“Give up?”

  He sat back on his haunches and started cleaning his paws. “Yes, give up. Go with the vampire, flee the city, and turn into one of the undead. It will be repulsive, but less agonizing for you in the end. Otherwise, you will undoubtedly be put to death by the coven. Regardless, you would be dead either way, so you may as well choose the path that allows you to continue on, in some form of life.”

  A fierce itching began at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to cry. The truth of the matter was that the second I’d turned Darla back into a flesh-and-blood person, I’d consigned myself to death. I could attempt to flee, but Mother would be able to track me wherever I went. And then it would only be a matter of time before I was captured and executed. Hellcat’s advice actually sounded well-meaning, which made the desire to cry all the stronger.

  The little knave hadn’t said a kind word to me since we were joined together all those years ago. If he was displaying anything approximating compassion now, that meant I was truly in dire straits. It wasn’t advice; it was a lousy eulogy. My vision hazed, even as I blinked furiously to dispel the tears.

  Libby and Darla just stood there, doing and saying nothing. But, then Libby stepped forward and bending over, she seized Hellcat by the scruff of his neck and hoisted him up, keeping him at arm’s length so he couldn’t swipe at her face.

  He let loose an indignant yowl, but Libby fixed him with a reproving stare that, in life, had probably made her children scurry to their rooms.

  And maybe even her husband.

  Libby was still dressed in the emerald swing dress of the night before, though it appeared creased by sleep. Her perfect ringlet curls were flattened in the back, and the red lipstick she’d applied was smudged at the edges of her mouth. But at the moment, I couldn’t think of a woman who looked more beautiful than my dutiful zombie housewife.

  “Unhand me, you reeking revenant!” Hellcat hissed.

  “Bad kitty,” Libby said quietly. “You shouldn’t say nasty things to your mistress. No one will kill her. No one will even come near her because they’ll have to get through me first. And she can always make more… just like me.”

  She had a point. If I were willing to try, I could probably raise the dead in every city I passed, hurling them into the streets behind me like a perpetual undead roadblock.

  But doing so was wrong, and I couldn’t run forever. Besides, I didn’t even want to run. I wasn’t a coward. I was Wanda Depraysie, and Wanda Depraysie didn’t hide.

  All I needed was a little time and ingenuity, and I could figure a way out of this latest hiccup. If I could convince Hellcat to keep his trap shut, I could just sell Darla as yet another zombie I’d brought back from the dead. No one needed to know she’d been a ghost. Animating zombies would raise eyebrows, certainly, but it wouldn’t guarantee a death sentence. Betanya had raised four, and no one had come after her.

  Yes. That’s exactly what I’d do. I’d lie. I could sell damn near anything, and this bit of fiction would be a piece of cake.

  Hellcat tried to twist around to claw and bite at Libby’s arm, but she swung him nimbly away. He let out another frustrated yowl.

  “That isn’t very nice,” Libby tutted. “I think the bad kitty needs a time out.”

  I sat up and took a deep breath as I looked around. The room appeared even worse in the sunlight, with pastel shades and floral patterns beaming at me from every side. Darla stood with one hand cocked on her hip, and I did my best to ignore her for the moment. I could deal with that particular disaster after I dealt with Hellcat. I forced a smile, pushing as much of it into my eyes as I could, and turned to face my zombie.

  “You know what, Libby? That sounds like a great idea. The bad kitty does need a time out. Why don’t you see if Poppy has a dog or a cat carrier we can borrow for the day?”

  Libby’s blue-gray eyes lit up at the compliment, and she beamed like she’d just been crowned Homecoming Queen.

  “You would not dare!” Hellcat seethed. “I will take such vengeance on your shoes…”

  But his threat petered into muttered obscenities when Libby strode briskly from the room, calling for Poppy in a sing-song voice.

  “If all that to-do is over, can we go into town and shop, dollface? I need me some new rags but unfortunately for you, I’m on the nut.” That meant she didn’t have any money. “Not to mention, I’d love to get me some gaspers.”

