Phantasma (Wicked Games, #1)

by Kaylie Smith

If the foreign, crackling feeling of magic had not alerted her that something was very wrong, she might not have found her mother until the sun rose.

Genevieve was well aware why that simple statement incited urgency.

There were two golden rules their mother had taught them about roaming New Orleans after dark: the first was that if the dark looks at you, you never look back. That was a surefire way to be caught by a Devil.

Ophelia couldn’t help but wonder if she was wildly unprepared to assimilate into normal society without their mother as her guide. Death she was familiar with. Living would be the real challenge.

Ophelia had lain awake well into the witching hours—the time between midnight and four in the morning when the veil between the mortal world and the Other Side was the thinnest—after

the unruly red roses that drooped from the porch beams as if they were knives

Souls that are dead cannot cross roses of red,

If you have a dead relative, you’re just going to have to suffer like the rest of us!”

Ok I like her now.