On our way back to Casper's boarding house, Lea and I stop at Lee's Hamburgers to grab lunch. Liz Phair sings "Supernova" in the background, encouraging Lea to hum along to the lyrics.

The cheeseburgers, fries, and strawberry milkshakes make up for the harsh stares and bullshit from Lilith, but I can't stop thinking about the precious items Prometheus gathered in his dusty, old chest.

Maybe it's the way his lawyer talked about me on the will - like he knew what kind of secrets his client had buried in the past. Truthfully, I don't know what Prometheus was thinking, but if it will help me find out what happened to Benji, I'm more than willing to try anything.

"Reese," Lea hisses, shaking my arm. "Yo, Reese!"

I stop eating my cheeseburger and place it on my plate.

"What?" I muffle, swallowing my food. "Did you say something or-"

"I was asking what happened at the funeral home today?" Lea inquires. "I saw Lilith giving Rosie a fucking ear sore when they were heading to the car."

"My old high school principal gave me his stuff and grimoires he collected from all around the world," I answer, wiping my hands on a brown napkin. "Lilith wasn't happy with it, so she grabbed Rosie and left the place."

"Shit," Lea remarks. "That's insane."

"I know," I snicker. "If Benji were here, he'd probably make an educated guess on how much booze Lilith had last night."

Lea joins in on the laughter, sighing, "Yeah, that's probably true. God, Benji was hilarious. I just wish I know what happened to him."

"Me too," I agree. "The other night Casper mentioned that Ben gave you a second journal by any chance. Do you still have it?"

"Yep," Lea answers, bobbing her head.

Finishing her fries, Lea reaches inside her bag and pulls out a dog-eared black notebook scrawled in Benji's handwriting.

"I read every journal entry he wrote," Lea continues as I open the book. "Some were about the cases we took in St. Hawthorne, but there was one on this amusement park called Salty Joe's Emporium."

Ugh, God.

Salty Joe's Emporium is the ultimate destination if you're eager to explore the ocean's wonders or capture the perfect photo next to a Leviathan. In the spring of '89, founder Joe Piedmont was so moved by the attractions at SeaWorld and Disney that he set out to create his park right near Carousel Gardens.

Sadly, Piedmont had to shut down this park because there were allegations of employees harassing the mermaids, ignoring safety protocols, and not feeding the monsters. The rumors became too much for Joe Piedmont to bear, so he closed the park and vanished into obscurity.

"Fuck me," I groan, slowly turning the pages. "Out of all the visions he saw, Benji picked this shithole?"

Lea bobs her head. "It's a mystery to me, too. That's kind of why I need your help."

My smile stretch from ear to ear. "Sure, I guess I can lend you and Casper a hand."

"Awesome."

We finish our lunch and talk about Benji and the park, until I start asking Lea how she's feeling.

"I'm doing good," said Lea. "I'm just glad to be out of the boarding house."

I raise my eyebrow. "Do you sometimes talk to your parents?"

"Not since my uncle died," she answers.

"Your uncle died?" I murmur. "Holy shit, I am so sorry."

"Sorry? He was a selfish deadbeat with gambling issues." Lea snorts. "You should've seen his ex-wife at the funeral. She spent the entire day trying to get the priest's number."

"Okay," I say slowly. "So, you're living at the boarding house because.  . . ."

"I'm trying to find a place and think of a way to get full custody of my twelve-year-old half-brother, Bear." Lea admits with a sigh. "My dad's being a total bitch to the kid, so I tried convincing my dad to let me look after Bear, but he was afraid that I'll give the kid AIDS or something."

"Fuck," I comment.

"Yep." Lea sighs. "If I want custody, I need a decent house, a job, and good recommendations — all of which I don't have."

"Fuck," I comment.

"You know what's even more fucked up?" Lea grunts. "I think Nacho Business is shut down."

"What?" I snort.

"Nacho Business?" Lea repeats slowly. "That awesome Mexican restaurant we always went to back in college?"

I recall the time when she and I ditched school to check out the nacho restaurant on Franklin Square. The place looks appetizing, but I wasn't all excited about the nacho cheese gushing all over my burritos.

"Uh, I guess I remember it." I mumble. "Wait, what did it sell again?"

"Mexican food!" Lea cries. "Jesus Christ, keep up!"

"Okay, sorry!" I croak. "How do you know it was closed?"

"Cass and I found out after we went shopping at Far Out, you know, that small clothing store in the Upper West Side that sells vintage outfits?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, we got hungry and got some lunch on the road." Lea continues. "But when I rolled up in the parking lot, the building looked like an abandoned crack house."

Pushing my hair out of my eyes, I glance at the ceiling and sighs, "Describing a foreclosed taco restaurant as a crack house seems pretty far-fetched."

"Why?"

"First of all, it's in the suburbs." I point out. "Second, it's a public restaurant. Do you think drug dealers are that stupid to build a crack house where everyone can see?"

