Gettin' Ouija Wid It...
Strap in, book devourers, because I've been hit with some serious spooky season vibes. Inside you'll find a chonky #wildshortread, a cover reveal, and a sizzling time-traveling romance freebie.
Greetings, friends and fellow book devourers.
Halloween is fast approaching and I simply couldn’t help but write a spooky tale about a budding necromancer and her three unwanted house guests.
After starting so many short stories over the past six months which unfolded into cool plot bunnies but alas refused to be wrangled into manageable word counts, I finally found a writing prompt which both demanded to be written in a timely fashion AND stayed under a five thousand maximum word count. HUZZAH!
5K?! That’s right. GETTIN’ OUIJA WID IT is a little longer than my usual fare for this section of my newsletter. However, given this WILD SHORT READ is supremely suited to the spooky season, I’ve decided to publish it—in full—right here on MIRI AND THE MUSE.
(Keep scrolling to devour this exclusive and original piece of short fiction a bit further down.)
First up, I’ve got a delectable freebie just for you!
If you’re a long time subscriber here at MIRI AND THE MUSE, then by now you know the drill. Skip to that download button and claim your freebie.
For anyone new here, let me give you the skinny.
Back in January, I got together with a group of talented author friends to offer you—my fabulous book devourers—a delicious literary snack each month. This series of exclusive subscriber gifts has been going ALL YEAR so make sure you backtrack to my first post of each month to grab your goodies.
Without further ado, may I present to you… KISS ACROSS TIME. This sizzling newsletter freebie is a paranormal time-traveller romance written by Tracy Cooper-Posey.
Taylor Yates just wants to prove that the 6th century poet of King Arthur’s court, Inigo Domhnall, actually existed, but evidence is elusive. Then she hears Domhnall’s lyrics in a death metal song and engineers a meeting with the singer, Brody Gallagher.
When Brody kisses her, they are both thrust back in time to King Arthur’s court, telling Taylor he is more than a simple rock singer. When Taylor kisses his friend and lover, Veris, they are sent back into a different time, too.
Brody and Veris desparately want to keep Taylor in their complicated and long-reaching lives. Terrified, Taylor wants only to return to her own…
Before we get to this month’s WILD SHORT READ, I wanna show off an upcoming release real quick…
I’ve been holding back on making DEMON AT THE CROSSROADS novella publicly available to my readers because I’ve had plans in the works to develop this story into a full length standalone.
When this year went off the rails so, too, did my writing schedule.
However, I worked dang hard on this novella—which, up ‘til now, has only been available as an exclusive paperback at my signings and in prior Halloween anthology, Booktober—so I thought it was high time my kickass crossroads demon and her sexy fated mates got to create some havoc and mayhem of their own.
Isn’t she pretty?! My book bestie, co-writer, and incredibly talented
designed this one for me. Her covers are just sublime.Keep your eyes peeled for the chance to nab this steamy, why choose, paranormal motorcycle club romance novella as part of my Halloween offerings.
GETTIN’ OUIJA WID IT
By Miri Stone
A #wildshortread hosted by MIRI AND THE MUSE
“I’m not crazy. I’m not. Hell, I may be out of a job and flat broke and seeing things that aren’t there and preparing for my first seance ever, but I’m not crazy.”
Or so I kept chanting to myself—out loud—in a lame attempt to drown out the inane chatter in my otherwise empty studio apartment as I followed the instructions laid down for me in a dusty old book which had magically appeared on my doorstep at some point in the night.
Yeah, I didn’t believe me either.
“What do you think she’s doing?” Arthur growled.
He was stalking about our tiny confinement one step behind me while I did my darnedest not to let on that his proximity—imagined or otherwise—made me hot under the collar. There was just something about that grisly rumble which stroked me in all the right places.
Clearly, my overactive imagination had decided to torture me with his suspicion because a Tinder obsession would’ve been too easy.
I’d always imagined Arthur as a tall, dark and brooding male who couldn’t fit through a doorway. He’d wear low-slung jeans, a weathered singlet top to show of his man bloobs, and steel-capped cowboy boots.
