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Because to this man, I wasn’t the tattooed freak who kept everyone at arm’s distance. I wasn’t the weirdo who spoke with the dead. No, to this man, I was merely a middle-aged woman with a big rack and a semi-tight body.
the first rule of ghost club was pretending they didn’t exist. To look through corporeal pests. Too bad for me, my gaze locked on the man who’d walked through the main door. Like, right through the wood because a: the door was closed; and b: he was dead.
Quote for IBBB
“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.” I cleared my throat, and when my next words fell from my lips, my voice was deeper and raspier than usual. As a matter of fact, my voice didn’t seem to be coming from my larynx at all, but somewhere deeper, somewhere darker. “I need you to hear me. The next time you disrespect me will be your last.”
What was I supposed to say? That I’d passed my expiration date years ago and had been living on borrowed time? That whoever had killed the rest of the women in my branch of the family almost got me too? None of that mattered. I was still here. Anything else was extra.
IBBB
sweet, I wanted a man who’d scorch and salt the earth to save me. And slaughter anyone who merely considered doing me harm. Whoa… Where the hell did that come from? Had a psychopath taken up residence inside my brain, or had I always been that ruthless?
IBBB
Maybe it was a GenX thing, but I didn’t whine. You handled your business in silence when you came from a family with “life isn’t fair, so either get over it or kill it” painted on the family crest.
I wasn’t about to kill anyone. But I was a petty bitch, and I’d be damned if some slaver’s descendant would get one cent from my family. They’d have to pry the deed out of my cold, dead, middle-aged hands.
I placed my foot on the bottom stair, wishing I’d worked harder to lose those last twenty pounds. A snort so unladylike slipped out, I bet they heard it downtown. It was thirty-five pounds, but I wore them well. I was big-boned. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.
I’d faced death—on two occasions—moved to small-town Texas, and into a house filled with vampires. I’d even gotten my first Brazilian wax a few years ago. In comparison, checking out a long-abandoned mansion was a piece of cake.
“Maria, what are you doing here?” “What do you think?” She tossed her keys on the driver’s seat and closed the door. “I want to see the inside of this house. You know how many times I tried to break in?” “No, because that’s what most people call a felony.” I grimaced, handed her my flashlight, and snagged another one from Stella. “If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it, but I’m glad you’re here.”
Hoodoo, Texas—Mayberry with melanin and magic. And folks all up in your business. Only here, Andy and Barney were not only smoking hot, but occasionally sported fangs and fur.
people, I finally had the freedom to discuss all things magic. For so long, I’d been forced to keep everything—my feelings, my family, and most of all, my secrets—so bottled up, sharing felt...odd.
