Mrs. Park was there to open the front door for us. When she saw the tree intended for the long gallery, she let out an immense sigh of satisfaction.

“It’s perfect,” she told Darius.

“I guess you were right,” he said over his shoulder.

The comment was directed at me. I was still outside, waiting my turn to come in.

When I entered with the tree for the landing, Mrs. Park seemed puzzled.

“Oh. Well, that’s a mite smaller than I expected—not that it’s bad. Just…different. But I think we’ll have some extra lights.”

“Don’t worry,” Conrad said from behind me. “We’ll need them.”

When she saw the tree he was carrying, she let out a cry of joy that would have melted the heart of any ice queen.

Igor was standing in the front hall. One eye was half shut in a world-weary glower. The other eye was manically roving over the three of us.

“Conrad! Emerra!” he said. “You must be very hungry.”

Oh. He’d been looking for an escape.

I loved Mrs. Park. I thought she was sweet and funny, and she always seemed delighted with my enthusiasm, like a grandma watching her grandchild play. I found that all-embracing attitude supportive. Or, as Olivia had said, “You’re both idiots. Of course you like each other.”

Igor did not like Mrs. Park much. She kept calling him “a sweet old thing” or “that poor man.” It seemed like her sympathy for what she assumed were his deformities could gloss over any of his rougher personality traits. “He’s just lonely.”

I was pretty certain she was driving him mad.

She also had this way of bossing people around that was almost impossible to resist. She could oh-so-sweetly explain away or ignore any objections voiced within her hearing. Being overrun by her good intentions felt like being caught in a tsunami of honey. It was so sugary and slow, you wouldn’t think there was anything dangerous about it—but its relentless nature was terrible to behold.

She must have recruited Igor to help her prepare where the trees would go.

I bit my lip so I wouldn’t laugh.

“Very,” Conrad admitted.

“I’ll get some hot chocolate started and put out the sandwich fixings.”

To my embarrassment, I squeaked. Then I shouted to his rapidly retreating back, “Thank you, Igor!”

“But, Ingvar!” Mrs. Park called.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Park,” he yelled over his shoulder as he left. “It can’t be helped. Duty before decoration.”

“It’s all right,” Darius said. “I can do all the heavy lifting. We’ll let them go eat.”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” Mrs. Park asked.

The sun set early in winter. Darius would be coming into his full strength soon—if he didn’t already have it.

“Oh, I think I can manage.” To me and Conrad he said, “Go ahead and lay them down there.”

“You’ll call us if you need us?” Conrad asked.

“Of course.”

We put down our burdens and followed Igor to the kitchen.

Kappa was sitting on my lap, quizzing me with a furrowed brow as to why we had decided to bring pokey-trees into the house, when Olivia peeked in from the back stairs.

“Is that woman gone?” she whispered.

“No,” Igor grumbled. “Mrs. Park wouldn’t dream of abandoning us in our time of need. It’ll take a pike to get rid of her.”

In her twenties, Mrs. Park had been a hippie. She’d told me that herself. Ever since then, she’d melded from one open-minded and peace-loving phase to another. Now she was a New-Age Wiccan, complete with crystals and flowing clothes. From the first moment she’d seen Olivia, Mrs. Park had embraced her, metaphorically but enthusiastically, as a fellow witch. Olivia had some strong opinions about how accurate that comparison was, but Big Jacky had told her in no uncertain terms that she had to be polite to Mrs. Park. It was hard to find someone willing to clean such a large old mansion. It was harder to find someone who could keep a secret and didn’t mind working with a wolfman, a bog-creature, and a mummy.

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Olivia had decided the easiest way to be polite would be to avoid Mrs. Park whenever possible.

Olivia finished coming into the room. “I have to hang up the wreaths! At least the ones for the front doors. We’ve invited in outside forces.”

“How?” I asked.

Olivia gave me a scathing glance. “Trees can be powerful.”

“What does that have to do with a wreath?”

Olivia passed me the greenery she’d been carrying. “What do you think?”

She was not asking for supportive feedback; she was giving me a chance to figure out the obvious. If she’d tagged “stupid” onto the end of the question, it would have felt right at home.

But after living with Olivia for almost two months, I had also learned a few tricks for getting along with difficult people. I decided to pretend she had asked for feedback.

I looked down at the wreath. It was handwoven from fresh cuttings. There was evergreen in there, as well as a few other vines and berries. A white ribbon held it all together. It was smaller and more humble than any Christmas wreath I’d seen before, but it also felt…real. I don’t know how to explain it. It felt comfortable in my hands.

It almost killed me to say it, but anything else would have been a lie.

“It’s lovely.”

Was that a blush? Did Olivia blush?

She turned her head away before I could confirm what the corner of my eye had glimpsed.

Kappa made an ooooohhhh noise and lifted his hands. I held the wreath out of reach.

“You made this?” I asked.

Olivia rescued it when Kappa stood on my lap so he’d be a few inches taller. “It’s a protective circle. You have to weave the spell into it. It wasn’t easy.”

