JESS LIVED IN A THREE-bedroomed semi on the bendiest road Witchurch had to offer—the quietest, too. My rap of her letterbox sounded on par with an explosion as it boomed through the air.
The cold that crept into the neighbourhood alongside the afternoon seeped through the fabric of my sweater, as I waited with Sean and Ethan at each shoulder. Luckily, only a handful of seconds passed before footsteps thudded inside, and the distorted outline of Jess’s bony frame appeared through the frosted glass pane. In the next breath, the keys jangled, and the door swung inward.
Brown to my blonde, hazel to my blue, and a couple inches shorter than my five-seven height, Jess whipped her attention to a spot above my right shoulder. “Ethan.” Her lips curved up as a thousand thoughts I didn’t even want
