Copyright

Copyright © 2019 by Steffanie Holmes

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
 Spoilers ahead

Many of these bonus scenes contain spoilers for their respective books. Proceed
with caution, especially if you are reading scenes from books you haven’t yet finished.
 From the Author

From the 16th century onwards, scholars, rulers, historians, scientists and people
who wanted to be seen as worldly and interesting would collect bits and pieces of natural
or human history and store them in cabinets. These collections often included natural
history specimens (sometimes fake), dinosaur bones, rocks and crystals, archaeological
artefacts, religious relics (also often faked), and ethnographic objects.
These ‘Cabinets of Curiosity’ were the first examples of what became the modern
museum – places where these interesting objects were displayed for public view and
where their collectors attempted to make sense of the wonders of the world.
They could even be the centrepiece for strange and macabre showmen. One such
collector - the anatomist Frederick Ruysch (1638-1731) – set up small displays of
skeletons crying, playing the violin, and wearing strings of pearls. Ruysch would then
invite all his friends over for a super-fun ‘dissection’ party where everyone would eat
cake while he dissected animals and humans for all to see.
(If you’re a traveller, there’s a particularly fine example of a cabinet of curiosity in
the Strahov Monastery in Prague, as well as – of course – the Pitt-Rivers museum in
Oxford, England. You can see some images from my visits to these in the Spooky Stuff
section of my website.)
Like the collectors of yore, I two have dug around to find these strange and
wonderful treasures. I hope you’ve enjoyed this collection of oddities and little scenes
that didn’t quite make it to my final books. I’ve had fun collecting them here for you, and
I hope to add to them in the future. If you want to read any of the stories that relate to
these scenes, you can follow the links at the end of each scene to start reading.
Until next time, spooky bat!
Xxx, Steff
 Dedica7on

To you, the reader

For your support and love
 Epigraph

“What better occupation, really, than to spend the evening at the fireside with a
book, with the wind beating on the windows and the lamp burning bright.”
– Gustave Flaubert
Volume 1: Grimdale Graveyard Mysteries
 Chapter 1: Bree
This bonus scene is set seven years before the events in You’re So Dead to Me

“Tonight was really fun, Trevor,” I say as I shrug on my black trenchcoat. A chill
swirls in the air as we leave the parking lot of Grimdale Comprehensive and walk in the
direction of my house. I look behind me to make sure it isn’t caused by a mischievous
ghost, but Pax is marching a respectable distance behind us. So that’s something.
“You’re being sarcastic, right?” Trevor frowns as he looks up from texting on his
phone, no doubt organizing an afterparty with the popular kids. I’m hoping he’ll ask me
to go with him, and I’ve got another two hours before my curfew, but he doesn’t.
“Who, me? Never.” I smile.
I’m not lying. The dance was fun. I’ve been avoiding school socials my whole life.
Whenever a dance was on, my friend Danny and I would sprawl out on the sofas in the
Grimwood Manor guest lounge with stacks of junk food and horror films. At last year’s
winter formal, I snuck a bottle of cherry liqueur from my parents’ liquor cabinet and we
went to the cemetery and got horrendously drunk and sang Sisters of Mercy songs while
taking atmospheric gothic portraits for our future album sleeve. Neither Danny nor I have
musical talent, but we can pull off a mean goth pout.
We knew that we weren’t missing anything much, and tonight proved me right. The
dance was in the school gym, and although the social committee had done a decent job
with fairy lights and garlands of faux leaves, it’s still the school gym – the same place
where I’m tormented with PE class twice a week. The music was terrible. The attendees
were all the same idiots I go to school with, but sparklier. Kelly Kingston held court in
front of the DJ booth the entire night, and her on-again, off-again boyfriend Riley Jenson
kept flashing around a silver flask and skeeving onto girls.
But three hours ago, I strode into that room wearing a strappy black dress with
sparkly hieroglyphics all over it, on the arm of Trevor Sutcliffe, goalie for the First 11
football team and undeniably the hottest guy at school. Kelly’s jaw hit her shoes, and that
moment alone made the entire night worth it.
“Oh, okay. I’m glad you had fun.” Trevor shoves his phone into his pocket and
reaches over to squeeze my hand. My heart does a little flip. “It’s hard to tell with you
sometimes. You’re a bit…abrasive.”
“My friend Edward always says that if people find me offensive, I should suggest
they stop finding me.”
Trevor laughs. “Friend? Not boyfriend?”
“Not boyfriend,” I say firmly, thinking of Edward’s fondness for sharing lascivious
details about his dalliances with duchesses. “Definitely not boyfriend.”
“I can be your boyfriend!” Pax calls from behind me. “I am a much better dancer
than that vappa Trevor! I can show you the Saturnalia Shuffle or the Titan Twerk.”
I dare a look over my shoulder. Pax has one hand on his hips, the other in the air,
and is rolling his hips in suggestive circles so that his tunic flaps around his bare legs.
I snort. “You look like a stoned parrot with his arse stuck in a teapot.”
“Huh?”
“Sorry.” I turn back to Trevor, my cheeks flaming with heat. “I was just, um,
recording a voice message for Danny.”
I jerk my phone out of my pocket to keep up the charade. Trevor smiles, but the
smile is a little wobbly.
To keep up the charade, I record a quick message to Danny, telling her that we left
and we walking home, but that she looked amazing in the sequined fishtail gown her
mother made him, and Leanne Povey robbed her of the best-dressed trophy that should
have rightfully been hers.
All the while, I fume at Pax. I asked him specifically not to talk to me tonight. It’s
hard enough to ignore him while he’s jabbing his sword at Trevor’s crotch every time I
turn around, but apart from a whispered “go away” while waiting in line for the loo, I’ve
succeeded in pretending he isn’t there. But if he keeps this up, he’s going to make me
look stupid in front of the first corporeal guy to ever show an interest in me.
 I will never forgive him, no matter how much he makes me laugh.
“Do you want to walk around to Grimwood Crescent?” Trevor asks, his voice
lilting with hope. “Or should we take the woodland path? I thought the woods might be
cool at night. Kind of spooky. You like spooky stuff, right?”
“I love spooky stuff.” Not strictly true. I love spooky stuff like horror films and
ghost stories when they’re not ruining my life. “Let’s go through the woods.”
I slow my steps as we turn into the woodland path, and I catch another glimpse of
Pax, who has moved closer and now has the tip of his sword aimed between Trevor’s arse
cheeks. The centurion catches me looking and wiggles his eyebrows with glee.
He’s just trying to look out for me.
I tell myself that over and over. Pax doesn’t know any better. He’s watched over me
for my whole life. He feels that it’s his duty to be by my side at all times. But can’t I have
one night where I get to be a normal teenager, without the paranormal getting all up in
my face?
Trevor and I snake along the public path that extends through the gully, before
climbing the wooden steps that meet the back sections of the houses along Grimwood
Crescent. Each house has a garden path that winds down from their private property to
meet the woodland path. Mum and Dad have lined ours with solar lights so that their
B&B guests wandering drunkenly home from the pub can find their way back to the
house. The lights twinkle in the distance – the last house along the row.
“I’d better leave you here,” Trevor stops in his tracks and turns toward me. The
moonlight catches his blond hair, making it appear almost as golden as Ambrose’s. He
squeezes my fingers and pulls me toward him so our chests touch. His eyes darken and
my whole body goes stiff with terror and excitement. “No offense, but I’m not really into
meeting your parents now. I’ve had a bit too much of Riley’s flask.”
“That’s fine,” I choke out, my throat dry. “Here’s just fine. Yank Thoo…I mean,
thank you for a lovely…that is…”
Trevor cuts off my ramble by pressing his lips to mine.
 I’m so shocked that I nearly stagger off the back of the step. I was kind of hoping
this would happen – my first kiss. But I always thought it would be more…obvious? One
moment, I’m not kissing the hottest guy in school, and the next his warm, slightly wet
lips are pressed against mine. There’s no swelling music and my knees haven’t gone
weak and there’s no moment where the promise of a kiss hangs in the air between us,
with electricity shooting in all directions, the way authors describe in books.
It feels…fine? I reach up and put my arms around his neck because that’s what girls
do in movies when they’re being kissed. Trevor’s tongue prods at my lips and I get the
idea and part them slightly. This feels better until his tongue snakes between my teeth.
I’m not sure I’m into this – his tongue is like a dead fish flopping around in my mouth,
and there is way too much saliva. How is this sanitary?
Stop it, Bree, I admonish my annoying brain. You’re kissing Trevor Sutcliffe! Wait
until Danny hears about this. She’s going to flip—
“That’s not how you kiss,” a haughty voice drawls near my ear.
“Argh!” I bite down before I can stop myself. Trevor yelps and we both jerk back –
him because his lip is bleeding and me so I can glare at the arrogant prince who’s stepped
out from behind a gnarled oak tree.
“This man isn’t worthy of your lips,” Edward frowns at Trevor, who is frantically
trying to stop the blood from spilling on his dress shirt. “I know in this willy-nilly
modern world of yours, people have the right to be stupid, but this man is abusing the
privilege.”
“I don’t really think you’re old enough to kiss boys,” Ambrose says, appearing on
the other side of Edward. “What if he steals your virtue and then you get pregnant and
you can’t ever go travelling—”
“He stole Bree’s virtue? I’ll crucify him,” Pax leaps from the bushes and plunges
his sword through Trevor’s stomach. “I’ll cut him open and—”
Trevor doubles over – Pax’s sword can’t actually hurt a human, but if he cuts you
with it, you feel awful. “What have you done to me?”
“Trevor, wait—”
 Trevor lurches toward the stairs, dangerously close to falling through Ambrose,
who reflexively swings his wooden stick…straight between Trevor’s legs.
And he’s upset enough that the stick connects.
“Owwwwww.”
Trevor doubles over, heaving. I run to him, but he shoves me off.
“What the fuck, Bree?” Trevor peers up at me as he cups his plums, his eyes filled
with tears. “I thought it would be funny to take the freak to the dance, but you were
actually kind of cool. But then you bite my lip and kick me in the nuts? And why does my
stomach feel like I’ve been run through with an axe—”
“It’s a sword!” Pax shoes. “Only barbarians use axes!”
“—What did you do, poison me?” Trevor stumbles for the stairs. “I’m going home.
Don’t ever speak to me again.”
“Trevor, wait—”
He shoots me a look of such utter disdain that all my arguments crumble to dust. I
sink to my knees as he hobbles back down the path, cursing and muttering under his
breath.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish.” Edward dusts his hands. “You know, Brianna, if
you ever want kissing lessons, I am happy to oblige. Many sensuous poems have been
written about my lips…”
“Bree is sixteen,” Ambrose admonishes him. “Perhaps she’s too young for kissing
lessons from history’s most notorious scoundrel.”
“You’re never too young to learn. Why, when I was sixteen, the Countess of
Albermarle took me into her bed chamber and—”
“How could you do this to me?”
My voice booms through the forest. Edward snaps his mouth shut. Ambrose
winces.
I’m too loud, too shrill, and too upset to care who might be able to hear me.
Pax lowers his sword. “What did we do?”
 “I’ve been talking about the dance for weeks. What did I ask you for just this
afternoon? All I wanted was one night where I could go out with a boy and be a normal
teenager for once.” Fat, angry tears spill over my eyes and roll down my cheeks. I’m too
upset to even wipe them away. “But you couldn’t even give me that. First, I’m tailed all
night by Stabby McStabberstein over there, who can’t just stay in the background but has
to constantly threaten my date—”
“He didn’t know I was there,” Pax says defensively, his bottom lip stuck out.
“No, but I did! And you talked to me even though you promised you wouldn’t.”
“I like talking to you,” Pax says. “You laughed at me. You answered me back. So
there’s no problem.”
“It’s a big problem! You know that it’s hard for me to ignore you. Now Trevor
thinks I still talk to myself, and he’s going off to tell all his friends and they’ll think—”
“You shouldn’t worry so much about what people think,” Edward says. “They don’t
do it very often.”
“And you,” I jab a finger into his chest, not caring that I punch through him. I’m
shaking with anger. “You ruin my first kiss because you can’t bear the thought that I
might have a life apart from you, that I might grow up and leave and then you won’t have
someone to change the TV channel or cook your favourite food or listen to your terrible
poetry…”
All I can think about is what Trevor’s going to tell his friends. School on Monday
will be awful.
Kelly is going to love this.
“And you!” I whirl around to face Ambrose. He shrinks away from me, his face so
miserable that I almost back off. But I’m on a roll now, and he’s just as guilty as the other
two. “I expect the others to be selfish, to not understand. How could you do this to me?
How could you let them ruin this nigh? Do you have any idea what school is going to be
like on Monday? Everyone is going to laugh at me. Again.”
“Bree, I’m so sorry.” Ambrose reaches a see-through hand out to me. “I didn’t think
—”
 “That’s just the problem. None of you ever think about anyone except yourselves.”
I fold my arms. “I don’t want to see you again.”
They freeze. Edward’s face collapses. Pax looks stunned.
“What are you saying, Bree?” Ambrose asks, his voice small.
“I’m saying that I’m done with the three of you. Our friendship is over. We’ve had
some good times, but I’m ready to be a normal, ghost-free teenager now. You’re so dead
to me.”
I hug my arms around myself, but I can’t seem to stop shaking. Am I really doing
this? The words pour out of me, and I don’t think I could stop them even if I wanted to.
And right now, I don’t want to. I want to hurt them, the way they hurt me tonight.
“I don’t want you to talk to me, follow me around, or tell me jokes. I don’t want to
see you over the breakfast table. I don’t want you standing in the corner of my classes,
jabbing swords at Trevor. I don’t want you to whisper anything in my ears. I want a
ghost-free life!”
Edward’s ebon eyes pierce the thin veneer of rage I’ve closed around myself.
“That’s not what you want, Brianna. You need us.”
“I’m telling you what I want. If you care about me at all, you will stay out of my
life. Just…don’t talk to me. Don’t appear randomly wherever I am. Just…leave me
alone!”
My words hang heavy in the still night. My heart hammers against my chest, and a
fresh wave of tears spills down my cheeks. I wish, more than anything, that I could run to
them and have them wrap their ghostly arms around me and make me feel better, the way
they always have.
But they can’t heal the hurt they caused.
I’m being cruel. They weren’t trying to hurt me. But I’ve had enough.
This is the best way. The only way.
I need real friends. Living friends. And I’ll never make any while I’m living in the
past with my ghosts besties.
 The three ghosts exchange a look that nearly tears my heart from my chest.
Ambrose looks close to tears himself, although I don’t think ghosts can cry.
“Yes,” Edward says, his voice hard, his coal eyes searching me for some sign that
I’ll take it back. “We will keep this promise.”
“You won’t see us again.” Pax declares, holding his hand over the silver charm
hanging at his throat. “I swear an oath to you. May Jupiter smite me if I break my
promise to you.”
Ambrose swallows. “We only ever wanted you to be happy.”
Me too.
Their bodies fade into the shadows. I reach out a hand to the place where Ambrose
stood, the words ‘come back’ dangerously close to escaping my lips. But I hold them
back.
This is for the best.
As soon as they’re gone, I hoist my purse on my shoulder and run up the steps. I
pause at the top to look across Grimdale Cemetery – the moonlight shines down on the
grey stones, and the rows of tombs stand upright like rows of teeth. Over the years, I’ve
found peace amongst the memories of the dead, but maybe now, the peace of the
graveyard can be part of my everyday life.
If they are truly my friends, they know that I need this. Even when it hurts so much.
Even if I don’t know how to live without them.
I tear my gaze away from the silent stones and head toward the house. The lights in
the guest wing are mostly still on – we have a group of German tourists staying and
they’ll be at the pub until closing, but my parents’ room is blissfully dark and silent. I
know I must look horrible and my mascara is running. If they saw me, they’d want to
talk, and I’m not ready. Not with them.
I take the stairs two at a time and throw the door to my room open. Clothing is
strewn across every surface. Danny and I tried on everything in my closet twice before
deciding on tonight’s outfit. Edward sat in the corner and gave his opinion on everything.
Not that I’d listen to him, since he through a corset and
 I’ll never have fashion advice from Edward again. I’ll never wake up from a
nightmare to see Pax standing sentry at the foot of my bed. I’ll never excitedly describe
photographs of some far-flung locale from my travel bucket list with Ambrose.
My ghosts are gone.
I sent them away.
It’s for the best.
I throw myself down on my bed, and cry and cry and cry.
***

What do you do when three hot, possessive ghosts want to jump your bones?

Find out this darkly humorous paranormal romance series by bestselling author Steffanie
Holmes.

If you love a sarcastic heroine, hot, possessive and slightly unhinged ghostly men, a
mystery to solve, and a little kooky, spooky lovin’ to set your coffin a roc-kin’, then quit
ghouling around and start reading!

http://books2read.com/grimdale1
 Chapter 2: Bree’s Playlist

You can find a playlist of Bree’s favourite tunes – including many songs and bands
mentioned in the Grimdale Graveyard series – on Spotify here.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4Zg1WTHeMGzCDDxhOQSGWZ?
si=1aaab36943894ed2

***

What do you do when three hot, possessive ghosts want to jump your bones?

Find out this darkly humorous paranormal romance series by bestselling author Steffanie
Holmes.

If you love a sarcastic heroine, hot, possessive and slightly unhinged ghostly men, a
mystery to solve, and a little kooky, spooky lovin’ to set your coffin a roc-kin’, then quit
ghouling around and start reading!

http://books2read.com/grimdale1
Volume 2: Stonehurst Prep: Elite
 Chapter 1: Claudia
This bonus scene is set the day a8er Saturnalia, while Fergie and Poison Ivy are at
school.