The man sounded half-wild and ready to swing one leg over a motorcycle so he could ride off into the night, preferably with me slung across his lap. I knew perfectly well it would never work—because physics—but when you were dealing with insanity anything goes.
“What does it matter?” Merlin replied, sounding thoroughly bored with the afterlife. “Clearly, this one wants rid of us. If we’re lucky she’s halfway decent. I have to admit, when I answered the shoddy summons I was not expecting to spend the next part of eternity holed up in a dump that threatened to leak at the first sight of rain with a grubby shifter and a sexually frustrated vampire.”
“Vampire,” I muttered under my breath. “Since when do vampires have ghosts which stick around after they go poof?”
“The born kind.”
I stuck my nose up in the air and pretended I hadn’t heard his rejoinder.
Merlin had to have been a professor or academic in his former life. I imagined him with arching eyebrows and a hooked nose upon which a pair of spectacles could perch from a lofty plain just so that he could peer down at you from a great height. He was a casual slacks kind-of-a-guy, with his loafers kicked up on a sofa, a cup of tea in one hand and a book of great import in the other.
“You know,” the growly one said, as he stalked in my wake like a lion tracking its prey. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Genevieve—”
“Jenny,” I snapped, unable to help myself. I hated the sound of my old-fashioned name.
A smug purr entered the bastard’s tone as he continued without missing a beat, “—Jenny was trying to get rid of us.”
“I believe that’s what I just articulated,” Merlin sighed. “He’s not the smartest ghost in the attic. Is he, Lance?”
The final ghost said nothing at all.
The vampire didn’t talk as much as the others which wasn’t necessarily better. When he did speak, however, his voice was decadent. Velvet chocolate, all rich and sinewy smooth. Mesmerizing, in fact. It filled the playground of my mind with dangerous possibilities.
Lance wasn’t the kind of guy you wanted to meet in an alley. Something about his brooding presence screamed killing machine. I didn’t dare imagine what the guy looked like in the flesh.
When I’d first stumbled upon the ad for this place, I’d thought it was a prank. Hello, who wouldn’t want to live in an apartment above a run down bookshop-slash-apocathary? Oh, the landlady was definitely off her rockers, but the rent was fixed for five years.
Who was I to say, boo?
I’d moved into this dream pad before the ink had even dried on the rental agreement.
But then, on my fortieth birthday and by the light of the last full moon, I’d received a nasty shock. I’d started seeing shadowy holograms in my place of work—the cemetery—and creepy whispering had crowded in on me wherever I went.
It was the worst birthday prank ever, except no one was popping up to laugh and point. Of course, I’d freaked out, scared the bejesus out of the kiddos on their ghost tour, then promptly gotten myself fired. I mean, I’d led those tours since I’d flopped out of my acting career a decade ago, and I’d never, ever seen anything even remotely paranormal.
Thankfully, since that first night, I’d been apparition-less.
I hadn’t, however, been able to shake these schmucks. Oh, the general hubbub had died down, but now I was stuck with three incredibly annoying disembodied voices that had followed me home from the cemetery like lost puppies who wanted to ravish me.
Erm, destroy me.
Oh, stuff it.
The point was, I had a plan. Tonight was the night. I was going to banish these morons back to their final resting place and then I would finally be able to get a decent night’s sleep.
For those experiencing unwanted interference from the ethereal plane, the Book of the Dead had informed me that establishing careful communication practices was the first step. To prepare myself to make contact beyond the veil, first I had to cleanse my aura.
Pretty rude of some dusty old tome to point out that I needed a scrub in the midst of a midlife crisis, but what could you do?
Before I got in that bathtub, however, I whipped back to wave the unlit smudge stick wildly round the room as if it was a pointy rapier.
“I’m not crazy, I’m just not. But if you f*ckers watch me take this bath, I’ll turn your asses inside out then gut you all like pigs. Now shut it so mamma can get some quiet time.”
Silence.
I smirked, thinking I’d gotten the upper hand.
Then the ghosts went and ruined it.
Arthur let out what could only be described as a very hungry growl.
Merlin sighed and turned a page.