  “You haven’t smoked in over one hundred years, Darla, so I’m not about to let you start now,” I responded.

  “Ugh, out from one Mrs. Grundy and on to another,” she grumbled. “Anyhoo, Poppy says now that I’m alive again, I need to start dressing for this century. And her wardrobe ain’t gona fit, not to mention it also ain’t swanky enough for the likes o’ me.”

  My eyes roved to the erstwhile ghost and I found her leaning against the bedpost, one arm still akimbo, staring at me expectantly.

  “And why is that my problem?” I asked. Really, this was the last thing I wanted to deal with.

  Darla shrugged. “I reckon since you made me real, I’m all your problem.”

  I guessed she had a point.

  Darla looked different from the moment I’d turned her ‘real’ as she called it. For one thing, she’d tugged off the falsies she’d died in and scrubbed away the dramatic makeup. She’d also done away with her feathered headband, letting her inky bob swing free to frame the soft curve of her jaw. She’d also divested herself of her pearls and glittering rings. She was still a stunning twenty-something, though she looked a little paler and more haggard than she might otherwise have been. Ghosts didn’t need to sleep, obviously, but it appeared the newly mortal Darla did. It was clear at a glance that she wasn’t a zombie, but that didn’t mean she was human either.

  And now that she’d pointed out the issue with her clothing, I could immediately see the problem. Poppy was average height, fairly chesty, and thought a department store clearance sale was the height of fashion. Darla, on the other hand, was at least five-eight, slender, leggy and didn’t have a curve on her.

  I breathed in deeply and shook my head as I realized Darla was most definitely my problem now. “Let me finish Louisa’s pieces and then we can head to my store.”

  ***

  Darla stepped on my heel for the third time in as many minutes, and one foot came halfway out of my Louis Vuitton leather pump. My ankle threatened to slip out from under me, and I fumbled with the armful of packages I was carrying. They would have gone toppling into the snow if a pair of pale hands hadn’t shot out to steady the precarious pile.

  “Oops. Sorry about that, dollface. I didn’t mean to do it again, honest.”

  I shoved my foot back into the heel and pivoted to face her. Darla snatched the top two packages before they could fall. She held them close to her chest, shrinking away from the heat of my glare, as though she could protect herself with the bundles of clothing alone.

  “Then why do you keep walking inches behind me?” I asked through clenched teeth. If my jaw grew any tighter, something was going to snap. “And don’t drop Louisa’s packages! The last thing I need is to have to wrap them again!” If I wasn’t any good at brewing potions, I was even worse at wrapping things.

  “Well...” Darla hedged, dropping her gaze to the brown paper wrapping.

  “Well, what?”

  Darla tugged her lip between her teeth, making a show of it. She didn’t lack talent, I could give her that much. I didn’t imagine she’d have become a breakout star with that nasal whine, but she might have been a minor footnote in the annals of Hollywood history, if she’d lived, that is.

  “I been feelin’... funny,” Darla admitted, shuffling in place, even as she continued to fondle the paper packages.

  “I should say so,” I sniffed. “It isn’t every day a spirit becomes fully human. In fact, I’d wager it’s never happened before—at least, I’ve never heard of it happening before.”

  She nodded. “Neither have I.”

  “Right, so there are bound to be side effects.”

  That succeeded in drawing Darla’s gaze back to my face. Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and I took an instinctive step back before she could fling herself into my arms. So many women in this Hollow were absurdly emotional, and I definitely wasn’t in the mood to deal with more now. I’d already lost most of my clothing and other belongings to the mold in the duplex, and I wasn’t about to lose more to Darla’s histrionics.

  Yes, I’d done a drive by to the duplex and I’d found the mold had completely overtaken the entire building, including everything inside it—well, as far as I could tell, anyway. It wasn’t like I’d wanted to go inside to find out.

  “Side effects? Is that what you call them?” Darla asked. I nodded. Then she nodded and continued. “I just feel… achy, my conk hurts (that meant her head), and I feel like something is wigglin’ in my insides. What if I’m gonna go poof all over again? I can’t go back to being a ghost, dollface, I just can’t!”