“Why did I let you two talk me into a Council meeting the morning after
Saturnalia?” Livvie slumps across the table, her head in her hands.
The three of us and our tribunes and bodyguards sit around a circular table in
various stages of hungover. This year, we decided to hold our Saturnalia Council in the
deserted August Gallery at the Emerald Beach Museum of Art and Antiquities. The
largest of the three galleries, this space displays the August collection of ancient
documents we recovered from the long-dead (and good fucking riddance) Howard
Malloy, and it’s my proudest achievement apart from pushing the twins out of my pussy.
Scholars from all over the world come to our museum to study these scrolls that had been
long thought lost to time.
On the other side of the airy, light-filled atrium, the Lucian gallery houses a rotating
collection of rare artworks. We use that gallery for functions when we need to dazzle our
guests. And, of course, our ever-changing exhibitions enable us to hide the ill-gotten
wealth that we funnel through the museum.
Down the center of the building, like a knife slicing it in two, the Dio Gallery
displays an impressive armory of swords, pikes, warhammers, and other implements of
death and destruction collected from around the world.
Because of course it does.
“We’re here because Imperators always meet for Council at Saturnalia, and we like
our traditions,” Cali mutters as she snaps her fingers and her tribune fills her glass with a
Bowmore 52-year single malt – a tasty drop she brought back from a recent job where
she separated an Irish gun runner from his head and his Scotch collection. “Tradition
makes you remember the good times. It was at a Council much like this where Claws and
I first met.”
“You mean, when you tried to kill me.”
She turns to me, her midnight skin shimmering under the LED lights. Her eyes
burn with hellfire. “I might still try. It depends if you piss me off today.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior. You enjoying a little hair of the dog?” I lift an
eyebrow at her as she downs the glass in one gulp and pours another.
“I didn’t get a chance to have a single drop last night, much less celebrate my son’s
victory in the ring.” Cali raises her glass. “I need this Bowmore to become the sparkling,
radiant creature you see before you.”
I laugh. It might’ve taken twenty years to rise to the surface, and it might only be
present in our company, but Cali Dio does have a sense of humor.
“I hate you both,” Livvie groans, thumping her head on the table. Unlike Cali, she
partied hard enough for all three of us and my three husbands combined.
“I saw you with that Shadow Grove fighter last night,” I say to her. “He’s just your
type – six foot of brainless, tattooed beast. Don’t tell me you’re getting yourself knocked
up again.”
It’s a private joke amongst us that Livvie only has to look at a man to kick her
ovaries into overdrive. She loves being pregnant and she loves kids, which is just as well
since she has seven million of them. She has so many I’ve forgotten most of their names.
Every one of them is a girl, except for Torsten – and he’s not biologically hers. We
don’t even know where he came from. Livvie returned from a business trip to Finland
with a new vodka distillery and a baby in her arms. I asked her about him once and she
said she won him in a poker game.
I think she’s joking, but it’s hard to tell with Livvie.
She may be one of my closest friends, but I’ll never forget that she’s still a Lucian.
That family like their morals the way they like their steak – rare, bloody, and served on a
golden platter.
 And that boy of hers…I don’t think he means to, but he’s put her through hell
recently. I’ve sat up with Livvie many nights while she’s cried on my shoulder about
Torsten. He’s always been a difficult child, although he adores the twins and Cassius.
He’s the kind of kid who needs endless patience and empathy, neither of which are in the
Livvie Lucian parenting toolbox.
No matter how hard Livvie tries, she can’t help but drive Torsten away. He moved
out a couple of months ago and she’s been wild with worry, especially with everything
going on, but she deals with it by pretending everything’s fine and shacking up with
anything with a pulse.
Noah, my husband and my tribune for the last twenty years, flashes me his
characteristic frown. “As enjoyable as it is to make fun of Livvie, we do have important
business to deal with.”
I ruffle his dark hair. “You’re a spoilsport, Dark Horse. But yes, you’re right. We
should get this started.”
“Of course I’m right.” Noah passes me a small wooden gavel, while Yara, my
personal secretary, brings forward a goblet of wine.
Throughout the history of the Triumvirate, the Imperators met only twice a year –
before Lupercalia and Saturnalia – to hash out contracts, divide up territories, settle
disputes, and arrange the marriages of their family members and loyal soldiers. Outside
of these Council meetings, the three families ran their own empires as they saw fit. Their
relationships were antagonistic, built on flimsy alliances and broken oaths. They thought
nothing of lopping each other’s heads off if it meant furthering their own aims.
Cali, Livvie, and I changed all that. We’ve reforged the Triumvirate as a centralized
network. We run our separate areas of the business but we share resources and soldiers.
We meet most weeks to keep each other apprised of the various goings-on. And to drink
wine. So much wine.
But today is different.
This is a council of war.
I bang my gavel on the table. “Alea iacta est. I call this meeting to order.”
 “Who the fuck gave her a gavel?” Livvie wails, plastering her hands over her ears.
“It was a gift from Gabriel,” Noah explains with a long-suffering sigh. “And now
she won’t stop using it. Cali, if you could take care of it for me—”
Cali reaches across the table, plucks the gavel from my hands, and tucks it into her
purse. Cali Dio never tosses away anything that could be used as a weapon. She sets her
purse on the table and pointedly draws a jewel-handled knife from her sleeve and places
it in front of it. “It’s safe now. And don’t you let that annoying husband of yours buy you
another, or he’ll find this one inserted into an uncomfortable orifice.”
“See what you’ve done?” I elbow Noah. “Now Gabe’s going to walk around like a
popsicle and it’s all your—”
“Shut your gorgeous mouth, Claws, and drink your sacrificial offering.”
I smirk as I raise the goblet to my lips and take a sip. In the “old days”, Imperators
would – a way to honor the gods for their bounty – but Eli said no more animal sacrifices.
So now we drink Livvie’s wine, which is tastier, anyway.
“Noooooo, no more alcohol.” Livvie turns her face away from the proffered wine.
“For fucks sake, this is a circus.” Cali grabs the goblet and splashes wine over
Livvie’s head.
“Hey! I wanted to drink that—”
“Right, we’re ready to talk eviscerations.” Cali pounds her fist on the table,
splattering the wine across her purse. “Zack Lionel Sommesnay – what intel do we have?
Who the fuck is he? How good will he look with my knife twisting in his gut?”
Yara passes each of us a file. They’re embarrassingly thin. “This is what our teams
have managed to gather so far,” she says. “We don’t know who he is or what he wants.
No one has seen him. We don’t even know if he’s here in the city. All we do know is that
he’s been buying up properties all over Emerald Beach—”
“—my properties,” Livvie hisses.
“Correct. He’s been focused on properties that the Lucians have expressed interest
in. He seems to either be trying to stall our expansion plans, or to compete with us. Both
of which are dangerous options. We also know that he has connections to City Hall and
the Hargreaves family, and that he appears to have a hand in the increased scrutiny at the
ports.”
“But he didn’t send the parcel bomb,” Cali says it as a statement, not a question.
At the mention of that bomb, a wave of rage floods my body. Someone tried to hurt
my son, my blood, my family. I need to know who did it so I can eviscerate them. I
wouldn’t even hire this out to Cali – that bastard I’d skin myself. “We don’t know that.”
“We agreed the bomb is most likely related to Victor’s little club,” Noah says.
“I’m not so sure,” Cali says. “The timing feels too convenient. Whoever it is, it’s
unlikely to be this Sommesnay fellow. His work is organized. Systematic. Untraceable.
He’s tidy – I admire that. The parcel bomb is more…chaotic. It might’ve been addressed
to Victor but there’s no way of knowing who would open the parcel. It’s not a serious
attempt to kill your son – its purpose was to unnerve you.”
“Well, it fucking worked,” I growl.
“Do we think we’re dealing with two separate enemies?” Noah asks. “Is it someone
who knows about Sommesnay and is using that to deflect our attention?”
“But it was addressed to Victor, not to me.” I try to keep the rising panic out of my
voice. We have to get this guy, whoever it is. “And it happened right after he humiliated
that Lawson boy.”
“Noah and I checked out Lawson’s family,” Yara says. “We can’t connect them to
the bomb. All we know about it is that the parcel was sent from a town named
Witchwood Falls in Massachusetts.”
Cali’s head snaps up. “Say that again.”
“Witchwood Falls.” Yara rolls her eyes. “It sounds like a forest in a Grimm’s fairy
tale—”
“John comes from Witchwood Falls,” Cali says.
Shit.
That’s…not a coincidence.
Livvie and I exchange a look. We both know what we want to ask, but neither of us
will risk Cali’s wrath. I trust that she vetted him before she ran off the Vegas and married
him, but then again, she did run off to Vegas to marry a dentist. Nothing about Cali’s
marriage suggested she’d been taking her usual care.
Livvie sighs. She grabs the stem of the wine glass and tips the remaining drops
onto her outstretched tongue. “I just want to run my criminal empire in peace. Is that too
much to ask?”
“Apparently so.” Yara flips open my folder to the first page. “Now, you can see
here I’ve had Victor list out the recent clients of his little club. We’ll follow these up but
I’m more concerned about—”
Livvie rises with a flounce. “I need a bathroom break. Yara, get me another goblet
of wine. And a Monte Cristo sandwich, there’s a doll”
Livvie’s heels echo through the vast room as she shuffles out. The table falls silent.
I glance across at Cali, who stares at the framed fragment of Aristotle’s Poetics on the
wall behind my head. Her usual fierce expression is unusually pensive. I know she’s
thinking about what happened at Colosseum last night. It’s a lot to process. Her son and
her stepdaughter…
And my son, too, if Victor’s lovesick look when he introduced us is anything to go
by.
Victor’s grown up with three fathers – he wouldn’t see any issue with sharing a girl.
I’m proud of him for honoring Fergie enough to see that she needs more than what he can
give her. But Cassius… that boy has never played nice with others. If this gets nasty, he’ll
turn on my son in a moment. My mind flicks back to that parcel bomb with my son’s
name typed neatly in the RECIPIENT box.
As much as I love Cali, I won’t allow her, her monstrous son, or her arresting red-
haired stepdaughter to destroy my family.
Cali flicks her tongue over her lips.
“He’s never disobeyed me before,” she says, as if she reads my thoughts. “I’ve
always been able to count Cassius stepping into line, but now…”
“He’s in love. I remember someone wise who told me that falling in love means
becoming magnificently consumed with madness.”
 Cali doesn’t acknowledge her own words. “He doesn’t know how to love. That’s
why his own brother rots in jail for his crime. That girl won’t be able to handle him. He’ll
break her, and she’ll become a liability.”
“Have you spoken to Fergie?” I ask.
“That’s John’s job, not mine,” Cali sighs. “He’s the one who decided she shouldn’t
know the truth. He thinks she’s been through enough this year. Instead, he drove her into
the arms of a monster.”
She says this without emotion. Cali knows what Cassius is because she shaped him
that way. Gaius may have been her favorite, but Cas has always been Cali’s mirror,
reflecting the best and worst of her back for her to see.
“She knows now,” I say.
“Yes, and I do not think she’ll forgive him,” Cali sighs. “Personally, I think John
babies that girl too much, but he doesn’t want my opinion on this.”
“Why don’t you just cut your husband’s tongue out, and then he’ll never disagree
with you,” Livvie calls out as she strolls back through the gallery toward us.
“Hmmm.” Cali stares down at the knife on her lap, a faint smile playing across her
features.
“That wasn’t a serious suggestion!”
“Perhaps you need to be her source of truth,” I say. “If she’s as tough as you say,
she’ll rise to the occasion. Give her the chance to prove herself. There must be a reason
that Cassius has fallen for her—”
“Are you telling me how to parent?” Cali growls.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I smile. “Consider this wishful thinking from someone
who had two many secrets kept from her growing up. As good as Fergie and John’s
relationship is, that girl has to have her eyes opened to the big, cruel world out there at
some point. She needs a strong woman to look up to, someone who can show her how to
survive the rotten things that men do. You’re perfect for that.”
Cali’s mouth moves, but I can no longer hear her. It takes me a moment to realize
that’s because a low rumble echoes through the hall. Pens skitter off the side of the table.
 “It’s an earthqua—” Livvie starts to shout, but then a black cloud of ash sweeps
over us, and I can’t see Livvie at all.
The rumble becomes a roar.
My ears ring. Everything rings and vibrates and falls apart at the seams. This is no
earthquake. This is—
“Save the scrolls,” I yell, but my mouth fills with sand, and I’m not sure if I say the
words or just think them.
“Claws, for fucks sake.” Noah’s strong hands wrap around me. He hurls me to my
feet and tosses me over his shoulder. I love that he can still do that like I’m a tiny
eighteen-year-old waif and not a thirty-eight-year-old Mafia Queen. I bury my face in his
shoulder as he tries to navigate through the cloud.
I’m aware of alarm bells clanging a great distance away. I try to gasp in a breath,
but all I can breathe is sand.
The black cloud twists around me, tearing my precious museum to pieces. A dark
wind rises from within it and tears me from Noah’s grasp. I’m hurled across the room.
I hit something. Hard.
And everything goes dark and still and silent.

TO BE CONTINUTED

***

To find out what happens next, read book 2 in the Stonehurst Prep Elite series, Poison
Flower: http://books2read.com/elite2

***

New to these characters? Claudia, Cali, and Livvie appear in two series:

Read the story of Claudia’s rise to power, and how she brings three brutal boys to their
knees in Stonehurst Prep: http://books2read.com/mystolenlife
See these three ladies as parents to three of the most vicious, poisonous boys Emerald
Beach has ever known, and meet the new girl who will tame their hearts in Stonehurst
Prep Elite: http://books2read.com/elite1
 Chapter 2: Fergie’s Playlist

You can find a playlist of Fergie’s favourite tunes – including many songs and
bands mentioned in the Dark Academia series – on Spotify here.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4jBVuq2skBRxq4jtH0cEdY?si=f82b372f73e24ba6

***

“I’ll do anything it takes to get into an Ivy League. I’ll even become theirs.” Find out
what Fergie and the second generation of Stonehurst Prep teens get up to a new dark
high school romance, Poison Ivy.

http://books2read.com/elite1
Volume 3: Dark Academia
 Chapter 1: William
AlternaBve POV chapter

