“Actually, my sister and her husband own it.” She nods. Annabelle has long caramel-colored hair, almond-shaped blue eyes, and deep-welled dimples on either side of her cheeks. She’s stockier than the rest, taller, and she seems friendly enough with a smile that keeps blinking on and off. Her red cloak is cinched beneath her neck with a long red ribbon and she’s holding a rectangular picnic basket in her arms with a red and white checkered cloth over it. “It’s just sort of side work for me. Seasonal.” She holds up a fruity-colored drink. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to top off my libation.” She trots off and the tigress among us suddenly looks cagey.
Hazel winces. “Annabelle does some event planning as well.”
The tigress nods my way. “I’m Carrie. It’s nice to meet you, Bowie.” She has luscious olive skin, chestnut-brown waves, amber eyes that glow, and she happens to have one of those lucky faces that looks like a work of art, carved high cheekbones, full lips, the works. “I’m good friends with Miggy.” She shrugs. “We hit it off when we met at a party last summer.”
Hazel scoffs. “Hear that, Miggy? Why, she makes you sound like a pole dancer.” Hazel leans in a notch toward the girl and the move looks threatening. “You would be the pole dancer around here, Carrie. Don’t ever try to devalue my friend. And what a wonderful costume you chose—a man-eater. I couldn’t have dressed you better myself.” She shoots a look to Miggy. “I’d watch it if I were you, Mig. A girl like that is destined to stab you in the back. I think I’ll join Annabelle at the bar.”
Hazel takes off and Carrie shrugs my way.
“I’m sorry, Bowie.” Carrie takes a breath. “Some girls just never grow up.” She glares over at Miggy. “Is she really going to make my life miserable forever? I say we cut her out of the klatch. All she does is stir the pot. I guess she wore the perfect costume, didn’t she? I’m heading out to get some air, maybe pet a cat or two.” She stalks off in the direction of the exit just as the music picks up in tempo, and soon we’re surrounded by a pack of werewolves, all howling and gyrating their limbs.
“My apologies, Bowie.” Miggy pulls off her hat. “My friends can be a little testy.” She piles her blonde hair up into a knot before putting the hat back on and pops the collar slightly on her cape. “That’s better. At least I can feel a breeze on my neck.”
“It is stifling in here,” I say. “So I take it you’re the glue that holds your friends together?” They may have been sharing a laugh in the beginning, but toward the end of that two-minute breakdown, none of them looked as if they could stand one another.
“My book club is the glue.” She nods. “It’s just the four of us, but I’m hoping to grow it. We call it the Coffee Klatch. We meet once a week at the Delicious Drip down the street and gush over our shared love of books. We’re doing a paranormal theme this month.” She glances past me. “Hey? I couldn’t help but notice you were talking to S.J. Wexler. Do you know him?”
S.J. Wexler just so happens to be Shep’s author nom de plume.
I give a quick nod. “Yup. He hangs out at the café and pens his brilliant novels while I feed him all the muffins he can eat. He also happens to be my landlord.”
She sucks in a quick breath. “Do you think you could ask if he’d join the girls and me one night for our book club? I just know they would love it. We read one of his novels last summer. I’m really into those mobster books. His Manon Tate series is one of my favorites.”
“Sure. I’m sure he’d be happy to do it. Mind if I tag along?”
“You’re more than welcome.” She glances to the door, and her expression darkens. “I’d better go put out a fire. I’ll talk to you later.”
I glance to the exit myself and spot witch Hazel in what looks to be a heated argument with a vampire—a tall man with a receding hairline, handsome despite the fact, and he looks rather angry at the moment. He grabs ahold of Hazel’s wrist just as Miggy shows up on the scene.
I’m about to make my way over to Stephanie, Shep, and Tilly when the room begins to sway underneath my feet. A warm, fuzzy feeling rides through my body, and suddenly the music becomes muted. Everything around me seems to crawl to a halt as a vision pops into my head. A feeling of genuine fright takes over, and I’m rattled right down to my bones. I see Stephanie standing before me, and she looks equally as terrified. She holds out her hands and they’re covered in blood, and we both begin to scream.
“Bowie?” A crisp slap lands across my cheek, and I come to, only to see Stephanie standing in front of me. “Wake up. I just had a vision.”
“I just had a vision,” I pant.
“You had blood on your hands!” we shout in unison before gasping at one another.
Both Stephanie and I had blood on our hands.
I give a quick look around the room as laughter roars above the raucous music.
Something tells me this night is about to take a turn for the terrifying.
Blood will be spilt.
But whose?
Chapter 2
The Mortimer Manor is hopping with every ghost, ghoul, monster, and perhaps homicidal maniac this side of Vermont in attendance. It’s the very first night of a month-long spooktacular dubbed the Haunted Hallow-whiskers Ball in which the manor plays host to all things scary, hairy, and hopefully green—as in money. We’re not throwing this shindig for our health, you know—although the surplus of candy corn and Snickers bars has done wonders for my emotional stability. Sometimes you need a little sugar to even things out in your world.
Stephanie and I just experienced a serious case of double vision, and I’m not talking about the ocular variety. We had a strange bout of prophetic twinning, and since we’ve never experienced the phenomenon before, we decide it’s best that our forward-thinking actually sponsor a bit of, well, forward-thinking.
My sister and I are no strangers to glimpses into the future. It’s not every day we get front-row seats into tomorrow, so when the same vision pops into both of our heads, we know the future means business. And in this case, it also means a visit from the Grim Reaper. That’s one spook I wish would never show up to Starry Falls again. But just my luck, he not only scored an invite to tonight’s party, he’s looking to be the guest of honor, or guest of horror as it were.
Stephanie and I decide to divide and conquer. She’s checking the outside of the manor to see if there’s anyone in trouble, and I’m scouring the inside. Steph and I are something that Nana Rose called transmundane, further classified as sibylline. In other words, we really can see the future. Not with any accuracy, of course, but Nana Rose always said that was because we never took the time to hone our interpretation skills.
Nana Rose was a master of seeing what lay ahead. And to my knowledge, she never got a darn thing wrong. Although, she wasn’t exactly heading to the track and raking it in either. Apparently, our gift, as she referred to it, isn’t some get-rich-quick scheme. And at this fiscally challenged point in my life, I’d have to agree with her.
Opal heads my way with Regina Valentine by her side. I can’t help but scowl at the younger girl. Regina is drop-dead gorgeous, with glowing tan skin, eyes that shine like evil diamonds, and a devilish grin always at the ready. Her long chestnut hair is full of body and seems to have a wicked life of its own. She’s all dolled up tonight like the spawn of the devil she is, in a red skintight suit complete with a pointy tail, sparkly horns, and pitchfork.