  “And this requires you to step on my ankles, why?”

  She squirmed. “I feel better when I’m… close to you. I dunno—maybe it’s somethin’ about your magic, but I ain’t no head doctor. Libby says she feels better when she’s real close to you, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

  I bit back a groan. My two abominations were conferring on how best to tail me. Just perfect. Between the pair of them, I’d never have a moment’s peace. Maybe I should throw myself at Lorcan and beg him to kill me now.

  “Well, I’m sure you don’t have to stand so close to me?” I asked through gritted teeth.

  Darla’s shoulders hunched forward at the reprimand and she shuffled a few feet back. “Right. Sorry, dollface. Like I said, it was an accident.”

  “And stop calling me Miss dollface! My name’s Wanda!”

  I turned back to the road, ignoring the twist of guilt just under my ribs. She and Libby had to learn to cut the apron strings—they needed to learn how to survive on their own. Sure, I’d raised them from the grave, but that didn’t make me their mother.

  Chapter Eleven

  Louisa Rutledge lived on Winsley Lane, a narrow little street that bordered the old growth forest running around Haven Hollow. I imagined the densely wooded area was the only reason her children hadn’t dragged the tiny, one-story farmhouse down around her ears. The little hellions could run free in their wolf forms, and probably limped into the house, exhausted, by suppertime.

  The drive time from my shop on Main Street to this little corner of suburbia was negligible. I could have piled into the car and been done with this errand ten minutes ago. Instead, I’d opted to walk, yes even laden down with Louisa’s packages. It was just that the day was unusually mild for this time of year and since turning into a Blood Witch, I’d found twilight most invigorating. Lorcan had also promised me a tour of the new house (and I was beyond eager to get out of Poppy’s), which happened to be a few doors down from Louisa’s farmhouse.

  Voila, kismet.

  I figured a brisk jaunt across town was exactly what I needed to gather my thoughts... but I hadn’t accounted for my tagalong. And I could barely think with Darla around. It wasn’t that she was incessantly chatty (though she was.) It was more the reminder of how badly I’d managed to bungle things this time. There was no way I could keep Hellcat under guard forever. Sooner or later, he’d escape and tell Mother what had happened. I needed to discuss this whole situation with Lorcan sooner rather than later. I could only hope he’d have some kind of answer for me. And, more importantly, we had to try to remove the curse again. And if that failed, we’d need to make alternate arrangements because there was no way I was going to let my former coven sign my death warrant. Lorcan was wealthy enough to pick up and move any time he pleased. It would take no effort at all for the two of us to settle elsewhere…

  The two of us? What was I thinking?

  And what about Libby and Darla? Did I have a duty to them? Would they waste away without constant exposure to their summoner? Bringing the pair along would make things difficult, not to mention how it would look to the neighbors. One man with three attractive women? We’d get a reputation as the local harem. Not that I really cared what anyone else thought...

  “Ah, look!” Darla enthused, breaking me from my doleful reverie. “That’s 305 Winsley Lane. That’s the house we’ll be staying in since you destroyed yours!”

  I objected strenuously to the ‘we’ bit, but still followed the line of her finger. A three-story colonial house was situated on at least an acre of well-tended lawn. The pale brick seemed to glow in the light of the setting sun, and there were sets of tire tracks leading up the winding drive. And, from what I could tell by the outlines of furniture through the windows, Lorcan had kept his promise about furnishing the place. At least he was reliable.

  “Yes, yes, that’s great. Let’s get a move on. It’ll be dark soon,” I muttered, picking up my pace as the wind whipped into a furious gale.

  There was more snow in the forecast, a cold front to undercut the mild spate of days we’d had. I could only hope I wasn’t the one who’d summoned it. With my powers going haywire, there was no way to be certain I wouldn’t slip into other, more typical Blood Witch behaviors.