I’m halfway through a thorny translation of Euripides’ Medea when I hear the
crunch of twigs breaking.
Someone’s coming down the path.
I pack up my books and duck behind the cavea. If they see me here, they’re going
to try to talk to me. Everyone always does and I’m too…on-edge to make nice with
sycophants today. My veins jitter – it could be from the seven cups of coffee I drank to
wake up this morning, but I know the real reason.
She has possessed me.
She is every word of poetry I read and every fucking stroke of my brush.
My jealousy is a living thing, tearing and gnawing at my stomach, eating me from
the inside out.
So that’s fun.
I dare a peek around the edge of the ancient stone. It’s George. Of course it is. Did
she follow me here? Did she deliberately seek to desecrate the one place on campus that
doesn’t smell like her?
No, she has a rucksack and she doesn’t appear to be looking for me. She’s staring
around the ruins, awe and wonder written across her face. She leaps down into the round
orchestra, where I’ve danced naked and tried to invoke a long-dead god. She takes out
her phone and snaps some pictures, then opens her arms and tosses her head back, like
she’s drinking in the warmth of a forgotten sun.
Like the god alone speaks to her. Like she can hear him in her bones.
She opens her mouth and sings. It’s some boring punk rock song that becomes
Keats on her lips. She’s a terrible singer, her voice scaring a blue tit from a nearby tree.
My breath hitches in my throat. Imagine being so truly free that you can be so completely
terrible at something and wear it so openly, with pride.
George is so...out of order. She doesn’t fit. Not at school, and certainly never with
the Society. But as I watch her spin in slow circles and torture the birds with her cries, I
cannot suddenly remember what’s so important about fitting.
When she finishes her warbling, George hikes up her rucksack and takes off for the
trees, heading deeper into the woods. She uses a pocketknife to make a marking on the
tree. I’m on my feet and following her before I know what the fuck I’m doing.
She walks for a long time, stopping to make more marks in the trees, creating a
path she can follow back to the same spot. But why? I tell myself I’m not a creep, I’m not
watching her because of the way she haunts my dreams, but because I want to know why
she’s crashing around the wood carving up perfectly decent trees.
George emerges into a clearing dominated by an ancient, gnarled oak. “This is
perfect,” she mutters under her breath.
Talking to yourself is the first sign of insanity, George.
And hiding in the bushes spying on your classmate is the second.
She sets down her rucksack and pulls out a trash bag. She lays out some other tools
– a folded spade, a roll of orange tape, a tiny portable toolkit, and rubber gloves – the
kind they use in the laboratories. George unrolls the tape and ropes off the clearing,
hanging a laminated sign that reads, SCIENCE EXPERIMENT: DO NOT DISTURB,
and an ID number for her project and the phone number for her supervisor, Dr. Grainger.
George unfolds the spade and starts digging.
She makes a hole about a foot square and nearly two feet deep. The ground is soft
from the rain, so it hardly takes her any time at all to reach her desired depth. She leans
back on the spade and wipes her hair out of her face, smearing dirt across her cheek with
adorable obliviousness. None of the girls I know would get their hands dirty like this, not
even Diana.
George jumps on the spade as she wriggles it to dig out a solid lump of clay. My
mind flashes back to a different spade, a different time, many summers ago when things
were simple. When I still had a heart and not a lump of coal in my chest. My mother in
her vegetable garden, turning over the soil for a new crop, humming off-key to herself – a
song she heard only in her head.
George stands back from the hole, admiring her work. She swipes another trail of
dirt across her forehead, then bends down to dump out the contents of the trash bag.
Rabbit carcasses. Relatively fresh, judging by the smell. She drops one into the hole and
buries it again.
I’m intrigued.
It’s been a very long time since I’ve felt anything but numb. Well, fear, too, now
that Monty’s back in my life. But intrigue? I never expected to feel it again. But watching
this girl, my coal-black heart thuds against my ribs, and my dick swells to life.
I could unbutton my fly and celebrate palm Sunday (thank you Sebastian for that
delightful euphemism) as I watch George’s morbid experiment and imagine those plump,
inquisitive lips wrapped around my cock. She’d never know. But I don’t touch myself.
It’s as much a punishment as it is a desire to not be a pervert.
I don’t deserve the pleasure. Not for the things I’ve done. The things I will do if I
don’t get this fantasy under control.
George is everything I’ve never wanted. She doesn’t fit in my carefully ordered
life. She’s not part of the plan. But every time I think I can forget her, I see her talking to
Sebastian or doing something like this and I’m drawn right back in again.
George pats down the earth on top of the rabbit, then takes two more carcasses and
lays them out on the earth – one in the center of the clearing, and one underneath the oak
tree. She unfurls the rope and clambers awkwardly up the tree to tie a noose around one
of the branches, which she uses to hang the rabbit. The fact that she so easily knows how
to tie a perfect noose should be enough to tell me this isn’t the girl for me. I should leave.
I should sneak back to school and take a cold shower and forget forget forget—
I don’t move from my hiding spot.
She leaves another carcass inside the plastic bag, tying a knot in the top. The final
one she sets alight, staggering back with her hand over her mouth as the smell reaches
her. A few minutes later, the smell wafts to my hiding spot, and I cover my mouth with
my sleeve to stifle my gag.
It’s a body farm. George is going to observe the changes in decomposition over a
period of time. Which is fucking clever, especially if…
...especially if you were wondering what happened to Khloe May’s body.
But that’s impossible. Khloe disappeared ten years ago, well before any of us
arrived at Blackfriars. Not even George could make the connection—
—except that if anyone could, it would be the brilliant, lonely girl currently
smeared in dirt and snapping pictures of a hanged rabbit.
As she moves around the site, I’m aware that I’ve somehow managed to scoot right
around the side of the tree. Probably trying to get a better view of her arse like the pervert
I am. When she points the camera this way, she might very well see me.
Shit.
Shit.
I need to move.
I shuffle back, intending only to retreat deeper into the wood. My foot crunches on
a fallen branch, snapping the twig. The sound explodes like a gunshot.
I jerk my head to George. She’s squatting beside her carcasses, trying to take a
selfie. She freezes, her camera trained over her shoulder.
Pointing directly at me.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
She sounds so strong, so demanding, like she’d actually be able to punish me if she
caught me.
I have two options. I can run, which is probably the most sensible. But I don’t run
away from my problems, especially not when they’re delectable, nosy bookworms like
George. The other option is to own the fact that she caught me spying on her. That option
gives me a chance to speak to her. Alone. Without Monty or any of the other Orpheans
staring over my shoulder.
It’s criminal how much the possibility excites me.
 Before I can make a decision, George storms toward the trees, her spade raised
behind her head. “I’m warning you, I’m armed. Who’s out there?”
Oh, fuck. She’s too adorable.
I step out from behind the tree.
As soon as George sees me, she stops in her tracks. She doesn’t lower the spade.
Her hair whips across her face, and my fingers itch to tuck the loose strands behind her
ear, to smudge the dark stain on her cheek, to sink into her messy, beautiful life and
believe for a moment that I could be a real person instead of a hollow shell.
Here she is, coated in dirt, ripe with life. Adventure and danger and everything
forbidden blaze in her eyes. She bites her lip, and I’m fucking lost in her. She’s like a
book I can’t wait to crack open.
“Well, well, well.” I move closer and lean over her tape, trying to disarm her the
way she’s disarmed me. “What do we have here, Georgie Pie?”
She glares back at me, but bites her lip with worry. She’s afraid of me. She’s
thinking that she’s all alone out here with me, and that no one will come running if she
screams. Knowing she’s right doesn’t make it any less painful.
I don’t want her to be afraid of me.
But if she truly knew what I wanted…
But fear is good. Fear keeps distance between us, even though I’m a fool who
keeps tempting myself with the forbidden. Fear will keep her safe when I cannot.
George jabs the spade at my chest. “Don’t come any closer.”
I wish I could get so close that I crawl inside you.
A smirk plays across my lips as I duck under the tape and take a step toward her.
What am I doing?
This isn’t safe.
This isn’t tempting the fucking gods, and you know the gods always have the last
laugh.
“What do you intend to do with that?” I glance at the spade.
 She jerks it so it jiggles at my chest. “I swear if you touch me, I will smash your
skull in.”
I can’t help it. I laugh. She thinks I’m here to hurt her. And I know exactly why she
thinks that – because I made her – but the notion of it is so absurd. But I don’t have the
words that could make this girl see that she’s enchanted me, that I’m under her spell.
Hurting her would be like eating off my own face. I push her away, because that’s what I
do with pretty, fragile things. “Georgie Pie, you think so little of me. As if I’d want to
touch you. I saw you by the theatre and I was curious what you were doing out here, so I
followed you.”
Her cheeks flush with embarrassment. I know she’s thinking about her singing.
Don’t be ashamed. You were so perfectly, impossibly imperfect.
I wish I could be like you.
To distract me from the fact that I’m so close to her that I can smell her fresh,
sunny California scent, which tugs at deep and long-hidden parts of me, I look over her
shoulder at the body farm she’s created. I step around her to wander through the
experiments, getting a closer look at what she’s been doing.
This is incredible. No one else in her class would think to do this. No one is this
creative, or this committed to getting answers.
The dead rabbits are quite beautiful, in a way. I’d like to paint the one in the plastic
bag – the way the light crinkles across the surface of the bag, distorted by the corpse
inside. It reminds me of water – a benign surface that hides death and destruction. I
search for something to say, to fill the silence of the forest so I don’t blurt out things that
should remain unsaid. “Madame Ulrich hasn’t stopped talking about you. She’s upset you
dropped her class. She thinks you might be one of the greatest artistic minds ever to set
foot in this school. Wait until I tell her you’re a psychopath.”
“It’s a project for my Criminology class,” she chokes out. “Please don’t move
anything or tell anyone this is here. I know you hate me, but if you could possibly not
destroy my hopes for an A, I’d appreciate it.”
 “I don’t hate you.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I need to
take them back, to do something to show her that she can’t trust them. But they’re out
now, and I can’t find the strength to disprove them. I don’t hate her. Hate is the opposite
of what I feel. I stand and move back to her, looming in so close that I press my chest
against the spade. Those huge emerald eyes of her peer up at me. “I don’t think anything
about you at all.”
It’s not true. But it’s the best I can do. I can’t say that she is the protagonist of my
dreams, that I thought the best thing I could hope for in life was to be left alone with my
agonies until I met her.
“Really? That’s rich. You and your friends sure do spend an awful lot of energy
thinking up ways to torment me.”
Yeah, she’s got my number. If she thought more of herself, she’d see right through
to my scoured heart. But as clever and as enchanting as she is, George Fisher has no idea
of her power.
“Tormenting plebs is fun. It’s a public service. You have to get used to being
walked over by your betters.” The words taste like soap.
Fuck, I’m such a wanker.
“You made me strip naked in front of a whole class,” her eyes fire accusations. “Do
you not understand how fucked up that is? Didn’t your mother teach you about consent?”
At the memory, my cock strains against my trousers. Don’t make me think about it.
“I didn’t expect you to actually do it.”
It’s true. I did it because I knew she was insecure and it would hit her right where it
hurt. Because I needed her to know without a shadow of a doubt that I was dangerous,
that she had to stay away from me. I thought she’d leave the class in tears and never
speak to me again. It would have been safer for all of us that way.
Instead, she struts onto that couch, strips off the robe, and shows me everything.
My throat closes over. I can’t think about her naked, painted, defiant without getting hard,
without hating myself for what I did.
 And now here I am, proving again that I have no self-control. Because I can’t pull
myself away from her.
George jabs the spade at my chest. “If I didn’t do it, Madame Ulrich would have
written me up and I’d have lost my scholarship. I’d have been on the first plane back to
California, with community college in my future.”
I turn my face away. She’s right, of course. The truth rattles in my chest like a lost
tooth. I know about the strict stipulations of her scholarship – I’ve seen her files. I know
her financial situation. I had to threaten what she cares about, or she wouldn’t listen. Not
George Fisher, true-crime podcaster. I knew, but I didn’t think. I backed her into a corner,
made sure she didn’t have a choice. “I wouldn’t have let her do that.”
She snorts, and the sound is so fucking fragile and exasperated I think my cock is
going to explode. “Right. Because you’re a regular prince in shining armor. You prance
around this school like you own it. You’ve never had to think about the consequences of
your actions, so why should I expect anything more when it comes to my humiliation?”
“I don’t prance.”
“Whatever.” She nudges my chest with the spade. “Go away, William. As much as I
love listening to a posh wanker talk out of his ass, I need to take a shower. If you’re going
to ruin my life, just get on with it. I see no reason to continue this fruitless conversation.”
Her words spit venom, but her eyes beg me closer. They say, push me, tempt me,
make me ask for what I want.
I close one hand around the shaft of the spade, pushing it lightly aside. I bring a
finger to my lips. “What will you give me for my silence?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing in this world is free, Georgie Pie.”
She looks like she’s going to murder me. “I’ve got twenty-two pounds in my bank
account. Do you take cash, or do I have to swipe my credit card between your ass-
cheeks?”
Her whole face flushes red. Mmm, she’s so wholesome. She can’t even think about
my arse without blushing. I breathe in her wholesome summer scent as an invisible hand
on my back urges me forward. For once, that hand isn’t Monty’s, or Sebastian the fucking
martyr. For once, I feel like I’m standing on the precipice of what I want, and all I have to
do is leap.
George has a deer-in-the-headlights look, but she doesn’t run. Part of me wants her
to run. How fucked up is that? Part of me – the sick part – wants to chase her down in a
wild Bacchanalian frenzy. Another part of me wants to watch her dart away, knowing that
I can never catch something so ethereal and perfect, that it would be like catching fireflies
with a colander.
She bites her lip again, and I make my decision.
I’m going to hell for this.
But she’s too close, and too perfect, and I’m gone.
“Mmmm.” I grab the spade, twisting it up and back so it crosses our chests,
pressing us both together. George is pulled forward on her tiptoes. She clings to that
spade like it’s a shield protecting her from me. “I had something else in mind.”
I wait a beat for her to slap me, to run, to pull away. Instead, a faint moan whistles
from her lips. “What?”
“A kiss.”
My hand moves of its own accord, no doubt guided by my capricious god. I touch
her face and it feels like touching the petal of a flower or the wing of a butterfly – soft
and warm and impossibly fragile, like it might be blown away on the slightest breeze.
I touch the edge of her lip, tugging at the plump flesh until she yields. Her breath
hitches.
“Just a tiny kiss. One little peck and I’ll keep your secret, Georgie Pie.”
She swallows. Her eyes flutter shut. When she opens them again, her jaw sets firm.
She may want me, but she doesn’t want to want me. She’ll fight this thing between us. It
only makes her more intriguing, more desirable. “You have girls and guys literally falling
at your feet. Why do you want to kiss me?”
I tip her chin back with my fingers. Fuck, she feels like satin. “Maybe I only want
things I shouldn’t have.”
 I lean in close, breathing in the scent of her, the scent of white sand and vanilla ice
cream and sun-kissed skin and first love, like nothing in my world of grey gloom. I touch
a kiss to her earlobe, my lips curling back at the shudder of pleasure that tears through her
body.
She swallows again.
“Just one kiss, and you will leave my experiment alone?” she croaks out, her voice
thick with need.
I’m a bad man.
This is coercion, blackmail.
But tell that to my cock. Tell that to George, who trembles with need. Tell that to
the flimsy bargain we’re making so that we both have permission to break all the rules.
“One kiss and I’ll keep your secret. I swear to you on my mother’s grave.”
My voice wavers on the words. I don’t want to think about her now, not with
George’s soft, sunny skin within reach. I can’t bear to consider what mother would think
if she saw me now, how much she detests the man I’ve become.
George’s fingers tighten on the spade, and I feel in the tension of her shoulder the
moment she makes her decision.
“Fine.” The word is so quiet, it might be a whisper on the breeze. But it’s more than
a whisper, it’s a prayer, a supplication, consent given freely and with a desire that chokes
her voice.
I can kiss her.
In this forest where my real life can’t touch me, I can kiss her.
I tighten my grip on George’s neck, tilting her head further back. Her eyes meet
mine – fierce, radiant. She knows that she’s the one in control.
She knows that I’m tumbling headfirst into the ocean of her, that she’s pulling me
under.
I brush my lips across hers, savoring that first, sweet taste. The taste of months of
waiting and teasing, of seeing her beneath every gothic archway and in the pages of every
book, of stroking my cock under the covers at night and picturing her face.
 It’s even sweeter than I could’ve imagined.
In that one touch, I come alive. Since my mother died, I’ve been a lake in winter –
cold and barren and frozen solid. But in one touch, George ushers the first thaw of spring.
My lips press, prod, demand. She tastes like summer, like happiness.
Like hope.
Her eyes widen in surprise, and I know that this one taste of her will never be
enough. I’m like Monty, staring down at a feast laid out before me. How can I possibly
have only one bite?
I move my lips against hers, drawing her open until I can slip my tongue inside.
She resists at first, but then she accepts me, and she’s so warm and soft and good. My
arms go around her and I pull her close, letting her sunshine warm me from the inside
out.
I wish things could be different.
I wish we could share a thousand kisses like this. A million. I wish we could have a
kiss for every star in the sky.
But this is all it can ever be – a stolen kiss in an enchanted forest. I’m doomed to
want her from afar – a hopeless, Byronic love given in furtive glances across a library, or
dripping from the paint of a wet canvas.
I moan into her lips as I draw her deeper, as George Fisher pulls me further under
her spell. If this is all there is for us, better make it worth it.

George will do whatever it takes to get to the truth behind her roommate’s disappearance,
even if that means descending into the dark world of a cruel prince and a wicked priest.
Prepare to enter the halls of Blackfriars University. You may never return.

Read book one, Pretty Girls Make Graves:

http://books2read.com/prettygirlsmakegraves
 Chapter 2: Sebas7an
AlternaBve POV chapter

“He was here when she died. Khloe May. And now he’s got into Monty’s head and
Keely is missing and I don’t know what the fuck to do—”
William’s voice booms through the confessional booth. I sit on my side of the
screen, mute, twisting my fingers into knots. If I open my mouth to offer a prayer, what
will issue from my lips will instead be a profane assessment of the rigid boner in my
trousers.
He’s here.
William is in distress, and he came here.
In the gloom of the confessional, I can’t see more than the faint outline of William’s
face – that aristocratic nose, the slight cleft in his chin, those cheekbones that could cut
glass. But his voice...that haughty, princely timbre burrows into my blood and marrow.
It’s the same voice that once whispered filthy things in my ear after he pulled me into the
confessional of his family’s private chapel...
My cock throbs with the memory of that pompous boy who’d terrorized me when I
first came to live on his estate, on his knees for me, my fingers sliding through his hair as
he took me in his mouth.
My heart thunders with foolish hope, that if William came here, tonight, it must
mean he doesn’t hate me…
He cannot hate me as much as I hate myself.
“—I know how crazy it sounds,” he finishes. “But I don’t know what to do. And
George is flirting around the edges of this and I don’t want her to get hurt. Or worse.”
George.
 Little George Fisher – the sweetest complication. Just when I thought I had my life
on track, when I finally, truly believed I’d set myself on a path of rightness, of goodness,
she walks into the Cloister Garden and throws a spanner in my salvation.
And what’s worse, she’s drawn to my princeling. And judging by the hitch in his
voice, she’s enraptured him, too.
She’d be so good for him. He’d be good for her. I want my princeling to have his
happily ever after. After everything he’s been through, he deserves happiness. He
deserves everything. But...but…
But to see them together, happy, without me, feels like a punishment more than I
can bear.
I cran my neck to the ceiling as the pain of William’s presence washes over me. My
cock throbs with need. It takes all of my self-control but I clasp my hands in supplication
and utter a silent prayer, searching the emptiness for a sign of my god.
Is this torture what I deserve for my crimes? Is this a test of my faithfulness, my
vows? Is my consecrated body, my life, not enough for you?
I know I shouldn’t be angry at God, shouldn’t be begging for a sign like I’m owed
an explanation for this knife digging into my chest. He saved me when I did not deserve
to be saved. He gave me this life of goodness and service, a life where I can actually be a
man worthy of his love. I wanted that, more than anything, I wanted to be saved. I wanted
the guilt to have a purpose, to make me a better man. I sought the priesthood knowing
exactly what I was agreeing to – a life of poverty, obedience, and chastity.
And yet...and yet…
William bangs his fist on the screen, jolting me from my prayer. “Say something!”
Shit.
I left him alone to bear the silence of God.
I always left him.
“It does sound crazy,” I say, choosing my words carefully because I do not want to
push him further down this path. “Father Duncan is a respected member of the clergy.
He’s my confessor. I’ve never seen anything in him other than godliness.”
 “Then you’re blind,” William mutters. “In more ways than one.”
I decide to let that comment slide without comment. “Is this about Father Duncan?
Is he the real reason you’ve come to seek confession late at night? Or is this about
George?”
“What about her?” he snaps. “She’s nobody, just a girl who sticks her nose in other
people’s business.”
Not to you. I’ve seen him watching her, that look of utter desolation on his face. But
I can’t say that without revealing that I watch him.
“Are you pushing George away because you don’t want to admit your feelings for
her? Because you’re afraid of letting someone love you after Isabella—”
“What did you say?”
Shit. I clamp my hand over my mouth, but it’s too late. The damage is done.
William’s fist slams into the screen again. “What the fuck did you just say?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t you ever utter her name again.” He jerks to his feet, grabs his coat. “This
was a mistake. I should never have come.”
“William, wait—”
He flies from the confessional, her black peacoat flapping behind him like the cape
on some storybook vampire.
I wait in the gloom for a moment, calming the beating of my heart, tying my hands
in knots trying not to touch my rigid cock through my robe. Lord, give me strength.
He sought me out.
William Windsor-Forsyth sought me out.
Yes, to yell at me, to tempt me with that imperious mouth, to accuse me of rotten
things.
He sought me out.
I suck in a ragged breath. All these years and he still has the power to render me
mute, useless. But isn’t that why I came here in the first place? I’ve supposedly devoted
my life to God and yet if I look into my black heart I know I’m not at Blackfriars because
God called me, but because I’m still longing to be close to him—
A sound breaks through my treacherous thoughts – a sob so faint that it might be
my own heart breaking. But no, I hear it again. Real, tangible, coming from the nave.
I haul myself to my feet, arranging my clothes as best I can to hide my hard-on.
William wouldn’t have locked the door behind him. I tell my students that the church is
always open. I just wish someone hadn’t chosen this particular moment to decide they
need to speak to God.
I peer along the nave. The pews are empty, the precious artwork untouched. We’ve
had vandals in here before – a would-be Satanic cult on campus broke in one night and
wrote lurid things above the altar in sheep’s blood. But I don’t think that’s what’s going
on tonight.
I reach the transept and still can’t see anyone in the shadows. I must’ve been
hearing things. It’s only out of habit that I look toward Benet’s chapel. I left the votives
flickering at the altar, the light illuminating the black monk’s portrait, giving the flames
billowing from the refectory a lifelike quality.
I see no one in the pews, either – except for an odd shape sticking out into the aisle.
A pair of tiny feet encased in big, black, stompy, very familiar boots.
Speak of the temptress.
I walk up behind her and look down. She lays across the pew, hair wild about her
face, her eyes glassy, swimming with tears. She smells like a brewery. I long to gather her
into my arms, but in my current...state, that doesn’t seem prudent. My cock strains
against my zipper. It had other ideas.
It remembers other times, times before my vows, where I loved nothing more than
to clasp a lost soul like her to me, or to wipe the tears from her eyes as she knelt for me
and took me deep into her mouth...
George’s eyes register me. She jerks up. “Jesus Christ, you gave me a fright.”
She scrambles away, hugging her knees, her cheeks reddening.
Good. Stay away from me. I’m dangerous.
 I know I’m in no state to talk to her, that William’s visit still hums in my veins – a
drug that forces my conscience from my body. But she’s lost, hurting. Those tears, those
beautiful tears…
I smile at her. I make sure it’s a kind, soft smile, no hint of the monster beneath.
“Sorry to disappoint. I’m not the son of god,” I say.
I’m the devil.
I ask her if she’s okay. She says she’s fine in a tone that implies the exact opposite.
She tries to tell me some lie about needing to get away from her loud roommate but her
words catch on her sadness and fresh tears leak from her eyes.
Sweet Jesus.
This is a test. She’s been sent here to test my faith, my dedication to my path. I
know what I should do – get Father Duncan or one of the counselors who live in college
to sit with her. But I can’t say no to those sad emerald eyes.
I slide into the pew beside her, pulling her head into my lap and hoping she won’t
turn to the side because she’s way, way too close to my rigid cock. I wipe away a strand
of hair plastered to her cheek, marveling at her warm, soft skin, wet with tears. It’s been
so long since I—
No.
Her eyes are squeezed shut. She bites her lip and I’m ready to commit every sin in
the Bible to see her smile.
“George.” I use the gentle, firm, authoritative voice I once used in a different kind
of church, the voice that made men and women do anything I wanted. “Look at me.”
Long eyelashes untangle as her eyes fly open, greeting me with two emerald orbs
that shimmer with perfect tears.
“There’s my girl.” I stroke her cheek with my finger. She shifts a little under my
touch, her lips parting with an involuntary sigh that makes hot desire shudder through me.
“You’re safe here, George. No one can hurt you within these walls.”
No one except me.
 “No matter what you choose to say to me, your secrets will remain your own. You
don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to. I’m happy to sit with you while you talk to
God. Or maybe you’d rather be alone—”
“No.” She grabs my wrist. “Please, stay.”
Fuck, you don’t know what you’re asking.
I fold my fingers in hers. “Do you want to talk?”
George worries her lip again. She does want to talk. I see all her pretty words
dancing on the edge of her tongue. But something holds her back. Is this about William?
How much has he told her about us? I remember her asking questions about him during
our Greek lessons. I’ve never lied to her about William Windsor-Forsyth, but I’ve given
her only pieces of the truth.
Is it about what William came to talk to me about?
Is it about another god, a reveling, wild, capricious God who once ruled this land
and now refuses to stay buried?
George shakes her head. She won’t tell me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t read the
truth in those emerald eyes.
“I understand.” I stroke my thumb over her knuckles, very aware this is the exact
move I first used on William, all those years ago. “Would it be okay if I prayed for you?”
She nods.
I squeeze her fingers. With my other hand, I make the sign of the cross, bowing my
head and placing myself in God’s hands. I force out everything from my mind, making
myself empty for God, for His word, His presence, to flow through me into George.
I speak. I’m not even aware of the words I’m using. All I know is that I hold this
lost soul in my arms and that my skin prickles and the air sings with divine presence.
God is here. He is listening.
He hasn’t listened to me in a long time.
And between the words, I find my answer. It settles over my heart like it was
always there. All I had to do was open myself to God, and the truth would become
apparent.
 I know what I have to do.
“Okay, come on.” I slide out from beneath George and stand up, beckoning for her
to follow. My body prickles with the Holy Spirit.
“What?” She looks dazed, her eyelids heavy.
She felt it too. She felt God in this house.
“Come on, move those legs. I want to show you something.”
She gets shakily to her feet and follows me. I collect two taper candles in iron
holders from the rack beside the altar and light them from the votives I’d left flickering. I
lead George into the corridor, heading to my apartment, and remove the heavy key from
my pocket. I unlock the door and swing it open to reveal the stone staircase curving up
into the steeple.
“We don’t allow students up here unless it’s part of a designated tour,” I say. “There
was a tragic accident up here a couple of years ago. So don’t tell anyone you were up
here or they’ll make me attend a boring health and safety lecture.”
I hold the door open for her. I know that when we reach the top, when we stand
under the stars, as close to God as it’s possible for us to be, I will kiss her. I will break my
vow for this woman and it will be the sweetest sacrifice.
I will break my vow to save her.
I will burn the life I’ve built myself to ashes to protect her and William.
I am ready to martyr myself. I will finally, truly, be worthy.
For the old god – the ivy-covered, bull-face, thrice-born Bacchus – demands blood.
And I will be the sacrifice.

