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  Read on for the novella Web of Danger!

  WEB OF DANGER

  Takes place in July, six months before Solstice Web…

  “You have to be kidding me,” I said, horrified as I stared at myself in the mirror. “I look like an overstuffed cupcake. This dress is everything that could possibly go wrong in a wedding dress, all rolled into one.”

  I wasn’t joking. The wedding dress was a vision in ugliness, from the puffy sleeves to the high-neck collar, to the ruched midriff down to the mermaid tail that was so tight I could barely walk in it. Add that it was covered with thousands of sequins and I looked like an overstuffed cupcake, a disco cupcake at that. It was as though someone had taken my worst nightmares of a dress and decided to give it life.

  “What on earth could have possessed you to ask me to try this on?” I turned to Sally, the sales consultant, wondering if she’d temporarily lost her mind. I was trying to be polite, but seriously, if she thought that what I asked for was what I was wearing, I needed to find another dress store.

  But behind her, Ari snickered. My aunt Teran did a spit-take, almost spitting out her water.

  I caught her gaze. “Oh, I owe you big for this one, woman!” I turned to Ari. “You’re going down, lady!”

  She burst out laughing. “I couldn’t help it. I saw this and I knew I had to trick you into trying it on. Don’t take it out on Sally—it’s my fault. I convinced her to put you in it.”

  “You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t take it out of your hide, girl,” Aunt Teran said, snickering.

  Relieved that Sally hadn’t taken leave of her senses, I turned back to the consultant. “Okay, Ari had her fun. I’m so sorry I thought you were out of your mind.”

  “Frankly, I’m not sure why that nightmare’s still on the hangers. I think the designer is a friend of the owner’s,” Sally said conspiratorially.

  “Whatever the case, please get me out of this sardine can.”

  As the consultant—now laughing—unzipped me, I shrugged my way out of the dress. “I’m surprised I didn’t have a reaction to the material, and I’m not allergic to much. That itches worse than wool.” I took a deep breath. “All right, what’s next?”

  “You said you like vintage?” Sally asked.

  “I love vintage—retro fifties, swing and rockabilly, especially. If I could find a low-cut wedding dress in a swing style, I’d be in heaven.” I smoothed my hair back into a ponytail and found a hair tie in my purse.

  “I may have something, and I’m pretty sure it’s close to your size. I’ll be right back.” She ducked out of the fitting room.

  I sat down next to Ari and my aunt. I’d asked them to come, grateful that the two women most important to me had agreed to be my entourage. I’d almost asked my grandmother Rowan, but she wasn’t keen on shopping and putting her through an hours-long ordeal seemed cruel. I asked her for propriety’s sake, but also made sure she knew I was okay if she said no. And she kindly, firmly gave me a big fat nope. However, she did promise to help me with the flowers and decorating for the wedding.

  “I love to shop, but this is exhausting. I want a pretty wedding dress, but I’m so unconventional that I have no clue if I’ll find anything here.” I didn’t want to wear white, I didn’t want to wear lace or stiff satin or ruching.

  “Have you thought of searching the vintage stores in Bellingham? There are wedding dresses there,” Ari said.

  “I know, but most actual vintage doesn’t come in my size. I’m a 16, by modern standards. And what I find available in my size from that era is uglier than sin. Back in the day, the designers didn’t think anybody over a size 10 had a full life, a boyfriend, or even cared about their looks.”

  “They also didn’t foresee the bride marrying another bride,” Ari muttered. My best friend was gay and had gotten married to one of our childhood nemeses, proving that yes—people could change for the better. Meagan was a perfectly wonderful person now, and she treated Ari like a queen.

  “Well, when I walk down that aisle to Killian, I want to feel like I’m my most beautiful self. The dress matters. I know some people could happily get married in a gunny sack, but not me. What I see in the mirror sets my mood.” I glanced over at the door, waiting.