And Lance, lurking in the corner nearest my bed, chuckled. “She’s inventive with her threats, I’ll give her that.”
Conventional wisdom says that when you start hearing voices, you might want to check yourself into a loony bin. I didn’t feel crazy, though. Just supremely fed up of playing host to three unwanted house guests.
I got into the tub still wearing my singlet top and boxers—because hello, not quite alone in here—and let out a hiss of relief as the warm water soothed my aching muscles. At least there were some perks to preparing for a ritual. The bath was filled to the brim with piping hot water and I’d tipped in the whole packet of Dead Sea salt along with a healthy dollop of thyme oil.
This seance stuff was a piece of cake.
Once the knots in my shoulders started to unwind, I lit the four corner candles and the sage stick. The cloying smoke wasted no time in filling up the tiny bathroom, making my eyes stream and my throat burn.
That sh*t was rank.
“What the ever loving f*ck?!”
Coughing and spluttering, I tumbled so fast out of that claw-foot bathtub I nearly slipped on the wet floor and decked myself. Thrusting my head out of a window, I sucked in great lungfuls of clean air, then cracked every window and door I could find in the apartment.
Shooting a death glare at the mystery book—sitting oh-so-innocently where I’d left it on the kitchen table—I stalked back over to peer again at the scrawled handwriting describing the ritual.
Well, crap on a stick, I’d gotten the order wrong. I’d never been any good at following instructions. My attempts at baking usually ended in disaster, too.
I was supposed to have cracked the back door or a window, allowing the negative energy to escape, then swished the smudge stick about; bathed; rubbed the oil on my pressure points; and lastly, lit the corners.
Oh, and I was meant to have saved some of that salt for a circle on the floor.
Whatever.
It’s not like this wasn’t all koo-koo-ca-choo anyway.
“F*ck it. Let’s get this party started. Where did I put that Ouija Board?”
“Why does she need an Ouija Board?” Lance murmured, thoroughly enjoying himself by this point. My nipples were probably shooting pew-pews at the room at large through my singlet top but I no longer cared, I just wanted my life to go back to normal. Or, as normal as it had ever been. “Jenny can hear us just fine no matter how hard she pretends otherwise.”
“Your guess is as good as mine,” drawled Merlin.
I got out the box I’d found in a dusty trunk the day before and dumped the contents onto the table.
Arthur chose that moment to speak up, right in my ear. “Darlin’, if you wanted to put on a show,” he purred, his ghost hand landing big and heavy on my hip as he moved in closer still. I bit back a cry of shock, and—yes—perhaps a quiet moan of delight at the unexpected contact. “You could’ve offered us all a drink first.”
I elbowed the apparition in the vicinity of what I hoped would be his kidney’s and felt briefly victorious when I heard a faint grunt.
“She’s definitely gaining in strength,” observed Lance. “Tonight might be interesting. Come on, Merlin. Don’t waste your undead life buried in that book.”
“I’m trying to do my job and research.”
“Speaking of jobs. If you guys are gonna hang around like a bad smell,” I grumbled, forgetting I’d promised not to respond to their crazy. “The least you could do is help pay for the rent.”
I felt—rather than saw—the three specters gather close as I sat at the table and rested my fingertips lightly on the centerpiece of the Ouija board.
Taking a deep breath, I spoke the ritual words. “Oh Great Spirits, young and old, you are welcome.” I briefly checked the wording. Yup, that was it. Or there abouts. “You are well come in my abode.”
“Who is she welcoming?” Arthur snarled, managing to sound more than a tad possessive. “We’ve been tied to this plane, bored as f*ck and waiting to do her bidding since the last full moon. All she has to do is ask.”
I ignored the little thrill which ran down my spine at the thought of my three house guests being stuck on this plane waiting to do my bidding. That sounded dirty.
Focus, Genevieve, I admonished. It’s time to get some answers.
Something stirred in the ether.
A presence zeroed in on my location, latching onto my open-ended greeting, and the faint smell of rotten eggs tickled my nostrils as it began to coalesce above the kitchen table.
Wait… Is this actually working? I breathed, my pulse kicking up a notch. Am I making contact with something beyond the veil?!