George will do whatever it takes to get to the truth behind her roommate’s disappearance,
even if that means descending into the dark world of a cruel prince and a wicked priest.
Prepare to enter the halls of Blackfriars University. You may never return.

Read book one, Pretty Girls Make Graves:

http://books2read.com/prettygirlsmakegraves
 Chapter 3: George’s Playlist

You can find a playlist of George’s favourite tunes – including many songs and
bands mentioned in the Dark Academia series – on Spotify here.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6OxHvYBdi2aKJPABv4HWhP?si=b99f354b8b774671

***

George will do whatever it takes to get to the truth behind her roommate’s disappearance,
even if that means descending into the dark world of a cruel prince and a wicked priest.
Prepare to enter the halls of Blackfriars University. You may never return.

Read book one, Pretty Girls Make Graves:

http://books2read.com/prettygirlsmakegraves
Volume 4: Crookshollow Gothic Romance series
 Chapter 1: Art of Tempta7on
Bonus scene

“There!” I exclaimed.
I stood back from my easel, admiring the smooth face of the fresh canvas perfectly
positioned under one of the high windows to catch a burst of natural light. My brand new
palette and paints were all lined up in a tray beside it. I couldn’t wait to start filling the
canvas with colour.
Ryan glanced up from the back of the studio, where he was rearranging tubes of oil
paint on the shelves. Boxes and bags of junk and old art supplies littered the marble floor
around his feet. “What have you done now?”
“I’ve found the perfect place for my easel.” I picked up a paintbrush and pretended
to dab at the canvas. “Look at this! I’m going to create some amazing pieces here.”
Ryan dropped the paints and came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my
body and pulling me tight against him. An ache of wanting sprung up in my belly. “While
I love that you’re so happy,” he whispered against my ear, causing a shiver of delight to
course through my body. “You moved my easel in order to take my spot. Now I’m over
there in the dark corner, with no natural light.”
I giggled as his breath caressed my earlobe. “You told me to choose wherever I
wanted to sit. You didn’t say anything about not moving your stuff. Besides, maybe being
in the dark will be a good thing. It will force you to change things up, move in a different
direction. I didn’t want to tell you this, but your work has become quite stagnant of late.”
“It has?” Ryan kissed a trail along my neck.
“Yes, it has.” His fingers trailed up my torso, skimming my hips before massaging
my breasts. I reached behind him and rubbed him through his jeans, and he moaned
against my neck. “It’s all brilliant light, ethereal shades, beautiful rendering. It’s passe.
It’s boring. You’re just not pushing yourself anymore.”
 “Oh, I bet I could push myself right now,” Ryan growled into my ear. “I could push
you right up against that piano and take you hard from behind.”
“If you insist.” I dropped the paintbrush and leaned my head back, letting his
mouth find mine. Our tongues entwined, and the familiar magical energy pulsed around
us. Fire hummed through my body as Ryan’s hands slipped over my thighs, tugging up
my skirt and pushing aside my panties. He slid a finger inside me, feeling my wetness,
then used that finger to tease out my clit while he kissed me deeper. Within minutes I was
panting heavily, my knees wobbling dangerously as I drew close to climax.
“Promise you’ll move my easel back, or I’ll stop right here,” Ryan growled against
my ear.
“Damn you … ooooh …” Ryan had me, and he knew it. He gave an evil laugh as I
leaned back against him, letting him take the weight of my body as an orgasm tore
through me. The bright room spun around me, my vision blurring with all the bright
colours of the paint pots and half-finished canvases.
As soon as I could move again, we shuffled over to the piano. Thankfully, it was no
longer buried under piles of paint pots and old brushes. Ryan was using my moving in as
an opportunity to clear out some of the clutter in his studio. I leaned against the side of
the piano, thrusting out my hips. Ryan undid his jeans, his cock springing to life. He
grabbed my hips and lifted me back, impaling me with one long stroke.
Ryan’s fingers dug into my thighs as he moved in long, powerful strokes. His teeth
scraped against my neck, brushing over the spot where he’d marked me as his. I pushed
back against him, driving him deeper, revelling in the sensation of having him inside me
once more.
As we moved against each other, the ache inside me grew once more. I arched my
back as a second orgasm hit me, and pleasure rocked through my whole body. Ryan
groaned against me as I contracted around him, and I could feel him stiffen inside me as
he got closer.
 Ryan’s teeth dug into my neck as he came, pumping hard against me. His grip
slackened, and he collapsed against me, his breath coming out in heavy, ragged gasps. I
turned around and kissed his cheek.
“Got anything more you’d like to say about my artwork?” Ryan grinned.
I wrapped my arms around my neck. “That was the third time today.”
“Forth.”
“Fourth time today. We’re never going to get all my stuff unpacked if we keep this
up.”
“You have only yourself to blame. If you didn’t keep moving my stuff, we wouldn’t
find ourselves in this situation in the first place.”
“How is this possibly my fault?”
Ryan touched my stomach. “Perhaps we should have the little one weigh in?”
I swatted his hand away. “He or she is only a tiny little peanut right now. Don’t you
start trying to wrangle them over to your side.”
Ryan’s eyes turned serious. He placed his hand over mine, his bright eyes dancing
with joy. “I know it’s early days, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Our own little cub—”
Someone cleared their throat. Ryan and I whirled around, flying apart with fright. I
smoothed down my skirt. Simon stood in the doorway, looking as dour as always in his
old-fashioned butler’s uniform. Beside him, Kylie leaned against the doorframe, a wicked
grin across her face. Damn her, she knows exactly what we’ve been up to.
“Are we interrupting something?” Kylie asked, her voice sweet.
“You? Never.” I rushed to embrace her while Ryan furiously zipped up his fly.
Kylie cast her gaze around the studio. “This place looks … worse than ever,” she
laughed. “How are you guys ever going to share a workspace?”
“We’ll make it work. As long as Ryan acquiesces to every one of my demands, it
will be a perfectly synergistic relationship. What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d bring you the news. You know that band you love, Ghost
Symphony?”
 “Of course.” Ghost Symphony were an amazing English rock band who
incorporated classical instruments and compositions into their songs. I’d been into them
since university, and had even dragged Kylie to a couples of shows down in London.
“Their hot cello player, Eric Marshell, was killed yesterday. According to the
papers, he was heading toward Crookshollow to visit his mother, who lives in the area,
and there was a hit-and-run. Can you believe it?”
“Oh, that’s so sad.” According to all the interviews, Eric was the brains behind
Ghost Symphony’s music. He was also young and quite attractive, if you were into the
dark and brooding artist type, which I definitely was. “I didn’t know he was connected to
Crookshollow.”
“He grew up here. Can you imagine? We might’ve been living down the street from
the hottest rockstar of all time.”
“Hey,” Ryan looked up from the shelf he was trying to organise. “I’m starting to
feel a little worried here.”
“Relax honey, I’m not going anywhere. Although if you took up the cello, I
wouldn’t complain …”
Simon went off to get us all some refreshments, and I invited Kylie in to sit under
the windows so we could gossip some more. While Kylie chattered on about Eric’s
mysterious death and the future of Ghost Symphony, my thoughts drifted to the tiny baby
I was going to bring into the world in a few short months.
I touched my stomach again, thinking about the tiny person growing inside. It was
early days yet, but I couldn’t wait to meet him or her. Would our baby be a shapeshifter
like Ryan? Would he or she love art, or would we end up with a science whiz or a
practical, organised type? What would they make of being raised by a fox and a woman,
with a witch for a grandmother?
One thing was certain, our baby would grow up with a love for wild things – for
untamed wilderness and creative freedom and for love that endured. Given everything
Ryan and I had been through, and everything we’d overcome to be together, this
parenting thing was going to be a real adventure. I couldn’t wait to get started.
 ***

Ryan and Alex’s story begins in the Art of Cunning – start reading now.
Volume 5: Wolves of Crookshollow
 Chapter 1: Digging the Wolf
Bonus scene

Ams linked, Luke and Anna descended the steps of the cabin. My cousin's wife
appeared more radiant than ever. Her skin shone with a warm glow as she pressed her
other hand to her round, pregnant stomach. Her eyes sparkled with joy. She held the hem
of her marshmallow dress balled in her hand, keeping the layers of fabric from dragging
in the dirt. Underneath, I could just make out the toes of her work boots as the pair of
them walked across the uneven ground toward the copse of trees where we stood waiting.
My cousin couldn't stop grinning. His entire face lit up with a goofy smile, like he
couldn't believe his good luck. Here he was, in his forest cabin, about to marry the
woman of his dreams.
My cousin.
The word tasted strange on my tongue. I still wasn't quite used to the idea that I had
a real family. That after all these years of suffering at the hands of my cruel stepbrother
and his sons, the one thing I'd wanted most in the world had fallen into my lap. Luke was
an awful lot like me, which made me love him fiercely and hate him passionately in turn.
Sometimes he'd do or say something, and it was like looking in a wonky mirror.
And even though I envied his happiness (after all, Anna was smokin’ hot) I was
grateful to him for aligning with me, for embracing me as family and joining my cause.
Luke may have the girl – and any day now I expected them to announce the
imminent arrival of their first cub – but I had the pack. The Lowe pack – once forgotten,
but now rising in prominence once more.
Right now, the pack consisted of only two of us, and Luke was going to the US
soon to be with Anna while she studied. But I had plans to expand. The Lowe pack would
once again be the most powerful wolf alliance in England. And as its alpha, that would
make me top wolf.
 That’s right. I, Caleb Lowe – the neglected wolf who’d been raised for a life of
crime – was the head of his own pack. Luke was too busy with his new wife to want to be
the alpha, so he had conceded to me. It was just as well, because if he hadn't, I would
have challenged him for it, and I would have won.
Clara, the old crone who ran the Astarte shop of occult knicknacks, stood beneath
the trees in a long white gown of her own, a silver diadem wrapped around her wrinkled
forehead. "The old gods smile upon us today," she intoned, as Luke and Anna positioned
themselves in front of her. Anna’s stomach now protruded so far, it touched Luke as they
held hands. I glanced around at the other guests – there weren’t many of us, just Anna’s
mother and a few of her close friends – and gave them the signal. As we'd practised the
previous day, we all stepped inward, to close a circle around them.
While Clara yammered on about gods and vows, my mind drifted off to thoughts of
my new pack. How would I go about recruiting new wolves? There wasn't exactly a
shifter-only Facebook group where I could find potential members. I remembered my
step-brother mentioning something about a paranormal dating app that had hit the market.
It was mostly used by vampires, but maybe there'd be some wolves on there I could
approach. As long as they didn't think I was trying to flirt with them—
"Caleb," Luke hissed. "The rings."
I glanced up, startled out of my thoughts. Everyone was staring at me. Clara tapped
her foot impatiently on the earth. My face flushed as I wondered how long they'd been
waiting for me. "Oh, right. Yes." I fished the box out of my pocket and handed it to Luke.
He shot me a dirty look, then his gaze fell back upon his wife.
His wife.
That little speck of envy twisted in my stomach. For a wolf, finding your fated mate
was the highpoint of your life – and it didn't happen to everybody. Finding the one person
in all the world who completed you was a pretty hard task. I’d wanted Anna as soon as
I’d met her and smelled her scent, but I’d had no chance with her as soon as she realised
what Luke was.
 My chest tightened when I thought about what Luke had, but I tried to push the
envy aside. Don't dwell on it. You've got too much to accomplish in the next year – re-
establishing your family pack, building a new life for yourself away from your vicious
stepfather. You don’t have the time or need of a mate.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Dr. Frances Doyle. She was gesturing
to my brother and Anna, who were snogging in the middle of the circle, while everyone
applauded. I clapped too, plastering a smile on my face.
Luke and Anna were married, and they were going off to have an amazing life
together in America, while I was left behind to do the hard work of re-establishing our
pack.
Frances passed around champagne glasses, and we all toasted. As I gagged down
the sickly-sweet bubbles (I was definitely more of a scotch guy), Luke and Anna came
over to chat with me.
"Congratulations, you guys," I said warmly, as Anna embraced me. She really was
sweet. And hot too, with her brown hair and glasses. She had that whole kinky librarian
thing going on. My brother was a lucky guy. I shook his hand, squeezing his fingers until
he winced.
"Just for that, you get this." Luke wrapped his arms around me, and practically
bowled me over with the force of his hug. I patted his back, and finally the ordeal was
over.
"What are you going to do when we leave, Caleb?" Anna asked, as she knocked
back a second glass of champagne. "Will you return to Ireland?"
"Actually, I'm going to stay in Crookshollow. The Lowe clan have much to do to
rebuild their territory."
"Oh, that reminds me," Luke said. "I spoke to my boss, and she said she'd be happy
for you to take over my job. The old ranger isn't coming back, and you clearly already
know a lot about the forest."
"Thanks. That’d be excellent."
 "She also might have found you a place to stay. Apparently, there’s this crazy old
lady named Rita who owns a bunch of cabins on the edge of the forest. She rents them
out to artists and yogis and other freaks. She’s getting on a bit, so she said she’d give you
a cabin for nothing if you helped her out with some handyman stuff and checked on the
residents from time to time, you know, making sure they’re not burning down the forest
with their weed smoke."
I groaned. The last thing I needed was to be supervising a bunch of airy-fairy artists
stumbling all over the forest. I had a pack to rebuild.
"Don't be like that," Anna said. "You never know, you could really enjoy their
company."
"Enjoy the company of people who think throwing paint on a wall or gluing
iceblock sticks together counts as hard work?" I growled. "I doubt that very much."

***

Is Caleb right, or will writer Rosa change his mind about love? Find out in the second
novel in the Wolves of Crookshollow series – Writing the Wolf.

http://books2read.com/writingthewolf
 Chapter 2: Inking the Wolf
Bonus scene

“Dig faster,” I yelled. “Some of us have to get back to our jobs. We can’t hang out
all day watching you lot mess about down a big hole.”
Caleb thrust his face over the edge of the open grave, his shovel held over his head
menacingly. “Why don’t you come over and say that?”
“That’s my wife you’re threatening,” Robbie’s head popped up beside Caleb’s. He
wrenched the shovel out of Caleb’s grip and threw it back in the hole beside them.
“She could help, though. I could do with a break. My shoulders are killing me.”
I touched my stomach. “You know that’s not a good idea. What if I injure the
baby?”
“You’ve only been trying for a couple of weeks!” Caleb cried. “You can’t possibly
be pregnant already.”
“I’m not taking any chances.” I sat down against a nearby gravestone. “Robbie
understands, don’t you, Robbie?”
“I don’t envy you, my friend.” Caleb clapped Robbie on the shoulder. “Trust me. I
know from experience that she’s going to use that line to get out of all the chores for the
next nine months.”
“I dinnae even care,” Robbie said, grinning from ear to ear. I knew it was true. Ever
since we’d decided to start trying for a baby, Robbie hadn’t been able to think about
anything else, not even the Benedict Ring. His excitement was infectious. Over the last
week I’d found myself online looking at cute black skull-covered onesies.
“Where’s Irvine today?” Elinor asked. She was leaning against another tombstone,
flicking through a tattoo magazine. “I thought he’d want to be here for this.”
 “I invited him, but he said he couldn’t make it.” Caleb wiped a line of sweat off his
brow. “He’s actually been a little hard to find lately. He’s always out on some mysterious
errand.”
“You dinnae think he’s up to something?” Robbie asked. He still didn’t completely
trust Irvine. Old grudges die hard.
Caleb shrugged, then tossed another shovelful of dirt out of the hole. “No. He’s as
dedicated to our plan as I am. Whatever he’s out doing, I don’t think it has anything to do
with us. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was seeing a girl. But Irvine doesn’t do
relationships. Not since his last mate died.”
While the boys toiled away in the grave and Elinor studied the magazine, I ran my
hands over the rough stone that marked the grave. It was a small square of stone,
containing only a the years and five simple words:

1817-1836

HARRIET SMITH

REST IN PEACE.

