You're So Dead to Me (Grimdale Graveyard Mysteries, #1)

by Steffanie Holmes

Remember what I said about ghosts hating you walking through them? This is true – it’s very intense and painful for them, and it always happens when they’re unprepared. But sometimes lightly touching their ghosty skin will feel quite nice. When you touch them, you might get a little tingle, or a little warm or cold depending on what they think of you, and they can feel it, too.

“Walpurgis, stop that,” Agnes snaps. “You’re supposed to be a servant of Satan, not a gibbering pup.”

“I hope you steered well clear of France,” Agnes says with a sniff. “French people live there.”

Edward didn’t like being confronted by his own grandiose and garish grave erected by his friends, since his family disowned him (although he did occasionally deign to stand on the edge of the cemetery to give a suitable backdrop for his morose and terrible poetry). And when Pax was alive, the cemetery land was the site of a bloody battle between the Roman forces and the Celtic tribes where he was slain, and he can still hear the Celtic war cries as they mowed down his friends…

Even though she’s all grown up now, Bree still smells exactly the way I remember her – like a warm, crackling fire on a stormy night, like a pear and almond tart and mulled wine straight from the pot, like comfort and home and the juiciest parts of a good book.

Ambrose skids into the room, so excited that he swings his cane around like a gladiator on kill-one-get-one-free day at the Colosseum.

And now my verpa is standing at attention, and ghosts can’t jerk their own cucumbers, and it’s very annoying.

While her attention is not on me, I slip through the wall, wincing with the pain of passing through the stones, and settle myself into position behind the heavy curtains. A soldier always follows orders. I have a duty to my Bree. No monster will get through my guard. I will always watch over her.

THE WORLD IS A BOOK, AND THOSE WHO DO NOT TRAVEL READ ONLY A PAGE.

Pax is casting his eyes around, desperate for something to stab that will solve the problem.

This stone will amplify your powers, and enable you to reach even further beyond the veil.

“I’m fine,” I lie. “I have something in my eye.” “You do,” he nods in agreement. “You have sadness. But I will find a way to make it better.”

I am not good with women. I am a champion stabber, a world-class Druid slayer, a brilliant brawler, and a passable tenor. But when it comes to romance, I come from the ‘throw them over your shoulder and fuck them until their legs turn to jelly’ school of seduction.

Benedict’s character gets into a bar fight, and Pax leaps to his feet and starts swinging punches at the air. “That’s what you get for messing with Buffalo Crumperbunts!” “His name is Benedict Cumberbatch,” I say. Pax’s smile grows wide with mischief. “Bumblesnuff Crimpysnitch.”

“Edward, I’m not making out with you.” “Why not?” “Because…a million reasons.” He sits back in his chair, that infuriating arm still draped casually over the top of mine, his fingers playing with my bare shoulder. His smile is a dare. “Name seven.” “Seven? That’s a specific number.” “You said you could name a million. Well, I’m only asking for seven.”

“Okay, here’s a reason: you’re a ghost and I’m a Living. We’re not even supposed to talk to each other, so what’s going to happen if we kiss? It could blow a hole in the universe.” “That won’t happen, because I am the universe and I don’t blow anything until a lady has had at least three orgasms.”

Brianna gasps again as I roll her nipple between my fingers, and the hum of the electricity pulses through me. Her nipple hardens. I feel it. I feel her. My Brianna’s body blossoming beneath my touch, falling open like the petals of a flower.

“I mean, we probably shouldn’t be doing this stuff anyway. We’re playing with magic that we don’t understand…” “Your lips are magic. Your tongue is magic. You are magic. Next time,” he growls, “you will be the one screaming my name.”

She whirls around and bolts away. I move to go after her, but Ambrose grabs my arm. “Don’t,” he whispers. “Let her run.” “But she said that she loves me.” I struggle against him. “Yes,” Ambrose’s eyes flutter shut. “She loves all of us, old bean. That’s the problem. Loving us is breaking her heart.”

I dare myself to lift my head. My eyes are closed. I’m too afraid of what I might see. “Bree?” a gravelly voice whispers. I open my eyes. Standing before me, his fingers still entwined with mine, is Pax, solid and enormous, and very much alive.