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

by Steffanie Holmes

But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we⁠— Of many far wiser than we⁠— And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; EDGAR ALLAN POE

“Walpurgis, stop that,” Agnes snaps. “You’re supposed to be a servant of Satan, not a gibbering pup.” Agnes, bless her immortal soul, is still a little pissed about the whole being hanged as a witch thing. She told me once that if she’d known she’d be accused of consorting with the devil, she’d have been much more wicked during her lifetime. Now she’s determined to make up for it in death.

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

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.

Even when you think you connect with someone on a soul level, you move on or they move on, and as soon as you’re away from the magic of a Greek sunset or a remote New Zealand bush cabin, your memory of them fades into sepia. They become another postcard on your journey, existing only in two dimensions, as if they never even had a soul at all but are merely an extension of your own searching.

Saint Augustine carved beneath the name. 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.

I’m all about healthy coping mechanisms like completely ignoring my feelings and running away from my problems.

“Don’t mind me. I’m just…uh…stroking these books.” Mina shoves her hands into the shelf and starts shuffling them back and forth. Her cheeks redden. “If you don’t show them a bit of love every now and then, they get ornery.”

“This one uses moldavite. It’s a crystal alloy from a meteorite that landed in Moldova nearly fifteen million years ago. It has high vibrational properties.” High vibrational properties? I resist the urge to roll my eyes, but she’s not done. “This stone will amplify your powers, and enable you to reach even further beyond the veil.”

I take the moldavite out of my pocket and stare at it. It’s not magic. It’s just a lump of mineral. It can’t be the reason why all this is happening. It’s not even glowing. Surely if it was magic, it would be glowing or something?

but I also found myself. I found Bree Mortimer is more than a freak – she can be brave and confident and reckless and excitable and clever and wild and very, very stupid.

“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.”

“People grieve in different ways. Sometimes, when you see a loved one suffering, their death can feel like a relief because you know they’re at peace.

This is real life, not an Agatha Christie novel.