  I was marrying my wolf-shifter fiancé on the Winter Solstice. It would be near our two-year anniversary of being together. He’d never once said a negative word about my looks. In fact, he thought I was beautiful. And he supported me keeping my last name, and he had also maintained his equilibrium throughout all the harrowing cases I’d investigated in my job with Conjure Ink. In fact, he’d helped out on several of them with no complaint, including a search for Bigfoot and ghosts up the wazoo.

  Shifters and witchblood didn’t always mesh well, but Killian and I had crossed that divide comfortably, and the fact that his family accepted who I was meant the world to me. I loved being auntie to his two baby-girl nieces, and had even volunteered to babysit a few times without being asked. Which—for me—was huge.

  The door opened and Sally returned. She was carrying a plastic-covered dress, and at first glance, the dress caught my attention. The material looked to be silk—almost gauzy—and the color was periwinkle blue.

  I straightened, my interest piqued. “So far, so good.”

  “I thought you might like the color.” She hung it on the wall hook and unzipped the cover. As she brought the dress out for me to take a look, I gasped.

  The dress was made of chiffon, organza, and tulle. The neckline was low, a sweetheart style, and it had off-the-shoulder cap sleeves. The bodice was boned, and subtle leaf appliques made of lace covered it. The back of the bodice laced up like a corset with matching ribbon. The skirt swept out in draped pleats—layers of organza and tulle adorned with crystal beads, and lace appliques in the shapes of flowers circled the skirt, a shade lighter than the dress. The hem flared out into a cathedral train that stretched a good two feet behind the dress.

  I couldn’t look away. “If I don’t fit in that, I’m going to cry.”

  Ari gasped, too. “That’s incredible.

  “Come, let’s see if it fits. I think it should.” Sally bade me to stand.

  I slipped off my robe as she loosened the lacing on the back. She waited till I was ready, then brought the dress over my head. I held my arms up, letting her maneuver my arms into the sleeves. I was wearing a strapless bra—heavy-duty underwire to hold up my boobs—and I held my breath, whispering a prayer that the dress would fit.

  Sally gently tugged the dress down over my stomach, and I waited as she walked around to my back and began to tighten the laces. Finally, she tied them off and stood back.

  “Oh, I can’t imagine anybody wearing it better,” she said, her eyes shining.

  I turned toward the mirror and my heart felt like it stopped in my throat. The dress looked like it had been made for me, and with my pale skin, dark hair, and green eyes, I looked like some beautiful woodland faerie, fresh out of the forest wild.

  Turning around to face Ari and my aunt, I hoped they’d love it as much as I did. I waited, scanning their faces. To my relief, they both clapped.

  “It’s so you,” Aunt Teran said, tearing up. “You’re so beautiful.”

  “It’s perfect,” Ari said.

  I caught my breath. “You really think so? Because I love it. I absolutely love it. I have to have it!” I turned back to Sally. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but how much is it?”

  I’d set myself a budget of three thousand dollars, and even that made me wince. It seemed like a huge amount to spend on a dress I’d wear once in my life. Hell, my dress for my first marriage had been simple, cost my parents five hundred, and that had ended up in the burn barrel when I walked away from the tattered remains of the relationship.

  She smiled. “I think you’re going to be pleasantly surprised. This is vintage, you know—so it’s…pre-owned—”

  “Used,” I said, dryly. “Yes, I know.”

  “We’re asking eight hundred for it.”

  “Sold!” I said. I knew I could probably talk her down from there by a couple hundred, but given the dress was well under my budget, and given it was perfect, I saw no reason to be churlish about the price.

  “It doesn’t even need any alterations,” Sally said. “Do you want to wear it longer?”

  I lingered in the mirror, feeling like I was in some faerie tale. “No,” I finally said, sighing. “Let’s get this off and back safely under plastic, where I won’t accidentally destroy it.”

  As Sally helped me take it off, she showed both Teran and Ari how to lace it up right. There was a hidden zipper behind the modesty panel, which made fastening it much simpler. The only thing I’d have to watch would be to avoid gaining or losing more than a few pounds during the next five months. It was July now and the wedding was on the Winter Solstice.