Hattie’s grave.
Robbie was the one who discovered that Hattie had been buried with the ring.
Thanks to some sleuthing work on Anna’s part, we located Hattie’s grave in an old
pauper’s cemetery connected to the Crooks Worthy church. We were lucky to have found
it at all. Most people in Hattie’s circumstances would have been buried without a stone,
but Silvia had paid for a decent burial, so Hattie was in the church records.
Under the guise of family history research, Ryan managed to get the church
officials to agree to an exhumation. In return, he had to paint a mural depicting Christ’s
resurrection above the church’s altar.
Right now, the vicar was standing on the church steps, watching us with tiny beady
eyes. I could practically see the dollar signs dancing around his head as he imagined all
the patrons who’d pay a gold coin to gawp at the only piece of religious iconography by
the famous Ryan Raynard.
 Clank!
“We’ve got something!” Robbie cried. I rushed over, peering into the deep hole.
My heart hammered in my chest. Elinor stood beside me and squeezed my hand.
Robbie and Caleb cleared away as much dirt as they could with their shovels,
revealing a plain pine box. Robbie scrambled out of the hole, throwing his shovel down
on the grass. “You do the honours,” he said to Caleb, handing him down a crowbar.
“This is one time when I wish I wasn’t the alpha,” Caleb said, screwing up his face.
He accepted the crowbar from Robbie, and pushed it under the edge of the lid.
“I can’t look,” Elinor moaned, resting her head on my shoulder and facing away.
She squeezed my hand tighter.
The rotting wood cracked and splintered, and a sliver of wood flew off, revealing
only a dark hole beneath. Caleb swore, and shoved the crowbar under the wooden edge
again. After a lot of grunting and wriggling, he prised a large enough chunk of the lid off
that we got our first glimpse of the body inside.
I gasped as a grinning skull stared back at me, the empty sockets like black holes –
portals to a new universe beyond. The bones were old and discoloured. Scraps of material
remained around her neck, and a long chain rested across her ribcage. At the end of the
chain, a small metal ring glinted in the sunlight.
Hattie.
“Wow,” Robbie said. “She’s real.”
“Of course she’s real,” I said, but I knew what he meant. Reading Silvia’s
scrapbook made her and Hattie’s relationship seem like a romantic fairy tale. But staring
down at Hattie’s remains brought the reality of it front and centre. Hattie’s tragic life had
come full circle. She was now part of our story, part of the history of the Lowe pack. I
wished I’d been able to meet her in real life – I think we would’ve got along damn well –
but I hoped she was looking down on us from the afterlife. I really hoped she’d approve
of everything we were doing.
“The ring, Caleb.” Robbie said. “Quickly, before Elinor passes out.”
 “I’m not going to pass out,” Elinor screeched. She shuddered, and her grip was now
so tight she was cutting off circulation. “I hope.”
Caleb reached down and pulled on the chain, snapping it from Hattie’s neck with a
firm tug. He held up the ring, admiring it under the light. Even in the sunshine, the ring
seemed to hold a dark shadow, its presence heavy in the air. Through the heavy layer of
ancient dirt, the bloodstone glowed in the sun. It was practically humming with power.
Caleb’s face lit up into a broad smile. “This is the Benedict Ring, all right.”
“I cannae believe we found it,” Robbie grinned. He reached down a hand to help
pull Caleb out.
Caleb scrambled out of the grave, the ring clasped tightly in his hand. He reached
out to Robbie, and hugged him. “You did it, Robbo. It was your hard work that led us
here. I never doubted you for a moment.”
“Thanks, brother.” Robbie was grinning like an idiot. Caleb’s approval meant
everything to him.
“Are you going to put it on?” Elinor asked, staring at the ring nestled in Caleb’s
hand.
He shook his head. “Clara said it was too dangerous to wear right now.” He pulled
out a small leather pouch, and dropped the ring inside. It clanged against a crystal nestled
in the bottom. “She says all that power could hurt me if I’m not careful. She’s going to
cleanse the ring with a special spell before we start using it. I need to get this over to her
shop right now, and then we’ll celebrate. Call the others. Get over to Raynard Hall. We’ll
have ourselves a little party. And this guy,” he patted Robbie’s shoulder again. “He’ll be
the guest of honour.”
Caleb raced off to his car. Elinor turned back toward the parking lot, deliberately
avoiding looking into the grave. “I should get back to the shop, as well. See you later.”
She darted off, leaving Robbie and I standing on the edge of the grave. Robbie
glanced down at the large hole, and burst out laughing. “I guess I’d better start filling this
in.”
 I glanced at the vicar, who was frowning at us from his vantage point. “Yeah, I
guess. I actually can help, if you want.”
“No, no.” Robbie threw the piece of wood back over the coffin, and started pushing
in the dirt on top. “I can do it. I dinnae mind.”
“You really are the best, Robbie Maclean.” I wrapped my arms around him and
kissed his neck. Robbie dropped the shovel and turned, his arms circling my waist. “You
did it, you found the ring.”
“I ken.” His gaze turned serious for a moment. “Now that we have it, I wonder …
things are never going to be the same again. When we reveal the existence of shifters, the
world is going to be a very different place. There may be violence. Should we be bringing
a wee one into that world?”
“Of course,” I said, caressing his shoulders. “The world has always been a bitter,
cruel and twisted place. It’s a miracle anyone survives at all. But we survived, Robbie.
And we’ve got an amazing family around us, and they’ll do anything to protect our baby.
We’ve got so much to teach this little dude or dudette. Even if things are a little uncertain,
I just know it’s going to be amazing.”
Robbie kissed me, his lips warm against mine. “You’re right,” he murmured against
my lips. “It’s going to be dead pure brilliant.”
***

Robbie and Liana’s story is a wild ride that starts in Inking the Wolf. (Although Bianca is
first introduced in The Man in Black, so I recommend you read that one first).
 Chapter 3: Wedding the Wolf
Bonus scene – six Months Later

“Congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Baird. It’s a boy.”

The drugs swirled through my system like liquid rainbows in my veins, or maybe
that was the insane happiness I was drowning in. My whole body ached. I felt like I’d
been broken in half, but I didn’t care. That tiny voice crying across the room was my son.
My son.
The doctor placed a tiny bundle in my arms, and my whole world shifted. He was
so beautiful, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. He screwed up his tiny face and made
a little gurgle, and I melted into a puddle.
Irvine crawled onto the bed beside me, the entire contraception groaning under his
weight. He wrapped his arms around me, his fingers stroking the tiny face peeking out
from the swaddle. He’d been amazing throughout the fourteen hour labour, never leaving
my side – my stoic, patient wolf, ready to meet his new boy.
“He’s beautiful. Just like his Ma.” Irvine’s voice was husky, and I knew he was
fighting back tears.
“Don’t say that. I’m way too young to be a ‘Ma’.” My voice cracked as tears of joy
welled in my eyes.
We stayed together for several moments, basking in the wonder of what we’d
created, in the new life that now relied on us to protect and nurture and love him. The
weight of the responsibility was equal parts terrifying and exciting.
A few minutes later, someone sank down into the chair beside the bed. I didn’t look
up. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from my beautiful miracle, my baby boy.
“He’s wonderful,” Elinor’s voice broke through my haze. “What a perfect little
dude. I brought a gift from the whole pack. Everyone contributed something.”
 “Thank you.” I managed to tear my eyes away from our son and look up at her. As
usual, she was elegant and put-together, in a figure-hugging black pencil skirt and red
flouncy blouse. A huge basket of baby goodies wrapped in a black ribbon sat on the table
beside her. I pointed at her belly, which had just started to grow round. “Soon you’ll have
one of your own.”
She laughed. “Yes, and I’m terrified. Eric swears he’s going to tour less once he’s a
father, but I’m not holding my breath. He loves being on stage too much.”
“At least you’ll have the rest of us to hang out with,” I smiled.
“And don’t forget that Irvine’s playcentre is open for business,” irvine grinned.
“How could I?” Elinor grinned back. “Alex and Bianca will not stop raving about
you.”
It’s true. Irvine had really embraced being a future dad. After a course in Early
Childhood Education and some extensive first aid training, he’d started a small group
looking after young kids while their parents were at work. He was great at it. Word
spread through the local coffee groups, and he now had a waiting list to get in. It
might’ve had something to do with his sexy Scottish accent and muscled body, but I
wasn’t worried about the other mums. Irvine was mine and I was his.
“So … the big question.” Elinor asked. “What’s his name going to be?”
Irvine and I glanced at each other. We’d gone back and forth on names ever since
we’d found out we were pregnant. We couldn’t seem to agree on anything. Caleb kept
joking that our baby was going to be called “insert name here”.
“His name is Jonas,” I said. “Jonas Richard Baird.”
“I love it,” Elinor grinned.
Irvine’s eyes sparkled with joy. I knew he loved it, too. When I suggested naming
our son after both our fathers, he was a bit skeptical. We carried a lot of pain and baggage
because of their crimes and choices. But since my mum and dad had got back together,
I’d come to realise that I shouldn’t dwell on the past. Moving forward and embracing the
future was the only way to be happy. That’s what my father had taught me – he’d endured
his guilt and come through the other side, and he was making it his mission in life to be
the world’s greatest granddad. I think it was a way for him to atone for the accident.
Irvine’s dad would never have the chance to meet his grandchild, or to see the great
man his son had become. He’d died a drug dealer, but by giving our son his name, it was
almost like giving him his own second chance.
And no one believed in second chances more than we did.
After Elinor left, I fed Jonas. We curled up together with him, watching his little
chest move up and down. Weariness seeped into my veins, pushing back the euphoria.
My eyelids fluttered shut.
“Willow, look.”
Irvine’s voice was a whisper, tinged with wonderment. I opened one eye.
The corner of Jonas’ swaddle had fallen over his face, hiding all but one tiny fist.
As my eyes focused on my baby, I saw that his hand had transformed into a little fuzzy
paw. I unfolded the edge of his swaddle, and inside was a perfect, furry wolf cub, its head
resting on its haunches as its little chest rose and fell with steady breathing.
“His first shift,” Irvine breathed, his whole face beaming with pride.
“He looks just like his Pa,” I said, stroking our son’s fur. It was hard to believe it
was only last year that I was afraid of werewolves. Irvine had opened me up to so many
new possibilities, so much love. Now, I had a son with a unique ability. With our
guidance, he would bring so much good to the world.
“Welcome to a new day, little Jonas,” I whispered, pressing my lips against the soft
fur on his head. “You’re going to be amazing. You’re going to be dead pure brilliant.”

THE END

***

This is the final book in the Crookshollow world, so I recommend starting from Art of
Cunning first – but if you want to read Wedding the Wolf, you can do it here.
http://books2read.com/weddingthewolf
Volume 6: Briarwood Witches
The Summer Court
 Chapter 1: Flynn

“Class, we have a new student today. I’d like to welcome Flynn O’Hagan, who is
joining us as an exchange student all the way from Scotland.”
“Ireland,” I piped up, as I stood up in my chair and pointed proudly to the green hat
I’d worn just for this occasion.
“Are you related to Bono?” A blond guy in a letter jacket with impressive bushy
eyebrows called from the back of the room. The jocks around him snickered.
Yes, because of course everyone in Ireland is related to Bono. I guess I was lucky
they knew that much about my homeland. I wondered if these guys could point out
Ireland on a map. There was a big map on the wall at the end of the classroom, but I
noticed it didn’t even have Madagascar or New Zealand on it, so I doubted it.
Twenty-six pairs of eyes fixed on me, the new kid, waiting to find out if I was
worth their time or not. But I only noticed one set. And what a grand set they were.
Maeve Moore. The fifth and final member of our coven. The girl who had been
illegally adopted into America. The powerful spirit witch who would hopefully one day
be our high priestess and who, if she so decided, might choose little old me to be her
magister.
She sat in the second row, on the end, closest to the door. I recognized her instantly
from the pictures Corbin had, even though they were of a serious-looking twelve-year
old. Seventeen-year-old Maeve Moore in the flesh was so much more than that now. A
pair of full, pink lips pursed as she regarded me. Hazel eyes peeked out from behind long,
side-parted bangs, and her heart-shaped face was framed by feathery brown hair cut short
in a pixie style – a look I noticed no other girl in her class had adopted. So, not a
trendsetter, but definitely a woman who knew her own mind.
 Maeve’s deep hazel orbs – the edges laced with blue-tinged ripples – flickered over
me for a moment. A deep, fiery connection welled up between us, a connection that called
up our ancient magical roots, that defied space and time and—
Maeve’s gaze flicked back to her book.
Well, so much for soulmates.
“Can you tell us a little about yourself, Flynn?” The teacher asked.
Like what? That my father died in an epic battle against the fae and my mother was
a drug addict who died of HIV from an infected needle? That my guardian uncle cared
more about his buddies in the Irish mob than looking after me? That from the time I was
seven years old I could manipulate water with my mind? That I lived in a castle with
three other witches? Or that I’d attended more first-days-at-gobshite-schools than most of
these kids had attended barn-raisings.
And I bet this was a town that saw a lot of barn-raisings.
I shrugged, raking a hand through my red curls. “Most people call me Red. I spend
my weekends down at the pub with my BFF Bono. We make potato sculptures and dream
about the good old days when the world was Catholic and craft beer wasn’t a thing,
before I get into a scrap with a leprechaun and my mammy drags me home by the ear.”
The teacher glared at me. The students giggled. I slumped back in my chair, folding
my hands behind my head. My work here is done.
I noticed that Maeve didn’t seem to have heard my wee introduction. She hadn’t
even cracked a smile or looked up from her textbook. Bloody hell. I hope she has a sense
of humor, otherwise we’ll never get along.
The teacher turned back to the board and started drawing some mathematical
equations. I leaned forward, interested to see what in Maeve’s textbook had her so
engrossed that she didn’t even notice the fine Irish specimen in her presence. Her
shoulder hid the page from me, but if I leaned out a little…
“Little hint, Irish. If you’re looking to sow your potato crop in Einstein over there,
think again.” I whirled around. The jock behind me – the one who’d asked about Bono –
raised a bushy eyebrow and shot me a knowing smile. “I saw you perving at her.”
 “Yeah, well—” I shrugged. “She is a fierce fine thing.”
“If you say so. We’re pretty sure she’s a lesbo. The haircut confirms it.”
Really? Really? I shrugged. “Haircuts convey sexual preferences, do they now?
What’s yours then, armed-forces repressed?”
Ken doll Jock snorted, his opposite eyebrow bending down at the edge. “You’re
funny, Irish. You’ll do okay here. Seriously though, don’t bother with Einstein. The only
guys she notices are crusty old scientists from her books.”
“Thanks for the tip.” I turned back to the front, my gaze falling on Maeve again.
She leaned over to get something from her backpack and I noticed she actually had a
second book hidden inside her textbook. Ah, the plot thickens.
The jock wasn’t finished with me. He rapped me on the shoulder until I turned
around again. He pretended to tip a hat at me. “So, welcome to Coopersville High. Josh
Gibbons, at your service. You play sports?”
I tapped the brim of my hat in return. “I was on the soccer team back home.” Well,
I was on the soccer team two schools ago, but ever since I moved into Briarwood and got
into sculpting, team sports didn’t really float my boat anymore. I did the bare minimum at
school to qualify for the exchange program, but that was all they were getting from me.
But I had to at least make a passing attempt to fit in here in Coopersville or I
wouldn’t be able to stay close to Maeve.
“We’ve already had football tryouts, but if you’re halfway decent I can get you a
place on the team.” Josh’s eyebrow wriggled like a furry slug. They seemed to move
independently of one another. Was he some kind of mutant? “You should come along to
the next practice. We got thrashed last year in the finals. We could use a bit of four-leaf-
clover on the team.”
Of course, because the Irish are so bloody lucky. But I wasn’t here to teach Josh
about harmful stereotypes. For one thing, he didn’t look bright enough to understand.
“I might do that. Cheers, mate.”
“Mate! I like that.” Josh slapped me on the shoulder. “Cheers, mate!”
 The other jocks all started parroting “Cheers, mate!” and snorting with laughter.
The teacher and most of the others ignored them.
I tried to focus on the lesson, but my gaze kept darting back to Maeve. She never
looked up again. As soon as the bell rang, she slammed her book shut and bolted to the
door.
I collected my own books and got up quickly, before Josh and his cronies invited
me to lunch or a sock hop or something.
By the time I got into the hall, Maeve was just a bobbing brown pixie head in the
distance. I started after her, pushing between a group of cheerleaders straight out of an
American teen horror film.
Okay, I know this is breaking the rules, but Corbin isn’t here. I’m here. And I’ll be
damned to protestant hellfire if I’m going to go the entire year without even talking to
Maeve Moore.
I caught up to Maeve at her locker. She held the door open, using one hand to shove
a stack of papers and a notebook into her backpack. Her head was buried in a book again.
Now I could see the title, Astrophysics for People in a Hurry.
Yikes. Josh wasn’t kidding about that Einstein name.
“Hi,” I said, stepping close and waving my hand in front of her. “I’m Flynn.”
“Mmmm.” Maeve didn’t look up from her book. This close, I caught a whiff of her
scent. Spicy and musky and as intoxicating as the finest Irish whiskey. Somehow, I knew
she wouldn’t be a vanilla or tropical fruits kind of girl.
Mother Mary, I’m standing next to the most powerful magic user I’ll probably ever
meet, and she happens to be gorgeous.
I cleared my throat and tried again. “It’s my first day, and I’m a wee bit lost. I
wondered if you might be able to show me where we’re supposed to eat?”
Her eyes darted up. “You’re talking to me?”
“Yeah. Unless you see any other beautiful, interesting girls in the immediate
vicinity.”
 My ridiculous compliment didn’t even register on her face. But she did close the
book. “What do you want again?”
“I heard there’s a place you can get some excellent food around here. Really top
notch mush, state-mandated to fulfill our daily nutrient requirements.” I held out my
hand. “Can you lead the way?”
Maeve sighed. “Fine. I’ll show you.” She grabbed another book from her locker,
shoved it in her backpack, and slammed the door shut, but not before I noticed the
pictures pinned to the inside. The moon landing, an MIT flag, a bunch of geeky-looking
dudes standing in front of a rocket, and some old guy with glasses peeking out from
behind a lectern. Wow, Josh and his eyebrows had a point.
Still. Fascinating.
Wait… I blinked. Where was Maeve? She’d gone in a flash. I glanced behind me
and caught a glimpse of that brown pixie cut bobbing around the corner.
“Shite.” This was not the easiest girl to get to know.
You’re not supposed to be getting to know her, a voice that sounded suspiciously
like Corbin scolded me inside my head. You’re supposed to be protecting her from
possible fae attacks. From afar.
There could be fae lurking in the cafeteria. I’d be shirking my duties if I didn’t
check it out. I zipped after Maeve, managing to fall in step beside her halfway down the
next hall.
“You disappeared,” I admonished her.
“You were slow,” Maeve replied, hugging her books to her chest.
“You were fast. It makes sense you’re reading that book.” I pointed to the cover of
Astrophysics for People in a Hurry. “Did you already finish Mathematics for People Who
Love a Brisk Walk?”
Maeve’s pink lips curled up in a flicker of a smile. Finally. So she did have a sense
of humor.
“So you into that stuff?” I flicked an elbow at the cover.
 “Walking briskly?” Maeve lifted a dark eyebrow in a way that was both adorable
and slightly condescending.
“Astrophysics.” It was such a weird question, like asking someone if they were into
whiskey that wasn’t Irish.
“Yeah, I am.” The words came out a little forcefully.
“Hey, I was just asking. I’d ask a follow-up question, but I don’t know anything
about astrophysics. Also, you’re a wee bit scary.”
That smirk again. Bloody hell, it made weird things happen in my chest. I searched
for something intelligent to say, came up blank, and decided on the standard new kid
questions.
“So is there anything to do around here? Coopersville isn’t exactly as exciting as
Dublin.”
“I wouldn’t know.” For the first time, Maeve looked up at me. Something dark
flickered in her eyes. It was gone a moment later, replaced by that sardonic, protective
wall she had up. “And to answer your question, no, there’s not much to do around here,
unless you like tailgating or singing worship songs.”
“I take it you don’t like to do those things either? What do you like to do?”
“I’m into astronomy,” she said. “And I read a lot. I have to buy all my books on
Amazon, though. The school library isn’t exactly well-stocked.”
She flipped over a page in her science textbook, showing me a page detailing the
biblical flood drowning a dinosaur.
“You learn Creationism? I thought that was just made up for the telly.”
Maeve snorted. “Nope, it’s real. What’s a telly?”
I’m having a conversation with Maeve Moore. The entire situation felt surreal. For
the last two years I’d learned everything I could about magic, about how to control my
powers and work spells and rituals with the other guys. And I’d learned about Maeve.
Corbin had pictures, notebooks filled with his mother’s neat handwriting, health records,
report cards. It was kind of creepy, actually, but I knew it was all in aid of keeping Maeve
safe. I’d studied this girl from the other side of the world, and part of me didn’t really
believe she existed. And now here she was in the flesh, living and breathing and talking
and kind-of-smiling and she was more amazing and brilliant and beautiful than I could
have ever imagined.
This must be why Corbin sent Arthur and I first (Arthur was here last year, as the
school’s janitor. He was so big he could pass as an adult). Corbin needed to try and find
other coven members, but also, he’d been living and breathing Maeve since he was a wee
lad. Being here with her might have been too much for him. Hell, it was nearly too much
for me and I was relatively new to this magic thing.
The hallway grew more crowded as kids congregated in front of two open double
doors. The sounds of trays clanging and laughing, chattering voices bouncing off tiled
walls carried out into the hall. “Well, here it is.” Maeve waved a hand at the doors, then
turned on her heel and jogged away.
“Wait, don’t you want to eat?”
“I don’t eat in the cafeteria,” she called, without turning around. “That’s where
people are.”
I stared after her. Kids jostled past me, but I didn’t notice. I watched that pixie head
fight against the tide, then disappear entirely from sight.
Something slammed into my arm. Hard.
“Hey, Irish!” Josh grinned at me, his eyebrows wiggling like two caterpillars
performing a mating ritual. “What are you doing standing there? You seen a leprechaun?”
I didn’t have a response for that.
Josh’s mate Chase waved a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Irish. You still
pining after the lesbo? Come on, come eat lunch with us.”
“Fiddle-de-dee,” I whispered under my breath as I followed Josh into the cafeteria.
Maeve Moore, I know you don’t know this yet, but there is someone at this school who is
on your side.
 Chapter 2: Maeve