  I’d gone several feet before I realized Darla was moving in the opposite direction, eyes unfocused, as if she were sleep-walking. Biting back a groan, I turned on my heel and marched after her. What a nuisance! Why was I always surrounded by irritating incompetents? What deity had I slighted in my past lives to have found myself here, with bunglers as my clingers-on? Maybe I needed to start volunteering somewhere to balance the cosmic scales.

  It took me a few minutes to reach Darla, by which time she’d reached the front of the house. She started down the walkway that led around the house, eyes glazed over, her attention fixed on something I couldn’t see. I caught her by the elbow and jerked her to a stop more gently than I might otherwise have done. If she dropped the packages, snow or mud would seep through the butcher’s paper and stain Louisa’s formal wear. I wasn’t going to flush hours of work down the drain because Darla was having some sort of episode.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” I hissed. “Louisa’s house is up the road.”

  Darla’s eyes finally focused on mine, though her face still held a semi-dreamlike expression.

  “I... I gotta go… that way… around the house. There’s a fella in the back yard, and… I think he’s already sleepin’ the big sleep, ya follow?”

  “Um.” I thought she was trying to tell me he was dead, but you could never be too sure with Darla.

  “That stiff… he needs me. It’s… it’s real urgent.”

  My heart thudded painfully against my ribs as I considered the house. The darkened double-hung windows glowered down at us, suddenly sinister in light of that ominous pronouncement.

  “Who is in the backyard and how do you know he needs you?”

  “I dunno,” Darla continued, brow creasing into deep, thoughtful lines. “He’s just... waitin’ but if I know my onions, then that cat needs help.”

  Darla tugged her elbow free of my grasp and opened the small gate that led to the backyard. I had no choice but to follow her, irritated though I was. Darla walked through the gate, her hair whipping out behind her in short, inky streamers. She was still clutching my packages beneath one arm.

  She paused at the mouth of the sprawling backyard, tilting her head to the side as though she heard someone calling her name from a long way off. Then she started forward again, a pinched look of concentration on her face. I tried hissing her name once more, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Seconds later, she ran down the slight hill and disappeared from sight.

  I was pretty sure following her was asking for trouble, but I couldn’t, in good conscience, allow her to stumble on that trouble all alone. I mean, she’d just gotten her life back.

  “Darla!” I hissed again.

  I found her at the bottom of the hill, her back to me and her hands resting on the chain-link fence just in front of her. She’d set Louisa’s packages beside her and I could only hope the ground wasn’t wet.

  “What in the world has gotten into you?” I demanded.

  She said nothing but pointed. Following the line of her finger, I saw a mound of dirt popping up out of an otherwise grassy area beneath the line of trees. The mound of dirt was rectangular and long enough to look… like an impromptu grave.

  “Balls,” I grumbled.

  “He’s in there. Can you hear him?”

  Now that she mentioned it, I could hear something. If I strained, I could make out a muffled moaning sort of sound, but I couldn’t hear what it was saying. It almost sounded like the wind, but it was most definitely a human voice. It would grow quiet for a few seconds before it started moaning again. Every few seconds the cycle would repeat, with a disconcerting static of feedback between each reiteration.

  “What is that?” I wondered aloud.

  I hadn’t really expected an answer, but Darla provided one anyway. “He’s on a loop.”

  “A loop?” I echoed. “And how do you know that?”

  Darla paused, frowned, then shook her head. “I dunno how to explain it. I just know—it’s like the information is just in my noodle like I was some real wise head. I can hear his... essence? He’s a stiff, sure enough, but he’s hurtin’ and he can’t move.” She looked at me then and seemed to have her wits back. “It reminds me of hearin’ ghosts from the other side. I know when they’re stuck or active, like me… or like I used to be.” Her eyes went wide, and a slightly panicked look came into them. “You don’t think I’m gonna turn back into a ghosty, do you?”

  A small, selfish part of me hoped so. Then I could write this whole experience off as an (admittedly scary) fluke, not to be repeated again. But when I examined her, she seemed as solid as ever.

  “I don’t think so,” I sighed. “My guess? You’re now an ultra-concentrated medium.”

  “I ain’t followin’.”