she picked up on facetime as usual. "I think Ann wants to talk to you."

"Hi! Oh, of course."

I rested the phone against the flower vase in the middle of the table, facing the chairs on the side of the women's tablet, and turned my attention to those awesome cupcakes from the local bakery.

"What!?" cried Amy a moment later.

"Edward, can you please explain to her what you just told me?"

I had my coffee, swallowing my chuckles while I heard Amy's brief exclamations.

"Tell her, Amy," said Ann.

I glanced at the phone and saw the medium looking down with a mild frown. She faced her screen, grimacing.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Blotter, but her reasoning is sound. Edward saw the shadow didn't even want to feed on her energy. But we do need it as strong as it can get when the time comes to set it free. That is, unless you want it to be too weak to leave. The stronger it gets, the further it'd flee."

Another long silence.

"Fran," Amy called, for me to turn the phone toward me. Her mild frown was a full-out scowl now. "That doesn't mean you can do this kind of thing without even consulting me first, you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah. But I'm gonna keep doing it every day until the anniversary."

"Jeez, girl. You're one stubborn thing."

"Anything on the pendant?"

The change of flank worked, and Amy told us she was still trying to find where it came from. She'd sent photos of the pendant to all her contacts, that ranged from Wiccans to edgy Satanists. Once she knew which group used it, she would be able to figure out what kind of ritual had been performed, and a way to break the spell. I disconnected after being forced to promise I wouldn't go downstairs all alone, and I wouldn't do any more than I'd done a while earlier.

I rested the phone on the table, thoughtful. A flashback to Brandon Price's blue eyes made me grab it again. I would've liked to call him, to hear his voice again and, if I was really lucky, maybe see him too. But I brushed my silly wishes aside and texted him, asking if he could give me the name of the late psychic. To my surprise, he replied right away, with the name and two more words that made my heart beat faster: call me.

"You like him!" said Lizzie.

I realized I was smiling and blushed up to my ears.

"We need to talk about it," said Ann.

"I think I know what you're gonna say, ma'am. First I befriend the demon in the basement, then I fall for the scoundrel that brought the demon and slandered the name of the family and the Manor." I sighed. "You can't be happy about any of that."

"We trust you, Fran," said Joseph.

"We don't want you to get hurt," Lizzie said.

"Like I'm ever gonna get a chance to!" I chuckled. "Don't worry, guys. I know my place and I know where my loyalties are. Now, let me text the name to Amy."

"If he could be cleansed, we would forgo what he did," said Edward. "If that is what you want."

The text I was typing got blurry in a heartbeat and my eyes suddenly welled. "C'mon! You know I'm all touchy! Don't make me cry!"

"You fool," said Joseph, pulling a shaky giggle out of me.

"That's the spirit," I replied.

Amy answered with a long thread of thanks and emojis I didn't know people her age used. I showed the screen to the empty room, still giggling, and nodded to the backdoor.

"I better call Lord Price, before he does it himself and upsets Kujo."

Days were getting shorter and colder, and I wrapped myself up in my jacket to walk out to the garden in the quiet sunset. I strolled across the garden in no hurry and dialed Price as I started down the trail to the Quabbin.

"You're on screen," was his greeting.

I moved the phone away from my face and found him sprawled on a fluffy couch. The small sliding window right above him made me think of an RV. Of course, he was shooting in Worcester. Surely that was his celebrity trailer. But I forgot all about it when I realized he didn't have his hat on. He held the phone up, two feet away from his face, showing he was wearing a short-sleeved tee. His jet-black hair was all messed up and his thick glasses made his eyes look smaller.

"Did I wake you up? Sorry," I said.

He bent his spare arm behind his head, resting his cheek against his biceps. His quick nice smile sent a weird chill down my spine. "Never mind. So? How are things going in your haunted home?"

"Haunted as usual," I replied, smiling back. "Thanks for texting me the name. I've already sent it to the medium that's helping me. With that and your pendant, she's confident she can pinpoint the exact ritual your psychic performed. That's the first step to fix this mess."

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't try to make me feel guilty, young lady."

"I'm not, old man."

His soft chuckle made me breathe deep. But it lasted only a heartbeat. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling past his phone, thoughtful.

"I've been trying to recall details of the ritual, but it's all kinda blurry. I only remember she set a golden goblet in a circle of twigs and recited some kind of spell. After that, she told me I needed to go back to the basement alone, past midnight, and use the pendant."

Funny, that was exactly what Kujo recalled about the ritual. He sat up and I realized I had just said that aloud.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked, all of a sudden demanding and intimidating.

I sighed. "I'm afraid it's a long story that keeps getting longer, Mr. Price. Let's leave it at that for now."

"For now," he repeated, like underlining the words in red, and tried to go back to his charming ways. "So? When can we shoot at the Manor?"

I didn't fight back my laughter. He didn't seem to like my reaction and frowned again. It was like flipping a switch. Flip it up and he was nice and charming. Flip it down and he was cold and intimidating. And all of a sudden, there it was, the idea clear in my head like somebody had just painted it in my brain in the brightest colors. Now I needed to handle it, and him, really carefully.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude." Like you can be. "I don't know, Mr. Price. I've already explained to you I can't let you come while your shadow is still here."

"Didn't you tell me you have a medium helping you? Sure she can cleanse the place before the end of the month. You see, Francesca—"

"Fran."

I regretted correcting him, because he flashed an amused smile that sent another chill down my back. "Fran, sorry. We're on a tight schedule. The Manor was booked five years ago as the season ten finale. It's an important episode, and we're out of time to go scouting for another location with nearly the same weight in my show's history."

I nodded with a serious frown, biting my tongue not to interrupt him, especially to keep from telling him all the damns I didn't give about his schedule.

"I see," I muttered. "I understand, Mr. Price—"

"Brandon."

I don't know what sent the wave of heat to lash my face, the fact that he said that, his smile or his tone, suddenly so nice and even warm. Later on, I would realize he was playing charming because he thought that would get him what he wanted. Never mind.

"Brandon," I repeated in a silly murmur. "Would you let me talk to the medium and get back at you? Maybe she can handle things to do the cleansing in time for you to come as scheduled."

He smiled like he was kissing my cheek, the bastard. "That would be awesome, Fran."

I shrugged, trying to find my voice. "Yeah."

"Okay then, I'll be waiting to hear from you." He winked at me, the bastard. "Soon, I hope."

By that point of the conversation, I could only nod yet again.

"Night," I mumbled like an idiot.

"Night, Fran."

That, I mean night, had already closed. It was dark and cold in the woods. Yet my cheeks were burning and I was sweating buckets. I spun on my heels and strode back to the Manor, cursing Brandon Price and all my stupid glands. Oh, yeah, I have a great idea. I'm gonna use him. I only need to be careful to manipulate him. Yeah, sure. The bastard smiled and I was like jelly. The arrogant prick almost old enough to be my father!