“Something touched you?” Megan asked, edging closer to the basement stairs.

Sloane raised the floppy sleeve of her shirt to reveal the bruise taking shape on her arm. Shades of purple and blue darkened her skin in a mark that resembled a wide palm and several long fingers—a handprint too big to be hers or Megan’s.

Megan gasped.

Sloane straightened, her breathing slowed. “Let’s get out of here.”

The newly dropped jaw she faced as a result of that comment had her re-thinking her choice of words. By the shocked expression on Megan’s face, she must have interpreted her words as meaning Sloane wanted to leave the house for good. No way. They’d produced their best work in just two days. Sloane wasn’t about to break their momentum—creepy tunnel and ghosts be damned. “Dinner. I want dinner and drinks. A lot of drinks.”

Megan nodded and stepped aside as Sloane…