I cleared my throat and did my best to keep my voice calm. “Why, O Great Spirit, are you stuck on this plane, haunting this place? What is your unfinished business?”
Lance chuckled as Merlin scoffed, “See? This is why I was researching. It’s like paint-by-numbers around here.”
“We’re not haunting anyone,” Arthur huffed. “You called us, remember?”
The new presence throbbed, expectantly, not yet making contact but gathering strength as it listened to my words.
I ignored the lookey-loos and tried again, keeping my tone direct but not too forceful. Didn’t want to piss off the ancestors. “I ask once more, O Great Spirit, why are you walking upon this plane?”
All of a sudden, an ethereal chord whipped out and connected to the eye sitting at the center Ouija board. The one my fingers were lightly grazing. An electrifying zing of connection tickled at the pads of my fingers. Like an inquisitive tongue.
I bit back a shudder of revulsion at the unexpected sensation.
Next the presence began to tug, gently at first, then faster and faster, as though excited to have been given the chance to impact the corporeal world. The creepy little pointer thingee flew toward different letters on the board.
“Holy f*ck. It is working,” I crowed. “Look, guys!”
My breath sawed in and out of my chest as I struggled to keep up with the message being spelled out. Not gonna lie, I was thoroughly freaked out by this point. No way was I letting on to the peanut gallery how scared I was, though.
“Jenny,” growled Arthur, his voice a dark rumble of warning. “You have to stop.”
“W—why?”
The broiling energy dancing in the object connected to my fingertips felt so different to the spirits who’d attached themselves to my sides like unwanted clams back at the cemetery. Although I was fairly sure any one of my supernatural cling-ons could knife a b*tch, the trio seemed oddly protective of me. This new presence, however, was dark and slimy and—if I were being entirely honest—made my skin crawl.
Goosebumps rose on my flesh.
My mouth became dry as hell.
“B-E-C-A-U-S-E W-I-T-C-H” —I read out the message as the little pointer flew around the board with deadly precision— “Y-O-U C-A-L-L-E-D A-N-D I A-N-S-W-E-R-E-D.”
At my side, Lance snarled.
Arthur growled, sounding not at all like himself but more like the wildness he barely contained within, and that beast was suddenly primed for war.
I jerked away from the table in shock.
Or, at least, I tried to.
As if preempting the move, an invisible shackle—like a sentient vine or an alien sucker—clapped around my wrist, forcing me to stay put.
Pain struck next, racing up my nerve endings as I cried out at the contact. Whatever was holding me in place hurt like a b*tch.
Worse still was the fact that it seemed to be drawing strength from its contact with my flesh. Icy shards were working their way under my skin and my limbs were going numb with fear. The newcomer was feeding off my panic, growing ever more ravenous with each spike of my adrenaline.
An image of an endless gaping maw, splintered across time and space, filled with razor sharp teeth and gallons of saliva flashed across my mind.
“Stop mucking about, Jenny,” Merlin snapped, his voice cutting through the haze behind my eyes like a ruler hitting the desk. “Break the connection. Now.”
“The—what?”
Even to my own ears, my voice sounded pretty far away. Muted and muffled as though I was floating at the bottom of the ocean in a dream state. My head felt heavy on my shoulders, too.
“Break the connection,” Merlin barked, managing to sound exasperated and terrified at the same time.
Once more, I tried to tug my hand away from the enchanted object, but the thing burned red hot in reprimand. It sizzled hungrily at my flesh even as I did my best to sever the connection. A sob leaked from my lips as blind terror rose, banishing the strange lethargy of moments before.
Grabbing at my own wrist, I tried to tear it free, hardly caring if layers of my skin were left behind. I just wanted to be free.
“I—I can’t.”
A dark and sinister force was building in the room, now, bringing with it the stench of rotting flesh and the eternal screech of the damned.
“You have to, Genevieve,” Merlin replied, his voice radiating a deadly calm that only intensified my own alarm. “You’re the only one who can.”
“Break it, Jenny,” Arthur snarled. “Right the f*ck now.”
“I just told you, I can’t!”
