“What’s MapQuest?” I asked.

Mom groaned. “Bri, baby, you been making me feel real old lately and if we’re being honest, I hate it.”

Mo stifled a laugh. “MapQuest is printed directions.”

“Like on paper?” I asked. “You had to read it while you were driving?”

Mom gave an exhausted sigh.

The woods grew thicker the farther we went, crowding the road, their canopies so dense they blotted out the sky. Through their trunks I caught glimpses of the darkness that hinted at the vastness of the forest beyond. It unsettled me.

My stomach turned to knots as the road twisted through the trees and came to a fork about two miles in. Mom veered to the right. The mile markers disappeared, replaced by handwritten signs that read No Trespassing and Private Property.

“You sure this is the right way?” Mo asked.

Mom turned to her. “You’re the one with the map.”

The road narrowed then stopped abruptly at two towering pillars. It looked like there had once been a gate, but that was long gone and the faded brick pillars were now crumbling. Mom pulled into the driveway and the house came into view.

“Is this it?” Mom asked. “This can’t be right.”

It stood like it had sprouted from the ground, like a living thing. Its foundation was covered in thick green moss. A latticework on the side was completely encased in a tangle of leafy vines. Hundreds of tendrils jutted off, stretching across nearly every surface of the slate-gray house. They wound around its conical turret, laced themselves through the banister, traced the pointed arches over the windows and doors like picture frames. The inky black trim highlighted all the angles. A big green dumpster sat on the side of the house and from what I could see of the grounds somebody had slacked off on mowing.

“Did I—did I inherit the Addams Family Mansion?” I stammered.

Mom put the car in park and got out. Mo followed, but I hung back. We were pretty far from the town, and I could see the land the house sat on stretching away from us, bordered by forest on all sides. I didn’t see any other houses or buildings. If I accidentally made something happen, nobody was around to see. I expected that possibility to send me spiraling into thoughts of controlling my power, of worrying about keeping myself and my parents safe. Instead, a quick burst of excitement pulsed through me. It caught me by surprise to feel anything other than fear and uncertainty.

Mo motioned for me to get out so I grabbed my bag, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

As I slipped out of the car, the vines closest to the front door rustled and sprouted dozens of velvety pink blooms. I immediately looked away.

Mo reached out and took my hand. “It’s okay. Hang on to me. Breathe.”

I took out the keys Mrs. Redmond had given me. That burst of excitement had run its course and all I wanted to do was get inside. I went up the front steps, across the wide porch, and put my key in the lock. A rush of stale air greeted us as I pushed the heavy, old-fashioned door open. Mom put her arm around me as Mo searched for a light switch. When she found one and flipped it on, the entryway was bathed in a gauzy yellow glow.

The inside of the house reminded me of the brownstones rich folks in the city lived in, with all the original wood inside, built-in bookshelves, and wide staircases that led to sprawling upper floors. Each room branching off the entryway was as big as our entire apartment, and they were filled with furniture draped in dingy drop cloths. Sunlight filtered through the squares of blue-and-green stained glass set in geometric patterns above each of the narrow windows that flanked the front door. Dust hung in the air. The mineral-like taste stuck in my mouth.

Mom kicked a stack of papers and a mouse scurried out from underneath. “This place is a fire hazard.”

“It needs some TLC,” said Mo. “A good cleaning, but it’s paid for, so let’s try to look at the silver lining.”

Mom sighed heavily. “We should start by moving some of this trash out,” she said, eyeing a big plastic bag that seemed to be squirming. Probably more rodents.

I shivered at the thought. “Nasty.”

“Let’s do a walk-through,” said Mo. “Stake out bedrooms—”

“Get possessed by the ghost of an angry white man,” I said jokingly.

Mom’s eyes grew wide. “Do not play with me.”

Mom came up in a family, headed up by my grandma, whose folk magic practices stretched back generations. She wasn’t as into it as my Auntie Leti or Granny, but she respected it. Fully. She didn’t mess with ghosts, spirits, haints, none of that, and not because she thought it was silly, but because she knew there was probably something to it.

As we wound our way through the house, checking out each room, I expected to feel out of place, like I was intruding on someone else’s space, but a sense of calm settled over me. The house was old and a mess but it had that lived-in feeling. Like people had laughed and loved there, shared meals and stories, celebrated birthdays and holidays. It felt warm. I wondered how long it would be before reality came to steal this moment of wonder and excitement from me.

The main floor had two separate living rooms, a formal dining room, a huge kitchen, a bunch of big closets with winter coats and boots for at least two or three people. There was only one bathroom and I prayed to Black Jesus that there was another one upstairs somewhere.

Near the rear of the first floor, the hallway seemed to narrow and the runner that ran down the center was faded and worn almost completely through. The hall terminated in front of an enormous wooden door, the surface carved with wide leaves of canna and Persian ivy. I ran my hand over the intricate woodwork.

“This is really beautiful.” I tried the ornately engraved handle. Locked.

“Let’s keep moving and come back to it later,” suggested Mo.

“Seriously?” I asked. “Mo, that’s how you miss the room that used to be a morgue or whatever and then, boom—we’re all possessed by demons.”

“Would you stop with the possession stuff?” Mom said, gripping Mo’s arm.

“Don’t worry, babe,” Mo said, shooting her a devilish grin. “I’ll protect you.”

“How?” Mom asked. “How you gonna protect me from a ghost?”

Mo pulled her close as I took the two keys Mrs. Redmond had given me and tried them in the lock. The skeleton key worked. The door opened with a creaking groan.