  As I handed Sally my credit card, my thoughts turned to accessories, but those would keep for a while. I was relieved to have my dress, and I wanted to get it home and tucked into a closet where nothing would touch it until I was ready to walk down the aisle.

  “And it’s perfect—but you don’t get to see it until the wedding day,” I said, setting plates out for dinner. “I can’t believe that it fit with no alterations!” I paused, glancing at Killian. He had that polite look on his face that told me he was trying to listen but was too tired to manage my enthusiastic conversation. I knew the look all too well. Killian was a vet and he dealt with a variety of pet owners, but I also knew that some of them could be hell to deal with.

  “And…I think I’ve talked your ear off about the dress,” I added, setting the pot of chicken soup on the table. I added rolls and butter, and for dessert—a blackberry pie made with fresh berries.

  “No, no! I want to hear,” he said, shaking his head. But I knew better. I sauntered over to him and he turned his chair so that I could straddle his legs. “Tell me more about your dress. Really. I’ll listen.” He wrapped his arms around my waist.

  I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, all too aware of the proximity of his cock to my nether regions. And that made me hyperaware of every move he made. Even after nearly two years, Killian could still make me hungry for him in a way no one ever had. I felt safe around him, safer than I ever had with anybody, even my parents. There was something about shifter men that promised protection and safety.

  I leaned down and kissed him, my lips lingering on his. He tasted of cinnamon and apples, and his wolf rose every time we were together, leaving me feeling like we were on the edge of the wild, on the doorstep of danger. It was heady and exciting and it made me want him that much more.

  “Forget it. Too late. We’re done on that subject. How did work go today?” I returned to my chair and we began to eat dinner. As Killian started in about his day, I turned off thoughts about my dress, and brought my focus back to the present.

  After dinner, I sat down to watch my favorite cooking show when the figure of a woman dressed in a 1920s dress appeared in front of me. It was my great-aunt Esmara. The ladies of my family came back to watch over later generations of women. We called them “the Ladies” because they were like a gang of spirits, living the thug life, enjoying their afterlives together.

  “Hey, Esmara, what’s up?”

  Well, first, I’m wondering why you brought another spirit home with you. Especially one whom we don’t even know. She crossed her arms, looking both perplexed and annoyed. I have enough to deal with, without taking in every foundling ghost you run across.

  I clicked the remote, turning off the TV. “What are you talking about?”

  I’m talking about the woman up in your closet. She refuses to come out of it. She says you shoved her in there and she can’t come out unless you take the dress out. What on earth does she mean by that?

  Frowning, I stood. “I have no clue, but I’m headed up there now. Come on, you can introduce us.” Over the past months, the more I learned about my emerging powers of dealing with the dead, the more I was able to talk to spirits. But that didn’t mean I sought them out.

  I trotted upstairs, opening my bedroom door. I expected to feel something out of sorts, but everything felt normal. “Where did you say she is?”

  In your closet.

  I yanked open the door. Sure enough, there, standing next to my wedding dress, was a woman who was dressed in exactly the same dress. She didn’t look surprised to see me. I stood there for a moment, staring at her, wondering what the hell to say. Finally, I opted to treat her like I would any other stranger hiding in my closet. Only I’d be nicer.

  “Um, hello. Who are you?” Well, I was a lot nicer. If it had been a corporeal woman—or even somebody dead but obviously problematic—I would have lit into her like white on rice.

  She turned to look at me. You can see me?

  “Yeah, I can. I’m witchblood and I work with the dead. I’m assuming you’re dead, and not bilocating?” There was always the chance she was asleep and out of body, though the fact that she was wearing a copy of my dress kind of put a crimp on that idea. Usually, someone bilocating wore what they were wearing in-body.

  With an over-exaggerated sigh, the woman hung her head. Yes, I’m dead.