“Then try harder.” The more terrified Merlin became the more lifeless his voice. I didn’t like hearing him so devoid of his usual scorn because it meant sh*t was going from bad to worse. “Look at your hand, Jenny. It’s killing you.”
The finality in his words chilled me to the bone.
I tried again but it was no good. It wouldn’t budge. My hand was no longer burning, it was back to being frozen from the inside out. Liquid nitrogen was being pumped straight into my bloodstream. The veins in my arms were bulging and solidifying under my skin, and sweat was trickling down my spine.
That heavy sensation was creeping up, up, up toward my main organs.
When it reached my heart I was done for.
“We must help her,” Lance said, his tone heavy with unspoken meaning.
“And how do you propose we do that, Lancelot?” Arthur snarled. “The nerd just said it’s up to our mate to break the connection.”
Despite the dripping sarcasm, panic laced the shifter’s words. I could imagine claws and teeth and fur sprouting all over his ghostly form like the animal side of him was desperate to rip the world to shreds on my behalf.
“She won’t survive that,” retorted Merlin. “Look at the mess she just got herself into.”
“Which is precisely why we must try,” Lance replied. “Our charge doesn’t yet know her own strength. We must make her see what she is capable of.”
Their bickering flowed over me like spicy honey. I vaguely understood that they were discussing some important part of my future, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my atrophying hand. It was blistering and becoming a black and blue claw as I stared at the appendage in horror.
Though I couldn’t see him, I felt Lance’s hands slide up to cup my face. He turned my eyes away from the ghastly sight. “I’m sorry we couldn’t have met on better terms, Jenny, but you must take what we are willing to give you and put it to good use. Do you understand me?”
“Of course I f*cking don’t,” I spat through clenched teeth. Tears were sliding down my cheeks and I felt the ghost I couldn’t see brush them away. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“I know you don’t,” he sighed. “Not yet. But you will. Let’s just get through your initiation, shall we?”
Then Lance kissed me.
It wasn’t just some chaste peck on the lips, either. Oh, no. The vampire kissed the hell out of me.
His lips and tongue were utterly captivating as they moved against my own, willing me to respond. As soon as the initial shock wore off, my whole body arched into the moment, instinctively seeking out the razor sharp edge of his fangs like a homing beacon.
Lance shuddered at the contact, a hungry rumble filling his chest, but he kept his monster on a tight leash. I groaned at that sound, not knowing what it would take to tip the vampire over the edge but suddenly determined to find out. Instead, he tightened his hold, forcing me to stay put as he deepened the kiss.
The vampire’s touch was surprisingly cool and gentle, at first. Delicious, even. Promising a dance under moonlight that would never end. After that brief introduction, however, the kiss swelled to become something more.
More invasive. More enlivening. More all-encompassing.
Just more.
Pressing through my mouth, Lance invaded my senses. He lulled them into a false sense of security before taking a firmer grip of my skin and slid straight into my skull.
I screamed as he entered me, no idea what was going on.
At the same moment, I felt something stir deep inside. A well of magic, perhaps, that seemed to be rousing after a life-long slumber. Recognition and excitement flooded my senses as that groggy power began to throw off its constraints, responding to the urgent summons of the vampire.
“Like hell I’m letting that bloodsucker possess our mate on his own,” growled Arthur.
He pressed himself against my back, enveloping me in his huge arms and nuzzling into my neck. Arthur’s eternal hunger bowled me over even as I threw my head up to the ceiling to brace myself against his massive shoulder.
Half out of my wits, I was still trying to adjust to the sensation of being filled with Lance’s sinister-sweet essence.
I groaned as Arthur licked and nibbled along my neck. The lewd noise must have spurred the predator on because he snarled in reply, mouth tearing itself briefly away from my sensitive skin. I cried out at the unexpected absence but he only gripped my hips in his clawed hands and lunged at my jugular.
Mercilessly, his wicked teeth tore into the soft flesh at the base of my shoulder and neck. Terror and ecstasy rolled through me as the shifter stated his claim.
Mate. The ghost had called me his mate, I gasped as my mind scrambled to understand the multi-layered meanings hanging thick in the air. Didn’t I get a say in the matter?
