“Plan on harvesting some wheat?” Jake asked, lifting a brow. “Or hacking your way through the jungle?” Trent snorted. I rolled my eyes. “This”—I proffered the scythe—“is a souvenir from my latest investigation.” “Another spirit taking issue with his new living conditions?” Jake paused. “Or, I guess, lack thereof?”
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“The wax man’s face is melting off!” Another one for the list of weird things that I say with surprising regularity.
“Melting how?” James Prothero asks.
I scowl at him over my shoulder. “How many ways can I mean melting?”
“Are we talking Wicked Witch of the West or Ark of the Covenant?”
When I emerged from my coffin to stalk the darkness, I didn’t expect to find inspiration.
I strolled through a graveyard under a blanket of night. The gravestones glowed a ghostly gray luminescence under the gaze of the full moon, and shadows jittered with ghoulish glee as the boughs of trees swayed
The waters of Venezia are colder than most people think.
I stare at the Grand Canal two stories beneath me. Waves lap quietly against the dock to Palazzo Grassi, shimmering in the moonlight. Venezia—Venice—is quiet now. The tourists have retreated. The gondolas are docked. Below, a duck nibbles on a forgotten gelato
As a general rule, Reynolds didn’t go into junior high girls’ bathrooms. But when three corpses turned up in a school lavatory stall all in one day, he tended to make an exception. Plus, he’d been called in to investigate.
All the way from New York City.
Reynolds squatted in front of…
Hiroshi sighs loud enough to be heard over the rain drumming the kitchen windows. “Whenever you’re finished, Tamiko…”
“Just a minute.” I rummage in the cupboard, silently cursing the overbooked Tokyo hotels that forced me to crash on my least-favorite cousin’s futon. If only our grandmother hadn’t died during cherry blossom season…
The ghosts are out in full force tonight at Chetham Library—the oldest public library in Great Britain. They like to wander up and down the sleek, black stacks, rattling the cabinets that hold their books. The sounds echo around the vaulted ceilings, dark wood reflecting the moonlight and my torch as I run
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There are dozens of problems you may encounter when stealing your own coffin, but for Vlad, it was his lack of physical hands. Having been a ghost for only four hundred years, he’d gotten very good at blowing out candles in the castle but hadn’t yet mastered complex haunting techniques.
Like levitating coffins
They say the word Kentucky means “dark and bloody ground.” And I believe it—after all, that’s where my blood has been for years.
I floated among the branches of towering trees. Dew clung to the bluegrass below, which made it seem even more vivacious and alive.
Funny how grass had more life than me.
Leave the dead to their derby, and they’ll leave the living to theirs. The ghosts don’t hurt anyone; they come, celebrate, and leave at midnight once a year. Horse races mean a lot to folks around here.
That’s what the old hillbilly had said as he pumped Reynolds’ gas. But leaving ghosts alone…
The portal closed with a whumph and the smell of old books. I’d teleported myself deep beneath the massive castle complex of the Infinite Library, chasing rumors of ancient, forgotten books.
Dangerous books.
I hadn’t been expecting carpet.
I Imparted will into a small light sphere made of bronze. It floated at eye-level
I died at sixteen.
People said I committed suicide, but after my stepfather Manny had too many beers at my funeral and made a toast about how my curvy, young body must be pleasing the angels, murmurs rolled through the room.
The police chief ordered an autopsy. The medical examiner found arsenic
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