Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

On the third evening, Hugo switched the sign in the window to CLOSED FOR A
PRIVATE EVENT.
“Are you sure about this?” Nelson whispered, watching his grandson
move around the tea shop, preparing for their guests.
“As much as I can be,” Wallace whispered back.
“A delicate matter requires delicate hands.”
“You don’t think we can do it?”
“That’s not what I meant. You’re blunt and sharp, but you’ve learned a bit
of grace, Wallace. Kindness and grace.”
“Because of you,” Wallace said. “You and Mei and Hugo.”
Nelson grinned at him. “You think so?”
He did. “I wish—”
But whatever Wallace wished stayed within him as lights filled the
windows.
“They’re here,” Mei said as Hugo went back into the kitchen. “You’re
serious about this?”
“As a heart attack,” Wallace said, Nelson chuckling beside him.
He heard car doors opening and closing, and Desdemona speaking loudly,
though he couldn’t make out the words. He knew who she was speaking to. If
they’d done what Hugo had asked, they’d driven separately. It was now or
never.
Squat Man opened the door. Desdemona entered first, head held high,
dressed as ridiculously as she’d been before. Her towering hat was black
and covered with lace, her frizzy red hair tied back into a thick braid that
hung over one shoulder. Her dress was black-and-white striped, the hem just
below her knees. Her legs were sheathed in red stockings, and her boots
looked as if they’d been recently shined.
“Yes,” she breathed as she all but sashayed into the tea shop, removing
her gloves. “I can feel it. It’s like it was the last time. The spirits are active.”
She turned her head slowly, taking in the room. Her gaze slid over Nelson
and Wallace without stopping. “I believe we’re going to get somewhere.
Mei, how lovely to see you’re still … alive.”
Mei glared at her. “Grave robbing is illegal.”
Desdemona blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Whatever grave you desecrated to get that dress will—”