“W-what do you mean?”
Vani closed her eyes, inhaled meditatively. Instead of answering, she said, “Let me make you some tea.”
? ? ?
They never did get much information out of Dhaval’s mother, who seemed more intent on calming Delilah down than talking about what had brought her there in the first place. While the teakettle whistled behind her, she told Delilah to breathe, told her everything was okay, and then sent them upstairs to Dhaval’s room with a pot of tea and instructions to stay quiet—hinting to Delilah maybe she did know her son was gay after all, or maybe she just knew from the look on Delilah’s face that the last thing on her mind right now was mischief of the sexual variety. She never once seemed surprised to find Delilah standing on her front porch at two in the morning, panicked.
Dhaval closed the door behind them and walked to his bed, sitting down cross-legged. “Do your parents know you’re here?”
She shook her head.
“Your dad will kill you.”
Shrugging, Delilah said, “I’m pretty sure Dad will still be asleep when I get home. He was hammered tonight.”
Her best friend cocked his head. “You don’t mean drunk?”
“I do.”
“Is that what has you freaked out?”
She blinked away and studied the framed drawing of Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva on his wall. “No. Not exactly. Well, sort of.”
He waited for ten seconds. For twenty. Finally, Dhaval—never a patient person—exhaled loudly. “You realize I’m not going to be able to go back to sleep tonight and I have a calculus test in the morning?”
“I’m sorry.”
“That isn’t my point. Either tell me why you’re here or just go to sleep and let me study.”
Delilah closed her eyes and took a breath so deep she felt like if her lungs were balloons, she might lift from the bed. She blew out the breath and looked at Dhaval. “The Patchwork House is. . . just about as weird and different as we always thought. It’s—”
His dark eyes went wide. “Is that what you meant by haunted, earlier on the phone?”
“I don’t know, okay? I. Need. You. To. Listen.” She enunciated each word with exaggerated patience. “Maybe help me figure out what the hell is going on.”
“You think because I’m brown I know about magic or voodoo?” he asked, shaking his head. “The only magic I know is the joy of watching Channing Tatum in Magic Mike.”
“Dhaval.”
“Delilah. That place is weird. Why are you even going there?” He leaned back and looked at her from head to foot. “Ohhhh. I see. Delilah Blue is getting some action over at the haunted mansion.”
Shaking her head quickly and glancing out his window, Delilah whispered, “Can you focus, please? I just. . .” She leaned forward, gestured for Dhaval to do the same, and then very quietly whispered everything into his ear. That everything in the house—from the wallpaper to the silverware—was alive. That she’d asked what happens when Gavin leaves someday and how the house reacted. And that she feels the house following her. . . everywhere.
Dhaval pulled back and looked directly into her eyes. She could tell before he said a word that not only did he not believe her, but he thought she might be crazy. It made her think of Gavin and all the years that it was easier to live alone than to try to introduce someone into his world.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice raspy, a thousand prickly pinpoints.
“It just sounds insane, okay? I mean, Gavin is weird. And let’s be honest here. You’re also a little weird.”
She nodded. “I know.”