The penthouse lights were dimmed, the curtains drawn tight. Melinda had stripped the living room bare of distractions, no TV glow, no lamps, only the black wax candles she had arranged in a wide, circular pattern across the polished floor. Their flames flickered unnaturally, rising and shrinking with the rhythm of a silent heartbeat.

Chloe sat at the center of the circle, her palms pressed to her knees, every muscle taut with dread. The polished wood beneath her was marked with chalk sigils ...