Chapter 3

On the day of their arrival, I sent Ethan a text message with directions.

"Hey! So excited! The road you need is called 'Mountain Service Road 12B'. It' s a bit of a shortcut my dad uses. See you soon!"

Mountain Service Road 12B was on the opposite side of the mountain. It was an unpaved, rugged, and poorly maintained logging trail. Their old, beat-up sedan wouldn't make it a mile.

I sat in my warm living room, sipping a cup of tea, and waited.

Three hours after they were supposed to arrive, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. I let it go to voicemail. The message, when it came through, was from a furious Ethan, screaming over the sound of a howling wind.

"GABBY! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? YOUR STUPID ROAD IS A MUD PIT! THE CAR IS STUCK! WE'VE BEEN WALKING FOR TWO HOURS! IT'S FREEZING! CALL ME BACK!"

I smiled, deleted the voicemail, and put on some music.

Another hour passed before I saw them. Four figures, stumbling out of the tree line, looking like miserable, half-frozen refugees. They were covered in mud, their faces red and raw from the wind.

I opened the front door just as they staggered onto the porch.

"Oh my god, you guys!" I gasped, putting on my best horrified expression. "What happened?"

Ethan' s face was a mask of fury. He lunged for me. "You! What the hell was that?"

Before his hand could touch me, a huge shadow fell over him. Marcus, my "caretaker," stepped between us. He didn't even grab Ethan. He just put a hand the size of a dinner plate on Ethan' s chest and stopped him cold.

"I suggest you don't do that," Marcus said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

Ethan froze, his eyes wide with shock and fear as he looked up at the mountain of a man in front of him. His father, a portly man named Jim, and his mother, a pinched-face woman named Karen, stared, mouths agape. The teenage brother, Kevin, just looked sullen.

"Who the hell is this?" Ethan stammered.

"This is Marcus," I said, my voice trembling for effect. "He's the property caretaker. I'm so sorry, Ethan! Did I give you the wrong road name? I get them mixed up all the time! Oh, you poor things, you must be freezing! Come in, come in!"

I ushered them inside, playing the part of the ditzy, apologetic girlfriend to perfection. They were too cold and miserable to argue.

As they stepped into the foyer, Jim, Ethan' s father, sniffled loudly and then, without a second thought, wiped his runny nose directly on the designer wallpaper. It was a pale, textured silk paper that had cost me five thousand dollars. In my last life, I had burst into tears when he did that.

This time, I just watched.

A split second later, he screamed. A high-pitched, agonized shriek.

"AHHH! IT BURNS! MY HAND! IT'S ON FIRE!"

He staggered back, clutching his hand, his face contorted in pain. Karen and Ethan rushed to his side, shouting in confusion.

I had anticipated his disgusting habit. An hour before they arrived, I had put on rubber gloves and carefully wiped that exact spot on the wall with a cloth soaked in a clear, concentrated capsaicin extract. The stuff they use in police-grade pepper spray. Odorless. Invisible. And excruciatingly painful on contact with sensitive skin.

"Oh my gosh, what's wrong?" I cried, rushing forward with a look of concern. "Let me see!"

While they were distracted by the screaming, sputtering father, I smiled.

"You must all be starving after your long walk," I announced cheerfully. "Don't worry, I've made a special welcome dinner for everyone."