“So what do you think about that new exchange student?” My fourteen-year-old
adoptive sister Kelly leaned against my locker. I didn’t have to look up to know she’d be
tossing her straw-blonde hair over her shoulder. Kelly loved her hair – glittering gold
strands falling in waves halfway down her back, literally the golden ticket for gropey
Coopersville jocks – and she liked any opportunity to show it off.
“Mmmm.” I sorted through the selection of books in my locker, looking for the
new Richard Dawkins book I’d bought off the internet last week. I had to hide all my
books at school because my adoptive parents wouldn’t allow anything that contradicted
the Word of God in their house.
“Pay attention, Einstein. I’m trying to discuss a very important issue with you.”
I gritted my teeth at the nickname. When Kelly said it, it was almost okay, but I
hated that the other idiots in this school heard her using it and adopted it. I supposed it
was better than “lesbo” and “dyke,” but I’d really prefer if they just didn’t talk to me at
all.
“He seems fine.” I said, sliding my hand down behind the shelf. My fingers
brushed the spine of a book. Aha!
“Fine is not going to cut it for the dance. I don’t want fine. I want damn fine. Chase
Everett asked me, but I told him I need some time to think before I make a decision. I
mean, Chase is hot and all, but he’s not exactly homecoming king material. I have to be
seen with the right guy if I’ve got any hope of being named homecoming senior year.
People remember this stuff, you know.”
Of course my fourteen-year-old sister would get asked out by one of the most
sought-after seniors in the school and she thought he wasn’t good enough. “No. I don’t
know. I like to leave room in my brain for actual useful stuff.”
 Kelly ignored my comment, as usual. “Did you know the theme is fairyland, and
instead of a Homecoming court, it’s the ‘Summer Court.’ Isn’t that adorable? Vote for me
for princess, won’t you?”
“I would, if I was going to the dance, which I’m not.”
Kelly kept talking as though she hadn’t heard me. It was her way of telling me that
the conversation wasn’t over. I could look forward to many more hours of her begging
and pleading with me to go. ”It’s too bad Josh Gibbons doesn’t seem to notice I exist. I
heard he and Cindy Jones broke up last week, so maybe there’s a possibility there. I don’t
want to count on it, though, since he’s quarterback. That’s why I’m contemplating Red.
But I’m wondering where he’s going to fall on the social ladder, you know? It’s just too
soon to be sure either way. Could you imagine Chase’s expression if he found out I asked
Red instead?”
For some reason, hearing Kelly use his nickname gave me a stabby feeling in my
gut. It was the same feeling I’d got the other day when I saw them talking after class.
Kelly’s head was tossed back, her hair spilling down her back as she laughed at
something he’d said. His blue eyes sparkled, and his red hair looked like flames under the
fluorescent lights.
But stabby feelings weren’t any reason not to support my sister asking some guy
who I’d barely even talked to and didn’t care about to a dance that I absolutely was not
attending.
“I don’t think Chase is capable of any expression other than ‘duuuurrrr’.” I made a
dumb face and Kelly laughed. Chase Everett was the dumbest jock in the whole school,
which was saying something. He was two years older than me, but he’d been held back a
year, which meant I had to suffer through his inane comments and dumb jock jokes
through all my classes.
“I know you don’t like him, but he is nice to look at.”
“He thought Neil deGrasse Tyson was a boxer.”
 Kelly laughed. “Your priorities are way screwed up. I’ll have plenty of time to find
some intelligent, pushover husband later. Right now. Chase Everett kisses like a god. Red
has such a damn fine ass, though.”
I finally managed to free the book. Damn, it wasn’t Dawkins after all, but
Astrophysics for People in A Hurry. A lump formed in my throat as I recalled the
conversation we’d had that day. Mathematics for People Who Like a Brisk Walk. With the
exception of Kelly, it was the closest thing to a real human connection I’d ever had in this
school.
“Don’t you think Red has a nice ass?” Kelly had that slight tilt in her voice, a sound
I’d come to recognize as this hopeful belief that one day I’d wake up and say something
normal. “I mean, I saw you guys walking down the hallway last week. You must’ve
noticed his ass.”
“I don’t remember his ass. I only vaguely remember him.” Not quite true, and I
kept my head in my locker so Kelly wouldn’t notice the hot flush in my cheeks. The truth
is, even though I can’t remember his real name, I’d noticed that Irish boy a lot. More than
I cared to admit. His thin but solid build, his slightly cleft chin, the smattering of freckles
dusting his turned-up nose, that flame-red hair, and that melodic accent. He sounded like
he was singing every word instead of speaking. Every time he put up his hand to answer a
question in class (usually with some dumbass comment) my whole body stiffened. But no
way in hell was I going to tell Kelly that.
There was no point in liking a boy. It was a complete waste of time and brainpower.
I only had one year left in this dump before college, and I couldn’t afford distractions. I
needed perfect marks in everything or I’d lose my shot at getting into MIT.
If only I could get my damn heart to listen to my brain, but it sped up whenever I
passed him in the halls, and patterned against my chest whenever I caught him making
some other girl laugh, which was often.
“I told you, he just needed some help finding the cafeteria,” I mumbled.
Kelly scoffed. “I refuse to believe that you are such an alien that you didn’t at least
check him out.”
 “He’s not my type.”
“Why, because he doesn’t have a degree from MIT and isn’t wearing a spacesuit?
Give him a break, he’s only a high school senior. He’s still got time.”
“I thought you wanted to go to the dance with him?”
Kelly scrolled through something on her phone. “I think I am going to go with
Chase. He’s got the social status Red just doesn’t have yet and—holy shit, don’t look
now, but Josh Gibbons is coming over here.”
“So?” It wasn’t like he was coming to talk to me. I don’t think I’d exchanged more
than two words with the quarterback that weren’t “shut up” after he insulted me.
“Hey, Maeve.”
Josh Gibbons. Football quarterback. Captain of the track team. Source of the
prevalent rumor I was a lesbian. Eyebrows like giant wriggling slugs desperate to crawl
away from his face. Also a total dumbass, which basically made him anathema to me.
Beside me, Kelly was melting into a puddle.
“Nice to see you, Josh,” she purred, flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder.
Josh’s eyes lingered on the swell of her breast in her low-cut tank top for several
agonizing moments before turning back to me.
“You lose your train of thought there, tiger?” I said, my voice sugary sweet.
“Yeah… a little bit.” Josh’s right eye slug made a break for his ear. “So, Maeve…
homecoming dance is next Saturday night. I thought you might like to go with me.”
Behind me, Kelly gasped.
“No you didn’t,” I said. The statement was so ludicrous, it shouldn’t even warrant
an answer.
“Yeah.” Josh smiled, revealing a row of too-white teeth. “I did. What do you say?”
“Why would you want to want to go to the dance with a lesbian?” I demanded.
Josh’s grin never faltered. “Aw, come on. You know that was just fun. Come on,
Einstein, live a little.”
 Yeah, because I totally want to go on a date with a guy that tells me I need to live a
little. “If you’re going to insist on calling me by some scientist’s name, I’d much prefer
you use Ada Byron—ow!” Kelly’s elbow jabbed me in the ribs.
“What my sister means to say,” Kelly leaned over my shoulder, digging her nails
into my bicep so hard I grimaced, “is that she’d be delighted to be your date for the
dance.”
“No I—” Kelly’s hand clamped over my mouth.
Josh didn’t seem to notice that I wasn’t even consenting to enduring his company
for an entire night. “Good. I’ll pick you up at eight. Pastor Matt’s house, right?”
“That’s right,” Kelly grinned, ignoring my muffled protests. “I’m going with
Chase, so we’ll see you guys at eight.”
“I can’t wait.” With a final disgusting wiggle from the eye slugs, Josh disappeared
down the hall, where he and his football buddies punched each other in the shoulders and
grunted some neolithic language.
I glared at Kelly. “What the hell did you do that for?”
“That was Josh Gibbons,” Kelly said, as if that explained it.
“Exactly. In what alternate reality would I even want to go to this stupid dance, let
alone with Josh Gibbons? His last name is a species of primate, and honestly, I’d rather
dance with a troglodyte.”
“A troglo-what?”
“It’s a caveman. He’s a caveman with slugs for eyebrows.”
“Listen, I know you’re just counting the days until you get your acceptance letter to
MIT and you can leave all us backwards hicks behind you,” Kelly said, a sharp note
entering her voice. “But you’re here now, and this is high school, and the last year we’re
going to get to do stuff like this together. Please, just this once can’t you just humor your
sister who you’re going to abandon the minute you get the chance?”
Great. Way to guilt me into accepting this stupid date.
“I don’t know how to dance,” I grumbled, slamming my locker shut.
 “No one does. You’ll be fine! Omigod, thank you, thank you!” Kelly threw her
arms around me.
“You owe me,” I choked out. She was crushing my windpipe.
“We have to get you a new dress, and I’ll show you how to do your makeup.
Maybe we can evem do something with your hair—” Kelly leaned back and flicked her
fingers through my feathery layers.
“My hair is fine,” I growled. Ever since I’d cut it into this pixie bob, Kelly had
redoubled her efforts to get me to care about makeup and look “more feminine.” You’d
have thought I got a tattoo the way Kelly and Mom went on about my ‘boy hair.’
Southwest girls didn’t do this sort of cut, which was precisely why I liked it.
The bell rang. I walked Kelly to her next class, listening with half an ear while she
described the entire day of beauty treatments I’d have to endure, while wondering if I
could somehow ditch Josh once we got to the dance. As we rounded a corner, the red-
headed Irish guy was heading towards us. He shot me a bright smile, which I returned
with a curt nod, certain he must be able to see my heart leaping into my throat. I forced
myself not to let my eyes trail after him as he passed us and disappeared into the crowd.
So I wasn’t going to get to go to the dance with him. Big deal. He was probably a
dick anyway. And besides, I was going to MIT, and he would be going back to Ireland,
and I’d never see him again, so what was even the point?
 Chapter 3: Flynn

When Corbin first told me I’d be going to school with Maeve, I assumed I’d never
learn a single thing in this backwards, hillbilly school.
I was wrong. I have learned a very important fact of life.
American football is bollocks.
You stand in a line, waiting for some gobshite to run in your direction. Then you
slam into them, because that’s a quick way to lose the few precious brain cells you have
left. Then someone loses the ball and you reset and start again.
Or maybe it was just that the Coopersville Cougars were so shite that they didn’t
understand what they were doing. This was likely. After all, they gave me a place on the
team.
Josh slapped me on the shoulder as we entered the changing room after the
homecoming game. “Hey, Irish. Congrats on making the cut. You’re officially a member
of the worst team in the Southwest.”
“My mammy would be proud.”
“We all go tailgating after the game. We’ll see you there, yeah?”
“I can’t tonight. I’ve got a dinner with my host family I can’t miss.” Another grilled
cheese and buffalo burger, which I could really do without. And they said English
cooking was bad.
“Next time then.” Josh’s eyebrows wiggled. “You going to that summer dance on
Saturday?”
“I don’t know yet.” I was responsible for watching Maeve. If she was going, I’d
have to go. But I suspected dances weren’t really Maeve’s scene. I was kind of wondering
if there was any way I could ask her to go with me and Corbin not find out.
 “Let me know if you need me to set you up with someone.” Josh held up his phone,
one of his eyebrows arching like a furry burlesque dancer. “I’ve got all the local hotties
on speed dial.”
What a gobshite. “I take it you’re going, then?”
Josh grinned. “You won’t believe it. I actually convinced Einstein to go with me.”
Maeve? My blood ran cold. Something in Josh’s easy smile told me he hadn’t
asked her out of some long-hidden attraction.
“I thought you said she was a lesbian?”
“No girl can resist my charms,” Josh’s grin looked sinister. “The boys and I have a
surprise planned for her.”
“What?”
“You’ll see,” he said mysteriously, his eyebrows waggling in a decent impression
of a Bond villain. “I got the idea from this old horror movie I saw. Carrie. It was
hilarious.”
What’s he planning to do to Maeve? “You know that in Carrie, she murders
everyone, right?”
Josh punched my arm again. “Relax, Irish. It’s just a bit of homecoming fun.
Einstein’ll see the funny side, trust me.”
I wasn’t so sure she would. I know I didn’t. I wanted to punch the guy right
between his sentient eyebrows.
Josh stumbled away to his other friends, telling the story about how he’d asked
Maeve to the dance at the top of his lungs, punctuated by bursts of ugly laughter. I hung
back, my hands balled in fists at my sides, fighting the urge to go over there and decorate
his face with my fist.
If I punched him out, I’d likely get expelled. And then it was back to Jolly Old
England for me, and Corbin would get his turn to watch over Maeve ten months early. I
wasn’t going to give our leader the satisfaction.
 Nor was I going to let Josh get away with whatever sick prank he had planned.
There was nothing else for it. I was going to that dance. And I was going to make sure
that Maeve Moore got the respect she deserved.
 Chapter 4: Maeve

