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)
A barista wearing black lipstick and a sweatshirt with ghosts in Santa hats carrying stacks of books leans over the counter and flashes a warm smile. “What deviance can I talk you sinners into tonight?” she asks with a velvety voice and dramatic flourish of one hand.
Declan glances at me and lifts an eyebrow.
“Uh, I have to go with the cursed cocoa,” I say.
“Excellent choice.” She nods to Declan. “How about you, Deck?”
“I’ll have the same.”
“Coming right up.” She grins and prepares our drinks.
“It doesn’t have peppermint in it, does it?” I whisper to Declan. I should’ve asked before ordering.
“Nope. Just lots of chocolate and ghost-shaped marshmallows.”
“Perfect.” I turn and stare at the townspeople and decorations. “For a town that pretends the curse doesn’t exist, you sure draw a lot of attention to the sinister side of things.”
“Sinister side.” His lips twitch. “That sounds like a good name for another YouTube channel.”
“I don’t have time to run another one,” I laugh. “It’s all yours.”
“Tourists like a theme.” Declan shrugs. “Town leans into it. That’s all.”
I nudge him with my elbow. “You don’t like the festival?”
He hesitates. “It’s fine.”
“What a non-answer.” I narrow my eyes. “You don’t enjoy watching a man dressed as Krampus trying to untangle Christmas lights from fake headstones?”
He follows my line of sight. “That’s the mayor. And yes, I enjoy that part a little. He’s very serious the rest of the year.”
The barista returns with two steaming cups topped with whipped cream and, as Declan promised, ghost marshmallows. “How cute! Thank you.”
She slides them across the counter. “Careful, they’re hot. And cursed, of course.”
“Of course.” I nod at her and she winks.
Declan hands her a bill and doesn’t wait for change.
We wander to the edge of the square, where it’s quieter and less crowded. I balance my cocoa in one hand and the kettle corn in the other, upset I don’t have my camera out to capture all the festivities.
“You all right?” Declan asks, taking a sip of his cocoa.
“Yeah, I was just thinking, I should be filming this.”
His gaze flicks to my cup. “Let me hold that. And give me your bag.”
He leads me closer to the town courthouse where he sets our cups on a low stone wall and takes the bag of corn from my hands.
“Thank you.” I eye the corn. “Don’t eat all that on me.”
He chuckles and pops a handful in his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I take my camera out and turn toward the square again, watching a group of teens testing fake fog machines. One shrieks when it blasts her in the face, and I laugh.
Declan settles beside me, our shoulders almost touching. Fog drifts along the ground where the lights don’t quite reach, soft tendrils curling around people’s boots. Between the cocoa heat and his nearness, my skin feels too warm and too aware.
I aim the camera toward the center of the square and grab some footage. When I think I have enough for Wren to use as background, I shut the camera off and tuck it away in my bag.
His voice drops. “You’re quiet.”
“Just taking it in.” A lie, or half of one. I’m taking him in, too—how closely he studies all of the vendors and people around us. Like this place keeps him on high alert no matter the situation.
A cold pulse flares under my sleeve. The mark prickles, an ice-cold needle sliding across my skin.
Declan notices the way my breath snags. “There it is again.”
“I’m fine.” The words come too fast.
His frown says he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t push. “People will linger for a while. Lot of energy around the festival.”
“I bet.” The longer we’re here, the louder and brighter things seem to be, even as the fog thickens.
Declan watches the scene in a detached way. He’s lived here his whole life, people seem to all know and respect him, yet he seems more comfortable at the fringe of things.
I understand that feeling all too well.
“You never told me where else you went today,” Declan asks.
I slide my gaze his way, trying to keep the guilt out of my expression. I still haven’t figured out a way to ask him about his ancestors or what I think I learned at the Sterling family plot today.
“Uh, I went back to the cemetery to do some research.”
His entire body stiffens. “Emery.”
“What? It was broad daylight.” I wave my hand around. “Well, as bright as it seems to get around here. I was perfectly safe. Never stopped by to whisper to the Weeping Widow. Didn’t hear any hoofbeats.” I swallow hard and glance away. “My arm only tingled once when I passed the Widow.”
“So, you did stop by the statue?”
I stop in front of him and stare up into his concerned face. “No, but she’s hard to miss.”