"Okay, fine," Lea sighs with exasperation. "Imagine the restaurant is a pair of breast implants you got on your birthday."

I cringe. "Are you fucking serious? I don't have breast implants!"

"I said 'imagine', not 'actualize'," Lea groans. "Anyway, so you get breast surgery and you feel pretty good about yourself. Then, out of nowhere, you get sick. You hurry to the hospital, where the doctor checks your temperature, body, and tongue. Three hours later, he says you have breast cancer."

I nod slowly. "So, you're saying that the foreclosed sign represents breast cancer?"

"Correctamundo, Theresa." Lea answers. "And now that Nacho Business is dead, I don't feel like eating takeout anymore."

"Oh, come on, Lea," I reassure her. "There are a lot of restaurants we haven't tried yet."

Lea coughs a few times before groaning, "Yeah, but they're not the same. McDonald's is both disgusting and overrated, Wendy's is boring, and all the great sandwich shops are being replaced by those fancy coffee houses white people love."

Suddenly, I hear approaching footsteps and see Casper slurping on their chocolate milkshakes. Once Casper sees us, he grins and walks up to our table.

"Bueños tardes, ladies," Casper greets us.

"Hi!" I beam as he sit in our table. "What brings you here?"

"I'm finished helping around the boarding house," he yawns. "Now, I'm here to celebrate."

"Where's Nick?" I ask curiously.

"I think he's running errands for his mom," Casper answers.

Sliding a small chunk of her burger inside her mouth, Lea gets up from her hair and tells us she's going to go to the restroom.

"Alright," I said. "I'll make sure Casper doesn't touch your fries."

"Hey!" Casper cried, his mouth full of fries. "I am sitting right here, you know!"

Lea mouths Thank you to me, and then leaves the table.

"Typical asshole," Casper mutters, watching Lea walk away. "She always treats me like I am a kid."

"That's 'cause you are a kid," I remind him. "You're like a year younger than me."

"Wow, I feel lucky."

Placing his shoes on the edge of his chair, Casper wraps his arms around his legs and places his chin on top of his kneecaps.

"Hey, Cass," I said. "Are you good?"

"Yep."

"Are you sure? Because you seem pretty distracted," I observe, sliding my notebook inside Lea's bag. "Are you thinking about Esme or your art school thing?"

"Please, as if those schools can accept me into their ranks." Casper snorts.

"What about Esme?"

"I haven't spoken to her at since the other night."

"Don't you have her number?"

"No."

I scrunch my face. "You've known her for a year, and yet you never got her number?"

"I. Am. Awkward, okay?" Casper speaks slowly. "Plus, my mind's still reeling from last night."

Finishing his milkshake, he takes three of my French fries until he notices the brown-skinned girl with dark dreadlocks waving hello to the us. She wears a soft orange grandpa sweater, a pair of JNCO jeans, and brown moccasins. Her vibrant purple windbreaker is tied around her waist.

The lights radiate her dreadlocks as the girl smiles at Casper, who blushes in silence.

"Cass, is that Esme?" I murmur.

Casper ignores his question. He chugs down his chocolate milkshake and smiles like an idiot until the girl walks up to us.

"Hey, Esme. How is it going?" Casper greets awkwardly.

"It's going well," said Esme. "So, who's your friend?"

Dark red emerges on Casper's cheeks. He shoves his fries into his mouth before taking a deep breath and looking at Esme again. I can see the sweat dripping down my friend's anxious face and then decides to break the tension.

"My name is Theresa Crowe," I introduce. "But you can call me Teddy."

"Oh." Esme grins, shaking my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Yeah, likewise," I agree. "Casper here was just telling me about his favorite artist. Weren't you, Cass?"

Casper raises his eyebrow in my direction. "I was?"

A forced smile grows on my cracked lips as I kick Casper underneath the table.

"Oh my God, man!" I exclaim, laughing. "You're such a comedian! Of course, you were telling me all of your favorite artists, like that guy whose ear was chopped off? God, what was that name?"

"You mean, Vincent Van Gogh?" Casper says slowly.

"Yeah!" I beam. "Vincent Van Gogh! Now, I need to use the restroom very badly, so you can have my seat, Esme."

"Wait, what?" Esme croaks. "Don't you-"

"No, go ahead," I insist. "I don't mind you sitting in my seat."

Esme blankly stares at me, who slowly gets up from my seat.

Meanwhile, Casper is beyond scared. He grabs me by the wrist and tries to convince me to stay, but I don't want to come between Casper's chances of talking to the girl of his dreams.

"What? You can't leave!" Casper squeaks. "I don't know what to say to her. I-"

"Cass, you've been dying to talk to Esme all year."

"I know, but-"

"I am not letting you back out of it. Not now, not ever."

I push my fries towards him and adds, "So, do me a favor and don't fuck this up."

