Alexander stepped between us. “I’ll give you some time to settle in,” he said. “You must be tired from your trip.”

Sebastian surveyed his new digs and stretched out his arms while Alexander closed the door behind us.

I stopped Alexander before he moved. “Who is this guy?” I asked. “One of your relatives?”

“No. He’s my best friend.”

I was shocked. Alexander spoke so little about himself and Romania, I’d never heard about any friends, much less one best friend named Sebastian.

“You never mentioned you had a best friend,” I told him.

“He never came up.”

“Never came up? I talk about Becky all the time.”

“You talk about a lot of things,” he joked.

Alexander had a point. I liked to talk about every mundane thought I had during every minute of my day, while Alexander kept mum on even the most important subjects.

“So how long do you think he’ll stay?” I asked. I could only wonder what it would be like for the three of us to hang out at the cemetery, my house, or the Mansion.

“Perhaps a few days.”

“I thought he’d be here for weeks.”

“Sebastian? He won’t want to wear out his welcome.”

There was one piece of information I couldn’t wait to find out.

“I wanted to ask you,” I whispered. “Is he like you?”

Sounds of banging and hammering came from inside Sebastian’s room. Was he, too, redecorating the

Mansion?

The door creaked open and I saw Sebastian kneeling on the wooden floor, a hammer in one hand and a nail in the other. Boards peeked out of his duffel bag. It was a spookily spectacular sight—he was building a black coffin.

Alexander quickly reached for the door.

Just then we heard the locks being unlatched from the front door below.

“That’ll be Jameson,” Alexander said, closing the bedroom—or in this case, coffin room—door behind him.