  I paused, waiting, but she didn’t say anything else. Her lack of response was starting to irritate me. “Usually, it’s considered polite to introduce yourself when you’re haunting someone’s house. Why don’t we give this another go? I’m January Jaxson. I own this house. And you are…?”

  A spark of annoyance flared in her look, but she gave me a shrug. My name’s Janet. Janet Kendrick. And for the record, I didn’t choose to haunt your house. I’m attached to this damned thing. She pointed to the dress. I can’t help it—it goes somewhere, I go somewhere.

  Comprehending what she had said, I groaned. “You mean I bought a haunted wedding dress? Just my luck. Cripes. All right, tell me your story. How do we get you unstuck from my new dress?”

  But that, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. She glared at me, then vanished. But I could still feel her around.

  “Come back here! We need to finish talking!” I looked around, frowning. “Okay, what the hell is going on, Esmara? Where did she go?”

  Esmara snorted. She’s still here. She cloaked herself. She’s marked with a proximity curse.

  “What’s that?” I had heard of a number of types of spells, but that term hadn’t crossed my path yet.

  She’s bound to an object—she can’t go far from its proximity. And in this case, that object is your wedding dress. How and why she’s bound to it, I don’t know. But I’m positive that’s why she showed up in your house.

  “I wonder that I didn’t notice her when I was on the way home. She had to be in the car with me, but I never even sensed her presence. I guess I was too excited.” I wondered if the consultant knew the gown was haunted. For such a beautiful vintage piece, it had been priced low. But that seemed ridiculous—nobody would try to pawn off a haunted wedding dress, would they?

  For what it’s worth, Esmara said, I don’t think she’s dangerous. Pissed off? Yes. Dangerous? I doubt it.

  “What’s she want, though? Who tied her to the dress? I don’t want to cope with yet another curse.” I felt like someone was playing an April fool’s prank on me. Except it wasn’t April.

  I was already dealing with a curse on the women in my family. Long ago, in Ireland, my great-great-grandma Ellen had been cursed by a neighbor—the grandfather of a vampire I knew. All the women in Ellen’s family line were cursed to die young. Granted, given we were witchblood our lives were easily longer than a normal human, but it still meant our time was cut short. My paternal grandmother and I knew the name and whereabouts of the witch that cast the curse, but we hadn’t had a chance to plan out how to force her to remove the hex.

  Esmara sighed. Remember, I died early because of Gretchen’s curse. The last thing I want is for you to be facing yet another hex. What about returning the gown? That would get the ghost out of your house.

  I sat on the bed, mulling over her suggestion. I could return it and find a different dress. But I loved this one. It was perfect for me. And now that I knew a ghost was bound to the gown, I felt a certain level of responsibility in helping free her of the curse. If I didn’t do it, who would?

  “No,” I said, with a sigh. “Not unless I find that I can’t help free her. But to help her, I need to talk to her!” I raised my voice, trying to catch Janet’s attention.

  Sure enough, a moment later, Janet appeared again. This time, I took a longer look at her. She was wearing my wedding dress, all right, but I noticed more about her. She had dark hair like mine and was about my size, only shorter. She was also human. But then I noticed the dark bruises around her neck. They resembled fingerprints, and her head looked slightly askew.

  “Janet, please stick around. I want to talk to you.” I cautiously stood. “Do you know how you died?”

  She snorted. Well, isn’t it obvious? Somebody strangled me and broke my neck.

  “Yeah, I was noticing the fingerprints. So, do you know who did it?” I circled her slowly, keeping a polite distance. Her hair was in an upswept chignon. The marks on the front of her throat looked like fingerprints, while on the back the bruising was different. Which meant…

  I was choked from behind. I tried to get a look at my attacker, but I couldn’t see anything. She deflated, sitting on the vanity stool. Again, it was always so odd to watch ghosts when they sat on furniture, because they either went partway through it or, if they managed to sit on the cushion properly, I could still see through them. But I was getting used to the whole spirit-thing.