Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Or maybe Declan’s sinful mouth has healing properties.
This town is making me lose my mind.
I pop a piece of fudge into my mouth, letting the buttery maple sugar melt before crunching down on the walnuts. My tripod, bag of equipment, and laptop wait silently across the room on the desk, little reminders of work I should be doing. Reviewing my footage. Recording a “field notes” segment before all the wacky details of last night start to fade. Instead, I wind the iron key’s chain around my finger until it bites into my skin.
Declan clearly doesn’t like me. That much is obvious. He looks at me like I’m a pesky intruder, not a person. Yet, he went out of his way to give me this pendant, saying it would keep me safe.
Safe from what, though?
Either he truly believes the Hollow’s legends, which makes him both superstitious and weirdly earnest. Or he’s part of some town-wide con, putting on a show to thrill the tourists hoping to discover something spooky while visiting.
Except…he doesn’t strike me as the type who’d waste time on smoke and mirrors. He’s too serious. Too honest in his disdain.
Could he actually believe in the Weeping Widow and the Ironbound Rider?
Never attribute to the paranormal that which can be explained by insanity. Maybe the grumpy tattoo artist with pecs of steel is just nuts.
I need an unbiased opinion. I swipe my phone off the nightstand and thumb to Wren’s name.
She answers almost immediately, filling the screen with her sheet-masked face, messy bun with her bangs wrapped in one giant curler, and a green sweatshirt with an illustration of Medusa and “Petrify the Patriarchy” written underneath.
“Well, hello there, my favorite little ghoul chaser,” she teases, the mask muffling her words just a bit. “You look like you slept in a cemetery.”
I snort-laugh. “You’re not far off.”
“How’s the quaint little inn?”
“Not bad.” I shrug and glance at the window, then angle the phone toward it. “Crowsbridge Hollow refuses to acknowledge it’s morning, though. The fog’s relentless.”
She squints, then nods. “Nice atmosphere.”
“Yeah, a real trip.”
“Hang on a sec.” She steps away from the phone. In the background water runs, then the clink of glass bottles tapping against the counter. A few seconds later, the screen blurs and shakes. I close my eyes to avoid motion sickness.
“Okay!” Wren’s fresh, glowing face fills the screen.
“Ooo, you look all glowy. Which mask was that?” I really need to start taking my skincare more seriously.
“The Honey-Bee Moisturized. I sent one with you in your cosmetic case.”
“I’ll have to try it tonight,” I say, even though we both know I’ll probably forget.
“So, spill. What’s got your forehead all wrinkly this early in the morning?”
I rub my finger between my eyebrows. “I didn’t see anything. But I felt a presence and heard…” I frown harder and force my brain to replay last night’s events. “Something? Like the creak of a leather saddle. Hooves hitting the ground? I could’ve sworn there was a horse in the cemetery with me, but I didn’t see a damn thing. Just some weirdly shaped fog.”
It sounds so insignificant now.
“Wooo, sounds creep-tastic. Did you get video?” She grabs a giant black-and-silver water bottle and sucks on the long straw.
“I haven’t reviewed it yet, but yes.”
“There’s something else…” Her eyes narrow and she tilts her head as if she can scour my brain for information through the screen.
“Well, right as the spooktacular show got started, Declan arrived to save me from an invisible horse and the big, bronze statue.”
“Declaaan.” She stretches the name like taffy, eyebrows bouncing. “The grumpy tattoo artist who wouldn’t let you interview him?”
“That’s the one.” I toy with the key pendant, buying myself a second.
“How did he know you were there?”
I shrug. “His apartment isn’t far away. Maybe he saw me?”
“Whoa. Hold up.” Wren leans closer to her phone, eyes wide with interest. “How do you know where his apartment is?”
“Uh…” She’s never going to stop hounding me for details. “I brought this nail for protection…in my pocket…and it kinda stabbed me while he was walking me back to the inn…so he asked me to come up to his apartment and he gave me this pendant, iron key, thingie to protect me while I’m here investigating…” The words stumble out of me in a choppy mess.
Wren sets her water bottle down with a soft clink, eyebrows climbing. “He gave you protection jewelry?”
“Well, he seems to think it’s for protection.” I tug the key up by its chain, then let it drop against my chest. “And it’s safer than carrying the nail around.”
“That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard. I man you barely know gave you a necklace to protect you while you’re ghost hunting in his spooky little town?” She claps her hands together and grins so wide her dimples show. “The romance movie script is writing itself.”