Page 1 of Death and Do-Overs

CHAPTER 1

MAR

Behind the dilapidated skeleton of what was once a thriving Burger Ruler, an unassuming parking lot in the heart of Piccadilly underwent a metamorphosis.

The restaurant’s windows had long ago been boarded shut. The only remnant of its former life was a sign that stood crooked with a message that may have once saidclosed. Now it readlosed.

As the eerie glow of the aggressively-large moon lit the cracked and forgotten asphalt, a menagerie of shady characters flooded from the shadows like ants to a dropped ice cream cone. They carried blankets, tables, and cauldrons. They pulled wagons brimming with macabre treasures.

Upon the rising of every supermoon, for only a few hours, Piccadilly’s most fascinating residents transformed the fast-food graveyard into a thriving midnight market. The timing for this one in particular could not be more fortuitous, as tomorrow was the most macabre, and most spectacular holiday—Halloween.

Anticipation twitched through my fingertips. I watched them assemble, waiting a non-pushy distance from the set-up spot of my favorite snack cart. I’d been looking forward to this night for months, even more so over this last frustrating week.

As the market came to life one scarf and jar of pickled shark at a time, I stood focused on the empty pavement where Kernel of Truth was supposed to be. The sharp bite of the cold air rippled a shiver across my skin. I buttoned the only button left undone on my coat. A bustle of cloaked customers poured into stalls.

Walking the market carrying a parchment cone filled with spicy popcorn was my tradition. I didn’t want to start without it. But if I waited too long, I’d miss out on the market experience entirely. The alarm on my phone was already set to tell me when I had to leave for work, and I could feel it pressing closer the longer I stood still.

“Sssmine!”

The loud declaration caught my attention, though not as fully as the snarling green creature who’d delivered it. He was two feet tall, buck naked, and clutching what looked like a rusty wrench to his chest.

The recipient of his snarl could have been his clone, if not for the tufts of gray hair protruding from his ears.

“No, sssmine,” Tufty snarled back, then dove at Not-Tufty.

The two goblin-esque creatures tussled on the blanket, rolling over a spread of other rusty tools. Curious, I abandoned my position and wandered closer for a better look.

Were they actually goblins? Did goblins exist or were these guys some other type of creature? I’d have to ask my magic-obsessed friend Imogen.

“Nnneed,” one of the maybe-goblins said. It was impossible to tell which one spoke as their bodies tangled in a jumble of flailing limbs. “Givvve.”

Scuffling, scratching, and grunting sounds filled the air.

I glanced around to see if the playground-style throwdown was concerning to anyone else. No one seemed particularlyinterested, everyone continuing on their way, mulling about other stalls.

The crunch of snapping bone cut through the air like a sickle.

Instinctively I flinched and turned my attention back to the blanket.

Tufty’s teeth were embedded in Not-Tufty’s shoulder.

Both maybe-goblins froze, falling into a spell of eerie silence. There were no cries of pain, no further declarations of ownership, no sound at all.

At any moment, the goblin had to burst into tears…right?

From the corner of my eye, I noticed a man approach.

“Snorfy will be fine,” he said in a lyrical voice.

Not-Tufty’s name was Snorfy?

I blinked up at the man who’d spoken. We’d met before. He was the vendor of this particular stall. I remembered his name—Caspian. I didnotremember his skin being purple, nor the wiggly mouth tentacles he sported under his mustache.

Each flick and twist of his mouth sent a fresh shock and shiver across my skin, like I’d accidentally swum into a bed of sea anemones.

“Goblins are only dangerous if you stumble into their lair.” Caspian’s tentacles danced in time with his words.

So they were goblins. I filed that tidbit away for later.

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