Apparently not. At least, not in this exact moment where life and death were held in the balance. Later, I’d be sure to give his presumptuous ass a thorough kicking.
With a muffled roar, Arthur pressed forward, melting into my skin.
I shuddered and convulsed in the chair as not one, but two powerful ghosts—supernatural in death and thus decidedly a whole lot of extra in the afterlife—were now crowded inside a body built only for one human soul.
Oh sh*t, I was full.
So f*cking full.
Of life and power and death.
Gods, there was just too much death.
It was the polar opposite of the purifying smoke from earlier. An overwhelming stench was choking the room, rising up to smother me whole.
Death wasn’t coming from the pure balls of light and dark which had invaded my soul, though. Those happy-go-lucky spheres were zipping around inside my skin like a pair of highly-strung labradors, ricocheting off the edges of my being, and urging me into action. No, death was coming from the sickly presence of the other who, even now, was feasting on my life-force through its unnatural connection.
Slurping greedily as if it had a straw stuck straight into my soul.
The discovery made the well of my newfound power furious.
My magic surged, ready to destroy the usurper who dared take advantage of my vulnerable state. The cosmos were already swirling behind my eyes as power leaked out of every pore. I knew instinctively that the two ghosts were offering a magnificent sacrifice to join with me as best they could, but I wasn’t trained for this. In fact, I was fairly sure I was about to explode.
The new beings weren’t sitting right inside my skin. Their essence was too much to be contained and yet there was also this throbbing, painful absence I couldn’t explain.
“M—Merlin. Hurts. ’S not right. Too—too much. Not enough.”
Merlin sighed, coming close to my side. “No. It’s not right. And yet, things in our world so rarely are. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Genevieve.”
“J—Jenny,” I growled.
He chuckled at my weak insistence.
I groaned as my eyes rolled back in my head and the next convulsion hit, bowling me over and destroying my grasp on reality. His ghostly arms came up to support me as my entire being was rocked with another seizure. This one had me biting down on my tongue so that blood poured into my mouth and flooded down my throat.
Great, just f*cking great. I’m going to drown in my own stupidity.
“Nggh.”
I tried to push it all away. To tell him—them—to stop. To force the dark presence sucking me dry to let go. Hopelessness rose in me like a tidal wave, however, stealing my will to survive. I felt like an ant caught under a microscope burning up in the hot summer sun.
Powerless and desperate to die.
Merlin was right. Any moment now, death would crash over my head and wipe all these worldly concerns away. Until then, there was nothing to do but endure this blinding pain.
Then, like a cool glass of water, Merlin’s essence slipped inside me. No fanfare, no declaration of eternal passion. His invasion was calculated and determined to enact the most good.
Once inside my skin, he wasted no time finding the other balls of zipping lights and joined with them. The three spirits coalesced into something new, encircling my soul like a living plate of amour. Their life force danced and thrummed against my being, offering it comfort and fortitude.
Urging me to pick up the mantel and wage war against this evil.
I felt stronger now. Invincible. Like a star burning brighter than any supernova. The well of power nestled deep within me launched itself for the surface with a terrible roar of vengeance.
The unwelcome spirit—a mere usurper who’d answered my childish summons—screeched in terror. A single word screamed out into the night with the voice of a thousand dying things.
“Necromancer.”
My power, giddy with liberation, laughed like a loon.
Recognizing the term.
Owning it and all its terrible ramifications.
It rushed to the forefront of my mind, obliterating my hold on humanity.
Ferocious and single minded in its purpose, it punched out a silvery hand from my chest and grabbed hold of the sickly presence still tied to the Ouija board and cowering in the center of the room. It yowled in pain at the contact, spitting and screeching and fighting to be free.
Drawing it close, my magic inspected the despicable thing as though it was nothing but a slimy leech sucking on the teet of creation.
Filled with disgust, I flung it from the room.
The other wailed in terror as it was expelled out into the night.
Foe vanquished, the power in my middle flickered and dimmed. I cried out in relief as I slumped over the table. Energy completely spent.
