Элизабет Чандлер: Evercrossed

ʺWho else besides Beth was here?ʺ Tristan demanded. ʺCome on,” Ivy begged, dragging him toward the kitchen door. ʺGo, Tristan. Please go!ʺ

ʺYouʹre in too much danger, Ivy.ʺ

ʺYou canʹt help me from jail. Go!ʺ He pulled her face toward him, kissing her one last time, then slipped out the door. Ivy knew that if the police found her downstairs, they would guess that he had been there.

She hurried up the steps. ʺAngels, protect him. Angels, protect me,ʺ she prayed.

Then she looked at the bed across from her own. Beth lay sleeping, her face still and pale, her light brown hair feathered out on the pillow.

Swallowing hard, Ivy admitted to herself what she had been unable to say aloud to Tristan: the only other person in the house when the Ouija board had spelled out its frightening message was Beth — her best friend, the person she loved like a sister.

Ivy had attributed Bethʹs headaches to the accident, but thinking back, she realized they had started immediately after the stance. A natural medium, Beth had been the easiest person for Tristan to enter when trying to reach Ivy last summer.

Ivy shivered. Perhaps, the night of the stance, Gregory had discovered in her friendʹs mind the same open portal. Since then, Bethʹs behavior had grown increasingly strange. Ivy knew what that meant: With each passing moment, Gregory was gaining strength inside Beth.

ʺIvy Lyons!ʺ the policed called out, pounding on the cottage door.

Ivy almost laughed out loud. Their law and their guns were useless weapons against a demon who wanted only one thing: to destroy Ivy.

THANKS TO MY HUSBAND, BOB, WHO ALWAYS LISTENS and makes me laugh; to my sister, Liz, who explored with me her home turf, beautiful Cape Cod; to Karen, who made me so comfortable at The Village Inn; and to Josh Bank, Lanie Davis, and Emilia Rhodes for all their editorial work.