Ariadne pops up in front of me as soon as I place one toe inside the folded space. Her sudden appearance is startling; I squeal like a little girl and jump backward. Is part of her plan to scare me into an early grave? Wouldn't that be hilarious?

"Don't forget the key," she states, pointing an opaque finger at the open doors. "If you get locked in here, that's it."

"That bit of information would've been helpful before I opened a portal to another dimension," I retort, pressing a hand to my chest. Ariadne is going to drive me insane, I know it. How did Great-Aunt Louise put up with her crap for all those years?

The ghost harumphs like an old man and folds her arms. "Some grave witch you are. It's basic knowledge to always take the key with you."

Her attitude is grinding my gears. "You do know that I'm not a practicing witch, right? I have a master's degree in English!" She's making wild assumptions about me, so if anything goes wrong then it's her fault.

Ariadne's look of superiority cracks slightly. "Great, now I have to teach her how to do her job. Nice pick, Louise," she complains as she drifts into the folded space. "C'mon, I don't have all night."

"Hold your horses," I snarl through clenched teeth. Reaching around, I grab the brass key and stuff it in my purse. I shake it for good measure, listening to it rattle around and undoubtedly crack my iPhone screen. Maybe I should wear it around my neck, like an anchor tethering me to this place.

"Don't forget to close the doors," the ghost calls over her shoulder.

"I'm going to haunt you after I die," I grumble, stepping across the threshold.

"Good luck with that!" she calls back. "Grave witches always move on."

I have another barb locked and loaded, but it falls out of my verbal crossbow when I cross the boundary. One moment I'm standing in a beautiful garden, then next I'm in a moss-covered forest that looks straight out of a Studio Ghibli movie.

"Crap," Ariadne sighs, staring at the scenery with her hands on her hips. "You had to go and change it."

"What do you mean?" I ask as I pull the doors closed, praying to every good deity that I can leave when we're done.

"This space is spelled to appeal to the grave witch's tastes. I had ninety years of beaches and now I have to stare at trees."

There's a sadness to the ghost's tone that tempers my anger somewhat. "The beach is in your backyard," I tell her. "Unless you're bound to the land?"

Ariadne snorts. "Some guide I'd be if I was bound to the property!" she replies with what I'm quickly determining is her usual acerbity. "Here, I can feel things!" She reaches out and, to my surprise, rips off a chunk of magic moss.

I flinch instinctively, but she throws it to the ground instead. The torn moss slowly vanishes and reappears on the tree trunk.

"Don't worry, I can't hurt you," she says with a wry grin.

"Good to know," I reply, adjusting the strap of my purse. "So, where are the ghosts?"

Ariadne shrugs. "Beats me. I have to learn how to navigate this place all over again."

"Can you get lost?"

"As long as you have the key, it will always lead you back to the door," she says.

Well, that's the first bit of actual helpful information she's given me. I should embroider it on a pillow and put it on my couch.

"Good to know," I mutter, glancing around. If you plugged "enchanted forest" into an AI program, you'd probably get this as one of your results. The forest floor is covered with soft, green moss that twinkles with tiny bioluminescent lights. Swirling motes of dust dance above the ground like faeries, performing a routine with fat fireflies. I glance over my shoulder to see the door wedged into a massive cliff; small, white-capped mushrooms grow in the cracks, illuminating the warm brown wood. It's part of the environment, which is rather cool.

When I look back, a pathway of large grey stepping stones appears—a trail leading deep into the forest. Every couple of feet sits an old-timey iron-and-glass lantern, the flames flickering peacefully in the perpetual twilight. More bioluminescent lichen dots the surrounding trees like strings of mood lighting.

The air smells like earth—but not just any old dirt. Good growing soil warmed by the sun; stuff that even a LA transplant like me can happily dig my fingers into. It's surprisingly soothing.

Is this what I've been missing? Is that why the folded space created this environment? To help me, too?

Ariadne glowers at me from down the path. I put off my introspection and make my way across the stepping stones.

The trees that make up the forest are giants, their roots thicker than my thigh. They twist and turn through the ground, overlapping each other like they're holding hands. In the palms of these roots, beds of moss form; in the darkness, I see tiny eyes staring back at me, and the hint of whiskers.

"Does anything else live here—besides the ghosts?" I call out to Ariadne.

She glances back at me and shrugs. "Elementals and nature spirits, mostly. Long-forgotten by most mortals."

I file that away for later. I have a feeling Great-Aunt Louise's grimoire will be my constant companion over the next several months as I figure this business out. To be polite, I wave at the little creatures; they blink and dart out of sight.

The trail dips down a slight slope; I'm once again grateful for wearing sensible shoes and not heels. Once I reach the bottom, the forest peels away, revealing—what else?—but a massive Japanese bathhouse. It sits on the edge of a wide pool, light from the moon reflected in its calm surface. Large, flat rocks covered in that vibrant green moss lay scattered across the pool. Frogs croak and chirp from somewhere in the pool, and crickets play a song that somehow manages to interweave with the frogs' chorus. Massive lanterns hanging on thick poles hover over the white granite stairs leading into the bathhouse.

Clinging to the canted, moss-covered roof are several furry figures that look like white and grey foxes—with multiple tails. "Holy crap. I've gone full-Miyazaki," I breathe, shaking my head. Could this be considered cultural appropriation? I have no idea.

Every window in the bathhouse is illuminated, creating a warm and inviting ambiance. As I carefully navigate around the pool, I wonder if adding a little Japanese influence to the real bed and breakfast would work—or is that just asking for trouble? Probably the latter. I'll have to come up with something else. At least I have a whole stack of magazines to go through for inspiration.

Ariadne hovers on the landing, staring at the entrance. "Huh," she says, hands on hips.

"What did Great-Aunt Louise's place look like?" I ask, climbing the stairs.

She whips her head around, eyes widening as if she didn't expect me to be there. "Better than this," she says—and proceeds to float through the door.

The doors to the bathhouse are a replica of the ones I stepped through to get here, except these are carved from a deep red wood. Possibly cedar, red oak, or cherry. Hanging from a slim iron hook is a small sign. Hitching my purse high on my shoulder, I take a step closer to read it:

Cater to the dead.

Heal their souls.

Don't get involved.

The poem is hand-written in a thick, calligraphy scrawl on old parchment, the ink faded but legible. I press my lips together. Cater to the dead—I understand that part. Heal their souls—that's what Great-Aunt Louise said we were tasked with doing.

But the last verse? Don't get involved.

What does that mean? What am I not supposed to get involved in? The ghosts' personal lives? Drama?

Or does it mean I'm not supposed to get involved with another person? I chuckle to myself. No chance of that. I like guys just fine, but I like being by myself more.

I'm the model old-school witch, complete with a cat familiar.

"Are you coming?" Ariadne demands, sticking her head through the door. I can't help but flinch, a reaction that causes the ghost to flash me a tiny smirk. Oh, she better not play poltergeist and bother me while I'm sleeping. I'll learn binding and banishing spells if I have to. And I'll smirk the whole time.

"What does this mean?" I ask, gesturing to the sign.

"It means whatever you think it means," she gripes. "Hurry up."

"That's not helpful."

She rolls her eyes and draws her head back inside. I shake my head and look for the iron rings to open the door, but strangely, there aren't any. Okay, how am I supposed to get in there?

"Push!" Ariadne calls out exasperatingly from the other side.

Screw this, I'm going to learn binding and banishing spells anyway. I put both hands on the right-hand door and give it a hearty shove.