“This is ridiculous,” I moaned as Kelly clamped my face between her hands and
came at me with a pair of tweezers. “It’s just a dance. I don’t need all this—ow!”
Kelly rocked back, staring in satisfaction at the tiny dark hair she held between the
pincers. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to get at these eyebrows of yours for years.”
“But I don’t care about plucked eyebrows or makeup or any of this stuff. No one
ever got into the space program because they had nice eyebrows.”
“You know that for a fact?”
I yelped as Kelly yanked out another hair. “Hold still. If you flinch, you’ll end up
with no eyebrows.”
I perked up. “Do that! Then maybe Josh will decide he doesn’t want to be my date
any more—ow!”
Kelly’s hand clamped over my chin, holding my face still. “Stop talking nonsense.”
“Josh is the one who should be plucking, not me. I don’t see why we should go
through this torture and the guys don’t. It’s sexist.”
“It’s completely sexist, but we’re still doing it.” Kelly held up a hand mirror to my
face. “There, what do you think?”
“I think this is a dumb idea and I can’t believe you’re forcing me to do it!”
Kelly snatched the mirror away. “That’s it, you’ve lost all talking rights by being a
grump.”
After the eyebrows came other tortures. Tears welled in my eyes while Kelly
dribbled hot wax on my legs and tore out all the hairs. Then she pulled this
uncomfortable, scratchy dress over my head. It was one she’d worn when she was a
bridesmaid at our cousin’s wedding, so it pinched around my stomach and kept slipping
off my shoulders. Finally, she jabbed all sorts of brushes and pencils on my face and
declared me ready to meet my doom… er, date.
“You girls look beautiful,” Mom gushed as Kelly swept down the stairs. I slunk
down after her, my breasts bouncing around inside the ill-fitting dress. “Matthew, get in
here and look at these two!”
“Beautiful.” Dad beamed from the door of his study, his annotated Bible clutched
in his hands. “You’ll be homecoming queens for sure.”
“You can only have one homecoming queen, Dad.” Kelly rolled her eyes. “And it’s
not even called homecoming this year. The theme is Summer Court.”
“I’m not sure I like the idea of this ‘summer court’,” Mom touched her hand to the
tiny silver cross at her throat. “It sounds a little pagan to me. I think I’ll have a chat to the
school about more appropriate dance themes at the next PTA meeting.”
“Mo-om,” Kelly moaned. “The theme is summer. There’s nothing pagan about that.
Jesus came from Nazareth and it’s always hot there.”
I smirked at that. My sense of humor was rubbing off on Kelly.
The doorbell rang. “That’s them!” Kelly jumped up and down, her hands clasped in
excitement. How she maintained her balance in the two-inch heels she was wearing
astounded me. I was struggling in my half-inch boots.
I stood on the step, the dress pinching my waist, while Kelly fumbled with the lock
in her excitement. Part of me hoped like hell it was some kind of elaborate joke, and
when she opened the door it would really be the Irish boy (I still hadn’t learned his name,
everyone just called him Red or Irish), his freckled nose turned up as he flashed me one
of those cheeky smiles.
But it wasn’t to be. Josh and Chase stood on the porch, looking every bit like
matching Ken dolls in their tucked-in shirts and slacks and hair slick with product.
“Hello, boys.” My mother held the door open, and they came in, all white-toothed
grins and wiggling eyebrows.
“Hi, Mrs. Crawford.” Josh held out a bunch of flowers for her. “These are for you
and the girls. Hi, Pastor Matt.” He shook my Dad’s hand.
 “Oh, aren’t these lovely?” Mom and Kelly bent over and sniffed the flowers. Mom
held them out to me, but I wasn’t about to give Josh the satisfaction of sniffing them.
“I’m allergic,” I said, waving the arrangement away.
“So this dance is just at the school gymnasium?” Dad asked. “You’ll just walk,
then?”
“My truck’s out front, Pastor Matt. I’ve got my full license.”
Mom and Dad exchanged a look. For a moment, hope fluttered in my chest that
they might call the whole thing off, but Dad nodded.
“There won’t be any alcohol or drugs? And you’ll bring the girls back as soon as
the dance is finished?”
“Just clean, wholesome fun, we promise. Of course we’ll bring them straight back,
although we were thinking of grabbing a burger with the rest of the team after—”
“Fine, as long as you stay in a group. Have a good time, girls.” Dad kissed us both
on the head, and retreated back into his study.
Mom took a dozen stupid pictures with her phone. “I can’t wait to show the girls at
bible study,” she gushed. If I’d actually cared what Josh Gibbons thought of me, I’d be
mortified. As it was, it was hilarious watching how beet-red Kelly had turned.
“Bye, Mom.” Kelly grabbed Chase’s hand and practically tore him out of the house.
Josh held out his hand to me, but I pretended I hadn’t seen it.
Outside, a big, red, stupid pickup truck sat half-across the lawn. It looked as if it
had never seen a hard day’s farm work in its life.
“What an awesome car.” Kelly trailed her matching red nails along the hood.
“This is why the world blames America for climate change,” I said.
“Maeve!” Kelly elbowed me.
“I bet it gets terrible mileage,” I added.
Josh opened the back door for us. “You’re so odd, Einstein,” he said.
Kelly kept up a steady stream of chatter the whole way to the dance. Even though
she was only a sophomore, she ran in the same social circle as these guys. They knew all
the same people, listened to the same music, watched the same shows. They might as
well have been speaking Greek for all it meant to me.
The pounding music met us at the school parking lot. Kelly and Chase were already
making out by the time we started walking toward the gym. My stomach flipped again.
Would Josh… try something? He was a jock, after all. Rumors of his sexual escapades
spread all over the school. Despite his claims that I was well versed in going down on
women, he probably suspected I was a virgin. Was all this dance pretense just a way to
lure me into a secluded corner?
Well, if he thinks that is what’s going to happen, then he’s got a knee to the groin
coming.
I had to admit, the shocked and jealous looks from the other kids when I walked
into the gymnasium on Josh’s arm kind of made all Kelly’s torture worth it. Josh led me
right into the center of the room, grabbed my arms, and started twirling me around to
some atrocious, chauvinistic hip hop song.
It was everything I hated and more, and yet an actual, genuine smile played at the
corners of my lips. When a group of cheerleaders wafted past and gave me a filthy look, I
broke into a full-on grin.
As Josh spun me around the dance floor, I got to have a look around the room. I
spied Red in the corner, talking to Hannah Peters, class president and head of the dance
committee and pretty much every other committee. He took a small hip flask from the
pocket of his leather jacket and dribbled some amber liquid into Hannah’s cup.
Red caught my eye and winked, then waggled his eyebrow in a way that I
wondered might be in imitation of Josh. I whipped my head away, not wanting to watch
him flirt with Hannah.
After a couple more songs, I was almost starting to have fun. Kelly was right.
Absolutely no one knew how to dance, especially not Josh, who kept stepping on my feet.
But we made a big circle with Kelly and Chase and some of their friends and the guys
started making up silly dances like “The Lawnmower” and “Washing the Windows” and
“Mime in a Box,” and I caught myself laughing with them, instead of at them.
 This whole night is weird…
After a couple more songs, the music stopped and Principal Lodge walked out on
stage. “Howdy, everyone. I hope you’re all having a great night?”
The cheers and whoops of the crowd suggested the affirmative.
“Good to hear. This year, in keeping with our fairyland theme, the homecoming
committee has decided to elect a ‘Summer Court’. The votes have been counted, and I’ve
received word from the committee that it’s time to announce the winners.”
More applause. I smiled at Kelly, her golden hair streaming down her back. The
halterneck dress she wore hugged her body like a Hollywood movie star. I knew that in a
few moments she’d be standing up on the stage as Summer Princess.
“Our Summer King is no stranger to any of you, as he’ll be leading the Cougars to
victory for the first time in twenty-five years. Please welcome to the stage, Josh
Gibbons!”
Well, there’s a surprise.
Josh squeezed my hand before dropping it and pumping his fists in the air as the
spotlight spun across the floor to focus on him. Kids clapped and cheered and slapped his
back like he’d achieved something great and worthwhile and not just won a popularity
contest. He made his way through the crowd and up the steps, where Principal Lodge
placed a plastic crown on his head. Beneath the crown, his eyebrows did a little
celebratory dance.
Principal Lodge took the mic again. Every girl in the room shuffled forward a little,
faces expectant. “Our Summer Queen is a girl who’s shocked us all, and not just by the
fact she’s shown up tonight. Looking beautiful in blue, I’d like to welcome to the stage…
Maeve Crawford!”
 Chapter 5: Flynn

The spotlight swiveled around until it found Maeve in the crowd. Her hazel eyes
glazed over. She looked completely bamboozled. Of course she did. Outside of a feel-
good teen movie, there was no possible way she could have won the vote for the Summer
Queen. She wasn’t popular, and although I thought she was the hottest girl I’d ever seen,
her looks stood out for all the wrong reasons. Which meant only one thing: the votes had
been rigged.
My hypothesis (as Maeve would say) was proved correct as only a smattering of
applause followed the announcement of her name. I broke away from my scowling date
(who clearly expected to win, since she was the one who organized the dance), and
pushed my way toward Maeve, listening to the whispered conversation around me.
“Who the hell is she?” A senior girl in front of me whispered to her friends.
“She’s that weirdo science nerd,” the friend whispered back.
“But she’s a lesbian. How can a lesbian be voted the Summer Queen?”
Because Josh Gibbons arranged it, I fumed. Just look at him grinning from ear-to-
ear as he waved at Maeve from the stage. His fecking eyebrows narrowed in the middle
like a comic book villain.
“Maeve, why don’t you come on up here and receive your crown?” Principal Lodge
beamed.
Maeve’s sister shoved her forward. The crowd parted for her, recoiling as though
she had the plague. “Did she dig that dress out of the garbage?” A blonde girl hissed to
her date.
I moved faster, elbowing people out of my way. I reached the edge of the stage just
as Josh helped Maeve up the steps, steering her to a spot near the front marked with an
taped X.
 X marks the spot.
I remembered the scene from Carrie where the pig’s blood dropped and all hell
broke loose. My chest tightened. There was still time. I could still save Maeve from
whatever that wanker Josh had planned.
I glanced up, searching for a clue to what Josh and his mates were planning, but the
lights shone right in my eyes. I blinked several times, trying to resolve the shapes of the
lighting rig, the metal walkway that extended across the top of the stage.
A shadow moved on the walkway, right at the edge. The flash of a face – one of the
guys from the football team, his features twisted with cruelty. He placed a bucket on the
edge of the walkway and took a step back.
Oh, no, you don’t.
I raised my hand, palm pointed toward him, letting my mind reach out and grasp
the contents of the bucket, running my mental fingers through the liquid, sensing its
foulness. Whatever it was, no way was Maeve going to get it tipped on her head.
I gathered up all my anger at Josh and his friends and the gobshites at this stupid
school who treated Maeve so cruelly.
I pushed.
And all hell broke loose.
 Chapter 6: Maeve

The lights stung my eyes. I couldn’t see any of the faces in the crowd, which was
just as well. It was bad enough hearing their sniggers.
“Who’d give that lesbian the crown?”
“Look at that dress. It doesn’t even fit her right. What a disaster.”
“Her eyebrows aren’t even plucked straight. Why do smart girls always have to be
so hopeless?”
Bile rose in my throat. I wanted to throw up. I shouldn’t be here. I don’t want to be
here.
Don’t think about them, Maeve. Just focus on Josh. The sooner you get this over
and done with, the sooner you can get off this stupid stage and go home.
Josh beamed at me as he lowered the crown onto my head. The lights strobed,
blinding me. When he came into view again, his smile was callous, cruel, his eyebrows
all twisted up like a snake. “I hope you like your surprise, you dyke,” he hissed.
I was too shocked, too raw and exposed up there in my too tight dress, to say
anything back. In that single moment, I realized what he’d been doing all along. This was
some cruel plot to get me up here so the whole school could laugh at me. Because I was
different and I didn’t fit in. Because they were a herd of buffalo culling their weakest
member.
For that flicker of a moment, I prayed to the God I didn’t even believe in that he
would make me normal. Tears welled in my eyes as I silently begged this unresponsive
deity to make me like everyone else, to force my classmates to clap and cheer because for
once they were on my side.
 Because for all I shot back one-liners and ignored their taunts and read books in the
library to escape them, deep down, I wished that they liked me. I wished I had a single
friend who understood me in this stupid school.
The crown settled on my head, surprisingly heavy for an object made of cheap
plastic and rhinestones. Its weight made my neck ache, or perhaps that was the growing
dread creeping through my skin that this was not all I had to endure tonight, that there
was more humiliation to come.
“Maeve?” Kelly called out to me, but she was so far away. And she couldn’t save
me, because she was one of them… one of them…
Something hit me in the side of the face. I didn’t bother to raise my hand. A single
tear escaped my eye and rolled down my cheek. No. I blinked, trying to force back the
waiting tsunami of tears. Letting them see me cry was the ultimate defeat.
Something else grazed my arm. I have to get off this stage. But I was frozen in
place, my legs lead, my body on edge, waiting for the next attack.
My eyes searched for Kelly, who was still calling my name, but the lights shone
right in my eyes and I couldn’t see her. I did see Red, his freckled face easy to spot
because he was the only one near the stage not laughing or sneering or winding back his
arm to throw something else. Instead, his blue eyes blazed with anger. He mouthed
something to me and lifted his hand in the air.
Time froze. I waited, holding my breath against whatever horror they’d planned for
me.
And then it started to rain.
 Chapter 7: Flynn

The kid on the gangway drew his leg back and swung it at the bucket. My first
burst of water hit him with a jet square in the stomach, knocking him back against the
steel. He bellowed as he landed on his bent leg, likely snapping the bone. His face twisted
in agony, and he collapsed against the gangway with a dull thud.
My second burst spread across the ceiling, rolling in rain clouds and opening them
up on the room. Lightning crackled through the bleachers and kids ducked for cover as
water teemed down from above.
I rushed forward, pushing through panicking kids and scrambling teachers, trying
to reach Maeve. She stood in the centre of the stage, frozen in place. Her wet dress clung
to every curve of her body, and that stupid crown still perched on top of her head.
Maeve’s sister got there first, tossing her heels aside as she leapt up the steps and
led Maeve away.
Students rushed for the exits. Anger boiled in my veins. I wanted them to pay. I
forced more clouds to gather, more rain to pelt down on them. Cheap dyed dresses run
with color and slacks clung uncomfortably to gangly legs.
I slunk back behind a corner of the bleachers, waiting for Josh to pass in front of
me. He stood out a mile away – his Summer Court crown bobbing over the rest of the
crowd. I grabbed his collar and yanked him back.
“Oh, hey, Irish.” He ran his fingers through his damp hair. “This is pretty wild,
huh? Someone must’ve set the sprinklers off or—”
“That was a pretty nasty stunt you were about to pull on Maeve,” I told him.
Josh shrugged. “She deserved it for being such a weirdo. Why do you care so
much? She’s just some dumb lesbian—”
 I’d stopped listening to him. My mind focused on that bucket still sitting up on the
lighting rig. I grabbed the contents with my mind, sensed the sticky foulness of it – some
cow shit from his daddy’s ranch, no doubt – making sure I collected every last drop.
Then I heaved that foul water across the room at Josh Gibbons’ face.
Josh was still ranting. “I thought you were cool, Irish, but you’re just a freak like
her. I’m going to make your life so miserable—”
His words cut off when a big glob of shit slammed into his mouth.
I grinned my happiest, luckiest Irish grin at him. “Eat shit, you wanker.”
Josh doubled over, coughing and spluttering, raking his hands over his face, his
tongue, trying to paw off the horrible mixture he’d meant for Maeve. He gasped for his
friends to help him but they hung back, not wanting to get smeared with the same
foulness.
They were all foul on the inside, the whole lot of them. I bent over Josh and
grabbed his collar, hauling him up so my eyes were even with his shit-smeared ones.
Rotting chunks clumped in his eyebrows, who I guessed were seriously regretting being
attached to his face right now.
“If you or one of your gobshite friends ever tries to hurt anyone like that again, I
swear by the Virgin Mary I will personally make your life a living hell. Now get out of
here and never speak to Maeve again.”
I threw him in the general direction of the door. The kids parted like the red sea
around him, and he crumpled on the ground in a puddle of shit.
“Is that Josh?” someone pointed. “His face is all covered in some shit.”
A girl leaned close to him and sniffed. “Ew. It’s actually shit. He’s got shit on his
face.”
“He’s a shit-eater!” Chase yelled. All the football jocks guffawed. The rest of the
crowd joined in.
I wanted to laugh, too, but the sight of Josh gasping and retching in the middle of a
circle of his jeering peers made my stomach turn. I pushed my way outside and searched
the crowd for Maeve.
 Once again, she was walking away from me – she and Kelly moved toward the
parking lot, their arms around each other. Kelly had a cell phone to her ear and was
talking frantically. Maeve still wore her crown. It slipped down over one eye, and her
long bangs were plastered to her face. My arms ached to hold her, to feel her warmth
against me, to kiss away the hurt.
Maybe this time Maeve sensed the connection between us, because she looked up,
met my eye, and flashed me the most brilliant, beautiful smile.
My knees wobbled. Sparks flared in my gut. But I managed to keep it cool. I smiled
and waved back. And even though my legs begged me to go to her, I held my ground and
watched her walk away.
As soon as Corbin hears about this, he’ll force me to come home again. I guess I
didn’t blame him. I’d lost control. Using magic out in the open like that was the exact
opposite of what I was supposed to be doing in Coopersville.
But it was all for Maeve. I’d protected her. Granted, it wasn’t against a fae attack.
But wasn’t that just semantics and splitting hairs and shite? She’d needed a hero, and I’d
tried to step up.
And now I’d have to leave her.
There would come a time in the future, once Maeve developed her powers, where
we’d no longer hide in the shadows, where we could teach her what she needed to know
so she didn’t need us watching over her any more. From the two weeks since I’d met
Maeve Moore in the flesh, I could understand that she was so much more than this stupid
place. There was a flicker of loneliness in her defiant gaze – a flicker that reflected my
own past. A flicker that said we had more in common than either of us might realize.
Maeve Moore, I know you feel hopelessly alone right now. But your real friends are
in the shadows. We’re watching out for you. And one day soon, you’ll never have to feel
alone again.
***
Discover what happens when Maeve learns what she really is in the sizzling first book in
the Briarwood Reverse Harem series, Earth and Embers.

http://books2read.com/earthandembers
Volume 7: Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries
 Chapter 1: Nevermore Bookshop RULES
(As compiled by Heathcliff Earnshaw)

1. No mobile phones.
2. No mentioning The-Store-That-Shall-Not-Be-Named within these walls,
upon pain of death.
3. No eating or drinking in the shop. This is not one of those fancy high
street chains with an on-site barista, nor do I appreciate picking up banana
skins or empty crisp packets. If I catch you with coffee in here, I will
dump it over your head. Ask Morrie, I’ve done it before.
4. All alcohol is to be relinquished to the proprietor upon entry to the shop. It
will not be returned.
5. There’s a circle of hell reserved for people who haggle over a £2
paperback.
6. No murder in the shop. It’s a tedious job cleaning the bloodstains out of
the carpet.
7. The proprietor does not appreciate having his bum pinched. This means
you, Mrs. Ellis.
8. Dan Brown is a terrible bore and I’ll flatten anyone who says otherwise.
9. We will not match books to your outfit. Actually, Mina probably will.
10.This is a bookshop, not a jungle gym. Children caught climbing the
bookshelves will be sold into slavery.
11.Heavy breathers in the erotica section will be promptly moved on, usually
by being forced to converse with the chatty and horny elderly lady who
hangs out there. (Hi, Mrs. Ellis).
 12.No, we will not sell your badly-written erotica, kooky religious tracts, or
essays about alien abduction. However, self-published reverse harem
authors are welcome.
13.No pulling the cat’s tail.
14.No hungry/tired children in the shop. Go across the road and buy them a
pie. Or some arsenic – I don’t care which. But don’t inflict them on the
rest of us.
15.No customers upstairs in the flat.
16.No customers behind the proprietor’s desk.
17.No customers in the storage room.
18.In fact, if customers could just avoid the shop altogether, that would be
preferable. There’s a Waterstones in the next village. They have a barista.
19.Our shop raven loves it when you recite Poe to him. Go on. Give it a go.
We promise nothing bad will happen to you.

