The double doors swing open without a sound. I take a step forward and jerk to a halt.

Ariadne slowly turns to me and shakes her head. "You are weird." Fluffing out her ponytail, the ghost floats deeper into the inn.

I stand there with my arms folded, head tilted to the side, as I contemplate this juxtaposition of Japanese and American influences. If the outside is a picture-perfect rendition of a Ghibli bathhouse, the inside is a pure California spa.

Maybe the ghost is right. My priorities are weird.

The floors are polished white marble with veins of black and grey shooting through them. A large dark brown circular wooden table sits in the middle of the foyer, polished to a high sheen. A giant vase of gladiolas, roses, and calla lilies—all my favorites—is artfully arranged atop it. The grave witch sigil is inlaid into the marble beneath the table in gold and black mosaic tile. Large planters filled with giant elephant ear plants, their four-foot-wide leaves hanging over the sides, are strategically placed around the foyer. Arranged around the base of the elephant ears are tiny succulents and cactuses in a strange mix of tropical and desert flora. Comfortable-looking chairs and sofas upholstered in white or cream leather line the walls. Roman columns rise to support a second floor, a black iron balcony railing circling the foyer.

Something squeaks by my foot and I jump slightly. I look down to see one of the three-tailed foxes looking up at me, a pile of towels on its head. "Uh, hello," I say.

The creature is cream-colored, with large, fennec-sized ears, huge, dark, almond-shaped eyes, and light brown points. A blue gem in the shape of a teardrop is embedded in its forehead. If it works here, it can't possibly hurt me—right? I crouch down and extend my right hand, palm to the ground. "I choose you, Vulpix?"

It blinks, then chirps, flashing small, but sharp fangs. I hope that's a happy sound.

A kidney-bean-shaped front desk made of warm brown wood and bordered with brass sits a few paces away from the table. There's a chittering sound and a two-foot-tall red squirrel wearing a black bow tie pops up from behind the desk.

"Good evening, mistress," the squirrel announces in a clear, upper-class British accent.

I stare. That's it. Everything has gone off the rails.

The squirrel jumps down and races around the desk, coming to a stop in front of me. He rises onto his haunches, paws resting on his belly, one on top of the other. "We've been waiting for you."

My mouth tries to form words, but they're stuck in my throat. I cough to clear it and give myself a moment to process all of this absurdity. "I'm sorry—you are ...?"

"Balthazar, mistress. I am the concierge of this establishment."

Balthazar. The squirrel's name is Balthazar. Am I high or something? I highly doubt the cook laced our breakfast, so what did I do today to get this way? I swing my right hand back and as nonchalantly as I can manage, pinch the back of my thigh. Nope—not dreaming, either.

This whole circus is one hundred percent real.

"Balthazar," I repeat like a moron. "I didn't expect to find any ... help. I thought it was my job to cater to the dead."

The squirrel nods empathically. "It is. But you cannot be here all the time."

I glance over Balthazar's tufted ears. Ariadne is nowhere to be found. I fold my arms over my knees and address the squirrel. "What is it I'm supposed to do, exactly? Ariadne isn't exactly ... helpful." Annoying, irritating, useless, ineffective ... I have a hundred adjectives waiting in my back pocket to throw out.

The three-tailed fox with the towels makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a cough. Balthazar nods in agreement. "I have served your line since this inn's inception and she is the most disagreeable go-between we have seen."

Disagreeable is putting it lightly. "Do you know why?"

He shrugs, which is rather cute. "Alas, I do not know her reason for being bound here. That is never divulged to us."

I sigh. I suppose in the long run it doesn't matter. "That's okay. Now, what is the point of me being here if you guys manage it?"

"You are the grave witch," Balthazar intones solemnly. "You speak to the dead to ascertain their needs, for we cannot hear them."

That doesn't quite make sense. "Ariadne said that there are nature and elemental spirits here. Aren't you on the same plane as ghosts?"

The squirrel's large dark eyes stare deep into my soul. It makes me feel as if I've dropped into a starless void. "We are not dead, mistress."

"I ..." I shake my head to clear it; I hold up a finger, then lower it. They aren't dead. "Come again?"

"Nature and elementals are drawn from living essences," he explains, ticking the points off on his tiny paws. "Ghosts are the souls of the deceased."

I blink, the pieces slowly falling into place. "Oh," I reply slowly. "So, Ariadne brings the wandering souls here, I find out what they need to move on, and you guys facilitate that?"

"Yes." Balthazar nods.

"Okay." I tap my fingers on my knees and look around the foyer. More creatures appear, fading into this reality mid-stride: foxes with towels, large raccoons wearing black overalls carrying trays piled with china between them, and powerful grey and tan wolves with bedding and pillows draped over their backs.

This is the enchanted forest and I'm Snow White.

They better not expect me to sing. That would set all of these spirits back a few decades.

"And how long does it take for a ghost to move on?"

Balthazar shrugs. "It's an individual journey, mistress."

Great. "You can call me Elara, by the way," I tell the squirrel. "'Mistress' is a little too formal for me."

"Elara," he repeats with a smile, flashing two thick front teeth. I'm glad we're on friendly terms because those things look like they can do serious damage.

"So." I push to my feet and straighten the hem of my skirt. "Is there anything that needs my attention now?" I mentally cross my fingers and pray that the squirrel tells me no. I need to delve into Great-Aunt Louise's grimoire before I'm ready to tackle this fever dream.

Or a couple of stiff drinks.

To my delight, Balthazar shakes his head. "Everything is in order. Mistress Louise saw to it before she passed."

"I'm sorry for your loss," I tell him sincerely.

Balthazar presses his paws together and bows. "We understand that human life is fleeting. But I appreciate your sympathies." He straightens his bow tie. "There is always a time of idleness while the new grave witch prepares. But it cannot be too long," he adds, an edge of warning in his tone.

"Understood."

A long pause stretches between us. Unsure of what else to say, I look up at the balcony. "Can I look around?"

"Of course!" the squirrel exclaims. "Phillipe will be happy to show you around since Ariadne has once again made herself scarce."

"Phillipe?"

"Me!"

I look down at the three-tailed fox; the towels he was carrying on his head have vanished, replaced by a tall, dark blue witch's hat with a drooping point. A group of large red and brown feathers is stuffed into a black band with a sapphire and emerald brooch accenting the front. His ears poke through the brim, making him look incredibly adorable. The fox has also tripled in size, the top of his head even with my knees.

"Pretty neat, huh?" His voice is full of youthful exuberance. I wonder if he can leave the inn because I desperately want to take him home with me.

Although, I'm not sure Rodney would agree.

"Very," I tell him as Balthazar sighs and makes a motion with one paw.

"Enjoy," the squirrel says. "I'll be at my desk if you need me." He drops to all fours and races over to the kidney-shaped desk, climbing up on some sort of chair or stool. I can't see it from here. "Oh, and be sure to leave before dawn."

All the warm fuzzies wrapped around my brain from Phillipe's cuteness flee in the face of Balthazar's warning.

"I won't be trapped in here, will I?"

"Just until dusk falls," the squirrel assures me. "But you may emerge a few days later if that happens."

"Thanks for the tip," I say. With Ariadne off galivanting, I doubt she would have told me. Probably wait until the very last minute and then scream at me to hurry as I race through the building in a panic. I glance at my iWatch: it's a little past ten at night. I set the alarm for four AM, although I don't think I'll be staying that long. I have to sleep at some point.

Just to be on the safe side, I set a few extra alarms, one every hour to remind me to be mindful of the time.

"All right, Phillipe, where to?"