“Are all wreaths protective circles?”

“Of course not.”

Some days, I must have been as trying to her as Mrs. Park.

All right, most days. But at least she could be rude to me.

Olivia went on, “They’re usually nothing but decoration, but this house has a tendency to attract attention.”

I had finished my generous pre-dinner snack and wanted to get back to decorating. “Would you like me to put it up for you?”

“Would you?” Olivia asked.

“Sure.” I stood up and put Kappa on my stool. “Do we have any 3M hooks or nails?”

“Mrs. Park brought us over-the-door hooks, you vandal,” Igor said. “Iset’s already put them up.”

I took the wreath from Olivia. “Do I have to do anything special when I hang it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t have to say an incantation or anything to make sure it does its thing?”

She answered by rolling her eyes and leaving. I took that to mean it was ready as-is. She probably wouldn’t have trusted me with it otherwise.

When I got out to the front hall, Darius and Mrs. Park were laying out the huge strands of lights that were going to go on the ginormous tree behind them. Iset stood nearby, but far enough away that sap wouldn’t get on her bandages. The other two trees had disappeared. They were probably already set up in their respective homes.

I listened as I walked over to the front door.

Mrs. Park was asking “What kind of decorations do you have?”

“You’ll have to ask Emerra,” Darius said as he untangled a loose knot of lights. “She’s the one in charge. I’m nothing but quality control.”

A cold breeze snuck around me as I opened the door. I put the wreath on the hook and made sure the bow was centered at the bottom.

“There,” I mumbled to myself, “nice and symmetrical.”

“Emerra,” Mrs. Park called, “you’re the one behind this?”

I shut the door and crossed the hall toward them. “Yeah. It was me.”

“Good for you! This will be wonderful. I can’t tell you how excited I am. It always felt a bit sad coming here in December and having everyone going on as usual. You’ll see.” She turned to Iset. “You’ll see.”

“I’m sure I will,” Iset assured her.

Mrs. Park looked back to me. “So what were you going to do about decorations?”

Uhhhhhhh. “I’m not sure. I was too focused on getting the trees.”

“Oh, dear. Are there any hiding up in the attic somewhere?”

“I’m afraid not,” Iset said. “We took inventory when we moved in. There were no Christmas decorations.”

“Nevermind that. Emerra, I can take you into town once the lights are all up—”

Her proposal was interrupted by a hum from Darius.

Darius had perfected an inoffensive hum that nonetheless managed to convey his complete disapproval.

“Oh?” was Mrs. Park’s challenge.

“The only thing in town that might carry decorations is the mini-Walmart.”

“And?”

“And I doubt that a big box chain store will carry enough ornaments of a high enough caliber—”

“—to satisfy quality control?”

“Exactly.”

“Are you sure you’re not the one in charge, Mr. Vasil?”

Darius pulled out his expression of wounded innocence. Beside me, I heard Iset chuckle.

A thought popped into my head like a corn kernel bursting into popcorn.

“I could make them.”

I tried not to sound excited. Excitement made quality control wary, and from the look on his face, I had a feeling he was already struggling with the concept.

Mrs. Park, on the other hand, thought it was grand.

“Why, Emerra, that’s perfect! I mean—do you…do you know how? A child your age—”

Forget wounded innocence—I was straight-up offended. “I’m twenty!”

“A mere baby. I didn’t know people from your generation knew how to make ornaments.”

“A sound objection,” Darius said. “It might be too hard for her.”

“I know how to make most of them,” I said. “Dried orange slices. Popcorn-cranberry garlands. Salt dough. If we have any colorful paper—”

“We do have that,” Iset said, “and some left over sewing supplies.”

Darius glared at the mummy as if she was guilty of treason.

I continued, “And anything I don’t know how to make, I can look up on the internet.”

Mrs. Park laughed and laughed. “I don’t know why I wonder about you. As long as you know how to type, you can learn to do anything. How delightful.”

“But—”

The vampire’s objection was interrupted by Iset: “You have to admit, Darius, if you want ornaments that are traditional to the Victorian time period, it would be hard to do better than homemade.”

If I had dipped some garlic in blessed silver and stuffed it in his mouth, it would have been less torturous.

“Fine,” he said. “I won’t rob you of the chance to have some fun.”

I grinned.

He added, “But it sounds like a lot of those decorations are going to require the use of the kitchen. Have you considered what Igor might say?”

“Ingvar?” Mrs. Park said. “Never mind him. I can talk to him. He’s such a darling.”

Vasil decided not to comment, probably because he didn’t want to be at fault if anything happened. Instead, he said to me, “Would you mind if I ordered some decorations to augment your efforts.”

I put on a haughty face. “I suppose. You do have pretty good taste.”

He shook his head as I wandered back toward the kitchen. I would try to talk to Igor first. I doubted that he’d object too loudly, especially if I could threaten him with Mrs. Park.