***

What do you get when you cross a cursed bookshop, three hot fictional men, and a punk
rock heroine nursing a broken heart? Read book one of the Nevermore Bookshop
Mysteries – A Dead and Stormy Night – and find out.

http://books2read.com/adeadandstormynight
 Chapter 2: QUOTH
AlternaBve POV chapter

“Excuse me, I was just wondering,” a middle-aged woman leaned over the counter
to address Heathcliff. Oddly enough, the scowl with which he greeted her did not deter
her inquiries. “Did Anne Frank ever write a sequel?”
Heathcliff blinked. From my perch atop the armadillo, I could see the steam
coming out his ears. “A sequel to her diary?”
“Yes. I really enjoyed it. I was hoping there was a sequel where she escapes to the
South of France and finds true love.”
“It’s a non-fiction book,” Heathcliff’s voice dripped with scorn. “She’s sent to a
concentration camp, where she died. So no, there’s not a bloody sequel.”
“Oh, that’s such a shame,” the customer tutted as she made her way to the door.
“She was a talented writer.”
The woman slipped into the hall. Heathcliff's eyes rolled so far back in his head I
was afraid they'd get stuck there. He slammed his head into the desk several times. "Kill
me now. Save me from the idiots of this age. Shut the door after her, would you Quoth? I
can't deal with another imbecile today. And make me some tea."
I fluttered out of the room before he started throwing books, which was his usual
method of venting his frustrations. I perched on the top of the hallway bookshelf, beside
my wall of trophies, and peered through the window above the door into the street below,
checking no one was around to see through the windows when I shifted into my human
form.
A figure caught my eye. A girl stood on the footpath outside, staring up at the
facade of the building. Her heels rose off the ground as she craned her neck to see right
the way up to my attic bedroom.
 Radiant light from the afternoon sun bounced off her face, highlighting strong
features and an expression of grim determination. Whatever her reason for being here,
she didn’t intend to come away empty-handed. Long brown hair fell over her shoulders in
waves, picking up flecks of the violet light spectrum only my raven eyes could see.
The girl looked down at her phone, holding the screen closer to her face than most
humans did. As she slipped it back into her purse, I caught a glimpse of the Argleton
community app open on the screen. Hmmm, that’s where Morrie placed Heathcliff’s ad…
Uh-oh.
From the main room behind me, Heathcliff snarled. Today has been a bad day. A
customer came in and asked for a copy of George Ormand’s Nineteen Eighty-Six. Another
found a scribbled price of £1 from a previous bookseller in a 1920s volume we’d priced
at £15 and tried to argue we should sell it to him at that price. Then The-Store-That-Shall-
Not-Be-Named glitched and we sold a first edition collection of Dickens for 4 pence.
Heathcliff was not in the right humor to meet an applicant for the assistant job, especially
not if it meant he'd be losing a bet to Morrie.
And especially not a woman like her. Look at her, absolutely beautiful. But there
was something beyond her surface beauty that arrested me – behind that determined look,
her green eyes shone with impossible depth and sadness. I recognized a fellow haunted
soul. Whoever this girl was, she needed something to take away her pain. Heathcliff
wasn't exactly going to be able to give her that. He'd just as likely cause fresh wounds.
She opened the front door and stepped inside, the gloom of Nevermore Bookshop
enclosing her like a shroud. Her bright red boots sank into the worn carpet. She ran her
fingers along the spines of the books as she made her way tentatively down the hall. Was
she reconsidering her application, or was she moving slowly because she couldn’t see in
the gloom?
“Hello?” she called, her voice as sweet as the first plums of spring.
Hello beautiful, I thought sadly as she moved underneath my perch without
noticing me. A strange sensation prickled the back of my neck, between my feathers. The
tips of my wings itched. Something about this girl called to me. I wanted to talk to her, as
a human. But I knew that couldn’t happen. I couldn’t talk to anyone, not if I wanted to
stay safe. And it didn’t matter anyway – Heathcliff was about to chase her out of our lives
for good.
The girl’s head whipped around, her eyes scanning the darkness. “Hello?”
What? The pricking feeling intensified. Did she just hear me?
No. That’s not possible. As far as we knew, only other fictional characters like
Heathcliff and Moriarty could hear my raven thoughts.
The girl peered up at me, her confused expression weakening my heart. She can’t
see me, I realized. She has bad eyesight. I unfurled a long wing and swooped off the
shelf, making myself known to her, overwhelmed by a desire for her to see me, to
acknowledge me, even if only as a bird.
“Argh!” She flung up her arm, slamming a sharp elbow into my wing. I hopped
back onto my perch as she toppled into a stack of books, scattering the volumes across
the hall.
Oops, great. Wonderful first impression, Quoth.
A random thought that wasn’t my own struck me between my ears. What is
Astarte’s name is a raven doing in here? It’ll poop over the books. I wonder if it’s got a
nest in the roof somewhere? We’ll have to find that if we want to chase it out...
I croaked with surprise. Okay, this is weird. Those are her thoughts, but I shouldn’t
be able to hear those, either.
It could mean...
That maybe she’s...
“I guess you kind of suit the place.” The girl spoke aloud as she bent down to
retrieve the books. “A raven in Nevermore Bookshop. Once upon a midnight dreary—”
“Croak.” Oh, no, you don’t. You may be the girl we’ve been waiting for, but you
don’t get to recite that poem.
“Fine. Fine. I didn’t come here to quote poetry to a bird.” The girl stood up and
rubbed her elbow. “I want to talk to the boss. Do you know where I might find him?”
 I’ll show you. I unfurled my wings, swooped past her, and flew through the
archway on the left into the main room, where Heathcliff kept his desk beside the grand
old fireplace. I perched on the desk lamp, tapping the metal in an attempt to get his
attention.
Heathcliff, there’s someone here to see you.
Bugger off, was his response.
Not this time.
The girl’s boots clunked against the floorboards, the sound exploding in my ears.
She approached the desk, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to find the right
words. I registered her mind, muddled with thoughts of a faraway city she wished she
could return to, and a friend who betrayed her, and a fear that consumed her. Mingled in
there were memories of this very bookshop at another time, with another proprietor, and
of her joy at hiding in dark corners and discovering fantastical worlds within the pages.
She loved this bookshop once. My heart fluttered as I put together the details. She
is… she's the one.
"We're closed," Heathcliff muttered, not even looking up from his book.
She frowned. “Your sign still says open.”
“Well, flip it over for me on the way back out.”
“Um, sure. Mr. Earnshaw, was it?” She waved at him.
Look up, you idiot. You have to see her.
I’m ignoring you, he snapped back. Both of you. Get out of my head.
The girl lowered her hand. “I saw the job ad you posted on the Argleton app, and I
wanted to—”
“App?” Now his head snapped up, those black eyes of his regarding her with
suspicion. A flicker of something like curiosity, like desire, wavered in his features,
before he scrunched up his nose and curled his lips back into a sneer. If he’d seen what
I’d seen, he was doing his best to ignore it. “What the devil is an app?”
She looked perturbed. “Um… you know, an application for your phone, so you can
get the bus timetable or talk to your mates or—”
 “Don’t talk to me about phones,” Heathcliff snapped. “People spend too much time
on their phones.”
The girl babbled as she whipped the hand holding her phone behind her back. “Oh,
I agree. I mean, phones should only be used for calling people. And checking social
media. That’s it. I would never read on mine. I mean, studies have shown it can cause
long-term eye damage and—”
“No matter how long you keep talking, it’s not going to change the fact that we’re
closed. What do you want?”
“I’m Mina Wilde. I’m applying for the assistant’s job.” She dug a large envelope
from her purse and held it out to him. “I’ve got my resume in here for you with all my
qualifications and—”
“I don’t need that. If you want the job, tell me why I should hire you.”
"Right, well…" Mina flicked her eyes over Heathcliff and bit her lower lip. Lust
rolled off her in waves. Of course. Heathcliff treated her like crap and it made her want
him. I'd read enough romance books now to know that was the way it always worked. I'd
never read a book where the cute girl fell for the quiet feathery raven boy.
“If your answer is to gape at me like a bespawling lubberwort,” Heathcliff growled.
“Then you can take the job and shove it where the sun don’t shine—”
“That’s not my answer.” Mina’s cheeks flared with heat. Her voice took on a
hardened edge. He’d pushed her too far. “I was just collecting my thoughts. You should
hire me because I’m a hard worker. I’m punctual. I have some retail experience, as well
as design expertise so I can do graphics and window displays—”
“I don’t care. Why do you want to work here? No one wants to work here. That
was the whole point of the ad.”
“Um… I guess I used to hang out in the bookshop all the time as a kid. I know
where all the books go and I’ve personally helped Mr. Simson fix that till on at least two
occasions.” She pointed to the ancient till where I perched.
Heathcliff, don’t let her leave, I begged him telepathically. She’s the one Mr. Simson
told us about, the one we’re supposed to wait for. I’m sure of it.
 "And… um, I have all sorts of useful skills," Mina continued, her words tumbling
out as she fought to regain control of the interview. "I have a fashion degree, so that's
probably not useful. But I am a millennial so I can do the store's social media. I could
build a website—"
I don’t see it, Heathcliff shot back at me, studying her features through his sneer.
She wants to build a website. I’m not having a website—
Oh, just hire her already. She’s pretty.
“Huh?” The girl glanced over my shoulder, wondering where the voice had come
from. I glared at Heathcliff. He had to believe me now.
She’s just hearing something on the street, he shot at me. Stop making this—
I like her. I bet she’ll bring me treats. Berries, smoked salmon, maybe even a hard-
boiled egg.
The girl peered over my shoulder again. “Who’s there?”
She heard me! She heard me! I danced along the till.
We don’t know that. Heathcliff whipped his head around to look behind Mina. But
of course, there was no one there. "Who are you talking to?"
“You didn’t hear that? Someone was prattling on about salmon and eggs.”
I told you so! I practically screamed, tapping the till with my beak.
Heathcliff’s eyes narrowed. He reached out and clamped an enormous hand around
my beak. You’re a wanker. “You didn’t leave the door open, did you?” He glowered at
Mina. “We’re supposed to be closed.”
“No. I…” Mina’s shoulders sagged. “I guess I’ll just be going now. Thank you for
your time and—”
“You start tomorrow,” Earnshaw glowered. “We open at nine. Be here at eight-
thirty, but don’t let anyone else in. If you’re late, the bird gets your first paycheck.”
Yes, yes! I danced along the till. Thank you.
Yeah, yeah, Heathcliff said. Don’t tell Morrie I’ve gone soft on you.
Mina beamed. Her smile was a beam of sunlight in the gloomy shop. She thanked
Heathcliff profusely, and hurried outside, probably thinking to get away before he
changed his mind, which was wise. Heathcliff heaved himself up and went into the hall to
lock the door behind her.
I sucked in a breath and forced my shift. My skin itched and prickled as the feathers
retracted – a creeping irritation that I could never scratch away. Fire leaped through my
veins as my internal organs and systems adjusted themselves. Bones snapped, sinews
twisted, and by the time Heathcliff returned I sat, naked, on the edge of his desk.
“Get your bare arse off my book. I didn’t need your song and dance with her,” he
muttered.
“Clearly, you did,” I replied, wriggling against his book a few times before sliding
off and sinking into the velvet chair opposite the desk. An icy draft blew up through the
broken windowpane, caressing my pale skin. I relaxed into the discomfort. After that visit
from Mina, a cold blast did me good.
“Well, I’ve hired her, so you got your way.” Heathcliff picked up his book by
pinching the corner, holding it as far away from his body as he could. He made a face as
he dropped it into the rubbish bin.
“Mr. Simson told us she’d come back – the girl who loved the bookshop. I saw
flickers of her thoughts. She used to come to this bookshop as a child. She even
remembers Mr. Simson. That love just radiates off her. And she could hear my thoughts.
I’m telling you, she’s the one we’re supposed to protect.”
“She doesn’t look like she needs protecting.”
“I don’t think you’re the best judge of that.” I hugged my knees. “There’s pain in
her past, a lot of it. I think she needs friends.”
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Heathcliff growled. "Well, don't get all hot and
bothered. The minute she meets Morrie, she won't be concerned with either of us."
“It won’t be like that.”
“It’ll be exactly like that, and all the better for it. Morrie will fuck her and forget
her. I’ll get some peace again, and you’ll stay in the attic out of my sight so you don’t get
all excited and shift in front of her, lest she calls the authorities and some government
researcher ends up eating raven pie for supper.”
 I nodded, but I was a million miles away, lost in the memory of Mina Wilde’s
sunshine smile and haunted eyes. My heart swelled. Mina Wilde, welcome to Nevermore
Bookshop. I see you. I want to be your friend.
I hope… I hope you see me, too.
***

What do you get when you cross a cursed bookshop, three hot fictional men, and a punk
rock heroine nursing a broken heart? Read book one of the Nevermore Bookshop
Mysteries – A Dead and Stormy Night – and find out.

http://books2read.com/adeadandstormynight
Volume 8: Manderley Academy
 Chapter 1: Faye’s Playlist

You can find a playlist of Faye’s favourite tunes – including most of the pieces
mentioned in Manderley Academy – on Spotify here.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5bXlxMPnB4AnTFKby2648x?si=B-
gDoZbFSeKNoXcVNj_Epg

***

Something dark and mysterious haunts Faye at Manderley Academy… and it’s not just
the three beautiful musicians who want her to leave. Read book one, Ghosted.

http://books2read.com/manderley1
 Other Books By Steffanie Holmes

Nevermore Bookshop Mysteries

Midsomer Murders meets Black Books in this paranormal reverse harem murder
mystery series. Join a brooding antihero, a master criminal, a cheeky raven, and a heroine
with a big heart (and an even bigger book collection).
Start reading: http://books2read.com/adeadandstormynight
A Dead and Stormy Night
Of Mice and Murder
Pride and Premeditation
How Heathcliff Stole Christmas
Memoirs of a Garroter
Prose and Cons
A Novel Way to Die

Grimdale Graveyard Mysteries

What do you do when three hot AF, possessive ghosts want to jump your bones?
Find out in this spooky, kooky paranormal romance series set in the same world as
Nevermore Bookshop.
Start reading: http://books2read.com/grimdale1
You’ll be the Death of Me
If You’ve Got It, Haunt It
Ghoul as a Cucumber
Not a Mourning Person

Kings of Miskatonic Prep

 HP Lovecraft meets Cruel Intentions in this dark paranormal bully reverse harem
romance – a top-20 bestselling series.
Start reading: http://books2read.com/shunned
Shunned
Initiated
Possessed
Ignited

Stonehurst Prep
Mackenzie Malloy is just a poor little rich girl with the stolen life. Her one goal at
Stonehurst Prep is to f**k up the three princes of the school, before they destroy her.
Stonehurst Prep is a dark contemporary high school reverse harem “bully with a twist”
series.
Start reading: http://books2read.com/mystolenlife
My Stolen Life
My Secret Heart
My Broken Crown
My Savage Empire

Stonehurst Prep Elite

Fergie Munroe will do anything to get into an Ivy League college, even get in with
the three poisonous princes who rule her school. Stonehurst Prep Elite is a dark
contemporary high school reverse harem series featuring the children of characters from
Stonehurst Prep.
Start reading: http://books2read.com/elite1
Poison Ivy
Poison Flower
Poison Kiss
Dark Academia
If you enjoy dark romantic suspense about clever heroines, ancient rites, secret
societies, cruel princes and wicked priests, dusty libraries and decadent parties, twisted
relationships and buried secrets, then prepare to enter the halls of Blackfriars University.
You may never return.
Start reading: http://books2read.com/prettygirlsmakegraves
Pretty Girls Make Graves
Brutal Boys Cry Blood

Manderley Academy
A dark mystery unfolds around musician Faye de Winter when she enters the
prestigious Manderley Academy. A gothic reverse harem retelling of Cinderella.
Start reading: http://books2read.com/manderley1
Ghosted
Haunted
Spirited

Briarwood Witches
One nerdy girl making a new start. One ancient castle hiding a dark secret. Five
beautiful boys drenched in grief, hope, and ancient magic. Devour this popular
paranormal reverse harem series set in the same world as the Crookshollow shifters.
Start reading: http://books2read.com/earthandembers
Earth and Embers
Fire and Fable
Water and Woe
Wind and Whispers
Spirit and Sorrow

Crookshollow Gothic Romance

 Discover these strong, protecting alphas, sassy heroines, dark mysteries, and a cast
of quirky characters you’ll fall in love with.
http://books2read.com/artofcunning
Art of Cunning (Alex & Ryan)
Art of the Hunt (Alex & Ryan)
Art of Temptation (Alex & Ryan)
The Man in Black (Elinor & Eric)
Watcher (Belinda & Cole)
Reaper (Belinda & Cole)

Wolves of Crookshollow
Welcome to Crookshollow, a sleepy English village famous for supernatural
happenings. Here, all sorts of creatures lurk in the shadows. Vampires, ghosts, and – of
course – shifters. There’s danger and mystery around every corner, but in Crookshollow –
love triumphs over all.
Start reading: http://books2read.com/diggingthewolf
Digging the Wolf (Anna & Luke)
Writing the Wolf (Rosa & Caleb)
Inking the Wolf (Bianca & Robbie)
Wedding the Wolf (Willow & Irvine)

Want to be informed when the next Steffanie Holmes paranormal romance story
goes live? Sign up for the newsletter to get the scoop, and score a free collection of bonus
scenes and stories to enjoy!

http://www.steffanieholmes.com/newsletter
 About the Author

Steffanie Holmes is the USA Today bestselling author of the paranormal, gothic,
dark, and fantastical. Her books feature clever, witty heroines, secret societies, creepy old
mansions and alpha males who always get what they want.
Legally-blind since birth, Steffanie received the 2017 Attitude Award for Artistic
Achievement. She was also a finalist for a 2018 Women of Influence award.
Steff is the creator of Rage Against the Manuscript – a resource of free content,
books, and courses to help writers tell their story, find their readers, and build a badass
writing career.
Steffanie lives in New Zealand with her husband, a horde of cantankerous cats, and
their medieval sword collection.

Come hang with Steffanie

www.steffanieholmes.com
steff@steffanieholmes.com