Genie smelled the roses before she could see the forest. The sweet, fragrant scent danced across the wind, weaving around her like it was greeting her home. As if it were a friend, like it had been when she was little. But it wasn’t. Genie remembered what the roses had turned her grandmother into—
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tore through the woods, paws churning up soft dirt. The smell of mud and recent rainfall filled my snout as I raced through the bracken, desperate to reach the castle. Her scent was fading quickly. Soon even my powerful senses would be useless.
But I had to keep moving. Please let me be on time.
I sit, enthroned in the branches of a mighty oak. Waiting…
Grandmother had warned us not to gather herbs in the woods. “Beware the wolf who hunts the forest for unsuspecting souls,” she would say.
That day, I forgot.
I should have known better, but I was drawn by a man more beautiful
Of all the underground clubs in this sodden sponge of a city, it had to be that one.
I tugged my fedora lower over my brows, but it did little to block out the damp chill of the October night. My neck prickled as I surveyed the disturbing sight splayed out on the alley’s cracked asphalt.
“Are you sure about this?” My stomach turned as I played with the sleeves of my sweater, worrying a few loose threads between my fingertips.
Eastwood paced across the cramped room where we’d been locked away. “We’re in a bit of a pickle here, Rose. I don’t see any other way.
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Young folk these days.
I squint between my window blinds. Amelia has another new beau—a tall, brooding fellow. They walk hand-in-hand down the street toward my house, chatting.
I frown. I haven’t met this one yet. Usually she brings them by for my inspection first, just to be safe.
They stop walking, and he leans down—
Nobody likes ghost hugs.
This has thus far been the biggest disappointment of my afterlife. Yes, there’s the whole being tied to the dark, dank, dismal cave where I’d met my untimely demise, but—nah, it’s mostly the hugging. Or lack thereof.
I was quite the hugger before I died.
The noise in Thomas’s head was getting louder.
Medical examinations came up empty. Doctors were stumped. It wasn’t tinnitus, they said, or brain tumors, or sinus problems, any other condition they’d diagnosed before. Nothing they attempted, from ear drops to oral meds, solved it. In the end, he just had to deal with it.
“I hate my job.” Tina scowled at the curtains that separated her from the audience. “I’d rather play bingo.”
“No, you don’t.” Tello, the stage manager, shuffled his cue cards. “And no, you wouldn’t. You hate bingo.” He tugged at her arm. “Come on, your cue’s coming any minute!”
Pale dawn light slanted through the windows when I arrived at the Full Moon Diner. Even this early, the place smelled like stale grease and burnt coffee.
Only four tables were occupied. An old man sitting in one corner, his face haggard. A young couple holding hands. A neat-haired man reading a thick book
Deep within Midre Forest, the ghosts waited. Renard clutched a box of croissants to his chest. “Food is the way to the heart,” he muttered. Hopefully the saying applied to vengeful ghosts.
Because bringing food into the Flickers’ domain, especially after how they’d died… He shuddered. If the Flickers caught him before daylight, he’d be dead.
Jane’s stomach tightened as she neared the door. She paused to adjust her glasses. “Sal, are you sure a human is okay at a xaether’s party? I don’t want to mess anything up.”
Sal pulled her through the entryway. “Don’t worry. You’re hardly one to cause a stir. Plus, xaethers are a couple millennia old.
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