In a half-daze, I tracked the passage of the moon as it dipped beneath the horizon and the sun emerged to claim a new day. With the loss of shadows, my powers receded even further, curled up deep inside in a smug ball of slumber.
Slowly, far too slowly, the scattered bits of my consciousness started to come back and settle themselves into a new whole. The pieces of the puzzle no longer quite fit into a familiar form, they became something more instead.
Necromancer.
The word shimmered and danced along the edges of my exhausted mind like a genie which refused to go back in the bottle.
What the hell is a necromancer?
No answer, of course, because my lips were still too heavy to move and there was no-one left in here to answer, even if I had spoken the words out loud. Wouldn’t it be nice if last night was all just some whacked out hallucinogenic dream? Perhaps I’d merely poisoned myself with all that sage smoke and gooble-dee-gook nonsense?
That would teach me for playing at witchcraft in the midst of a midlife crisis.
Yeah right, I snorted, trying to peel my head off the wooden grain of the table which had imprinted itself permanently into my cheek. As if I would get that lucky.
With difficulty, I cracked open my eyelids which had been glued together with tears and snot.
First, I checked my hand. No undead claw, thank the gods. Just some ash embedded into the crevasses of my broken fingernails. Nothing a good nailbrush and some soap couldn’t fix. There were, however, some swirling tattoos. I decided to ignore those for now. The absence of petrified flesh was reassurance enough.
Peering suspiciously around the attic, I was quietly terrified of what further evidence of supernatural events my splintering mind might have conjured up. Nothing. Aside from a nasty storm which must have blown through overnight due to every window and door in the place being left ajar when I’d collapsed like an idiot, everything looked normal.
No ghosts—nor whatever the f*ck had answered my nightmare summons—were here.
I was alone.
Utterly, alone.
So, why didn’t that feel like a victory?
Then, I saw it. Sitting pretty on the table beside the Book of the Dead was a neat little pile of coins. Gold coins, to be exact. I groaned and reached out to snatch the note lying on top of the glinting pile of wealth.
For the rent.
Short and to the point, yet the first line made my heart swell. The handwriting was bold and dark and antsy. Each letter individually formed with painstaking care. It looked as though it had been penned by someone who had a hard time holding something as insignificant as a pencil in their large and powerful fingers.
Apologies for the currency, the second line continued. It’s a little hard for us to gather digital coin.
Ah, that was from the scholar. The cursive handwriting had a scathing lilt to it I recognized well.
See you soon, beautiful necromancer.
A threat or a scintillating promise from the deadly vampire? I couldn’t tell. But his message was written in a beautiful calligraphic script that made me want to frame the looping forms and hang it on my wall.
At the bottom of the note each of the absent ghosts—my ghoulish guardians—had written the modern equivalent of a kiss and a hug in their own hand.
xoxoxo
Not gonna lie, I went a little gooey at the sight of this small act of kindness. Whether I was going crazy or not, I had three undead suitors of the underworld looking out for me. That had to count for something.
The rest I would have to figure out in my own time.
One thing I knew for damned sure, though. No more futzing about with rituals and seances for this baby necromancer. At least, not until I worked out exactly what my newfound powers could do, and how to channel them responsibly.
After all, even wheeler-and-dealers in death and destruction needed to let off a bit of steam every now and then, right?
I felt, rather than heard, a soft rumble of agreement from one of my guardians sleeping off the night’s activities from somewhere in the vicinity of my bed, and smiled.
A nice long nap sounded like a great idea.
[“GETTIN’ OUIJA WID IT” was written by Miri Stone © 2024. All rights reserved.]
Hope you enjoyed devouring this month’s WILD SHORT READ. Now I’m diving back into the writing cave because I’ve got some swoon and heartbreak coming up within the KNIGHTS OF DESTRUCTION which I can’t wait to share with you all.
Happy reading, friends and fellow book devourers.
With love,
M.S. xox
GETTIN’ OUIJA WID IT was fantastic! I love the Camelot reference. Such a fun idea.
Demon at the Crossroads is so freaking good! That cover is *chef’s kiss* perfection! Kat never disappoints! ♥️