The office was in an unmarked greystone partially shrouded by a tall catalpa tree and set off from the street with a tall wrought-iron fence. A soft lamp lit up the first-floor window.
Becca checked her text message to confirm the address—it contained an X just like Gilberto said. Definitely a paranormal address.
She unlatched the wrought-iron gate, walked reluctantly up the steps, and rang a silver-plated doorbell.
Quiet footsteps tracked through the hallway. A curtain in the front door parted.
A middle-aged woman with graying hair in a fringe-cut bob opened the door with a warm smile, enough to turn the wintry day into spring. She wore a purple sweater and cat eyeglasses, and she had an old-fashioned hardcover tome with golden deckled pages tucked under one arm.
“You must be Rebecca