"But what if I do fuck this up?" Casper stutters.

"Just talk to Esme like a normal person, alright?" I advise in a low whisper. "Now, I'm going to outside for a smoke break. If you need me, just wave."

*********
After paying for the meal, I walk outside, conjure a Marlboro Red cigarette out of thin air, and stick it into my mouth when I hear a small squeak. It lures me to the wall, where he sees a group of enormous, hairy rats eating black crumbs on the sidewalk.

My frown tightens. Usually, I'm not a huge fan of rats, but it's hard to ignore them, especially when he wants to clear his head. Entering the diner, I notice a small trail of black crumbs between my feet.

It takes all of my strength not to throw up, but I manage to discard my cigarette and follow the trail to the kitchen. My hand grasps the doorknob and turns it counterclockwise until the stench hits me like a truck.

But instead of rat shit, I smell copper and something wet. I grimaces. I search around the large, rat-infested kitchen until I see bloodied corpses of cooks and staff members getting their limbs, faces, and feet torn off.

Three more rats scamper past my feet and swirl around a large man in a chef's blood and tattered uniform. His back is turned to me. Large rats leap off of the shelves and onto his bald head. Cleaning supply bottles tumble next to his working boots, but for some reason, the chef doesn't flinch at the noise.

He just runs his bloody fingers against the white walls like a crazy person.

"Hey, man," I call, slowly walking up to him. "Unless you're writing a bestseller, I think you should stop what you're doing."

The chef stops. He pulls away from the bloody walls and twists his head until he meets my gaze. His face is as pale as snow. The dark brown pupils in his eyes widen until I can barely see the cook's irises.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding," I groan.

The chef grabs the steak knife from the granite countertop and lifts it over his head when I lift my hands and smash him against the greasy wall.

Pots and pans topple off the shelves and on the floor.

The chef furiously shakes itself from my clutches when I see Lea limping across the floor. Blood trickles down her face and clothes. Slow breaths draw from Lea's mouth as she raises her blood-soaked knife at the chef.

"Lea, are you okay?" I ask worriedly.

"Yeah," Leah answers. She slips her hands inside her pockets and dons her uncle's golden knuckles.

Looking down from the air, a spine-chilling smile stretches across the chef's lips. His pupils are as black as midnight. He stretches his arms away from his sides as he jumps down on the floor, then charges at me.

Horrified, I shove Lea out of the way and drives my kneecap between the asshole's legs.

The possessed chef flinches. He runs his hand against its sore crotch until Lea bashes her fists across his bloated face. Enchanted hieroglyphics peel off the golden knuckles and scorch the demon's cheeks. The demon screams in agony. It collapses on the tiled floor with its bleeding hands and bruised knees.

As Lea pounds the monster, I fling various kitchen knives at the monster's chest, but the possessed cook slaps them across the wall.

Swearing under his breath, I yank a meat cleaver off the table and lunges at the monster. I dodge blows and kick until I swing the cleaver across the cook's neck, then shoves the blade deep inside the monster's chest.

Dark blood spews from the wide gash like a fountain before staining the cook's white uniform and my dress.

Sadly, for the monster hunter, the cook doesn't feel any pain. It just shoves me onto the crusty floor and pulls the meat cleaver out of its stomach. Then, with its finger tracing across the wound, the cook heals the cut and cracks its neck in its place.

Gritting my teeth, I do a sweep kick across the cook's bloated feet and watch Lea snatch a fallen steak knife then stab it in the cook's bloated chest.

"Lea, stop!" I shout.

When she refuses, I lift my hand and move it towards my chest, prompting Lea to fly near my feet.

I then push the demonic cook again with my magic, but this time, I slam the monster against the stained ceiling and the burning stove. Though the demon magically heals the cook's bruises, I constantly shove it against the white walls until it barely twitches.

Next, I snatch another knife off the floor and slowly carve the triple moon symbol in the center of her palm.

"Lea, lock the doors and close your eyes," I command.

Staring at the frothy demon, Lea moves around the dead bodies, then anxiously does what she's told.

Blood oozes from my fingers. The pain runs down my spine, but I maintain my breathing. Upon hearing my footsteps, the demon stops chewing the corpse and then stares down at me.

"Aren't you a hungry little fucker?" I taunt coldly.

When the anomaly bares its teeth, I finish the symbol on my hand, force the demonic cook to its knees, and plant my bloody palm on its' forehead.

Kitchen cabinets rattle. Plates blast into smithereens while fluorescent lights rock above our heads. The demon inside the cook swears and curses at my face, but I continue squeezing my thumb on his temple until black smoke escapes from his throat.

Lea takes a couple of steps back. Color drains from her paralyzed face. Frantic eyes follow the hollow smoke until the flickering lights explode like grenades.

Scrambling on top of the unconscious janitor, Lea ducks her head as glass shards sprinkle her shirt and overalls.
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