Page 9 of Death and Do-Overs

I pulled out my phone and opened the untraceable communication app my coven used to safely discuss magic, murder, and all other manner of horrors that had befallen our little trio over the past months.

I texted Wendy and Imogen:Emergency meeting. My house. ASAP.

CHAPTER 3

MAR

When I called an emergency coven meeting, I expected my coven—Wendy and Imogen—to come. I did not expect Rose and her fiancé to show up as well.

As people went, the two of them were tolerable enough.

Rose and I had been casual acquaintances for years. She was Wendy’s best friend, and consistently showed up in Wendy’s orbit, including at the shelter and related events. Recently she’d grown ridiculously strong and disturbingly hungry. I found Rose both tolerable and overly enthusiastic in her search for affection.

Her hunt for a romantic partner had come to a close not long ago, upon meeting Andrew, an even-kiltered, potion-crafting wolfman. Having grown up in the hidden world of magic, Andrew’s supernatural experience easily eclipsed the rest of our knowledge combined.

Since I was begrudgingly asking for assistance, it was good he was here. If half of what Wendy said about him was true, he was the most likely of my guests to offer a solution to my dilemma.

Everyone stuffed themselves into the living room of my tiny cottage. Andrew narrowed his attention on the box sitting on the coffee table in the center of the room as everyone else engaged in idle chatter.

Rose tucked a strand of dirty-blond hair behind her ear. “I bet we’ll see snow any day now.”

“It’s early still,” Wendy said.

Imogen flashed a wide smile from one to the other, impatiently waiting for an opportunity to join into the conversation. Her teeth were nearly as bright a shade of white as her lipstick was red, though everything about her dulled in comparison to her desperate desire for belonging.

Imogen and Rose shared that desperation. While Rose craved romantic love, Imogen craved friendship, both so fervently that they’d allow themselves to be harmed to reach their goals.

I, on the other hand, preferred my solitude, while holding firmly to my belief that people sucked.

During our limited interactions, I’d gotten the impression that Andrew leaned closer to my camp than everyone else’s. While the others chatted away, he lingered halfway between Rose and the door, still staring at the box on the table.

Could he sense something about it due to one of his supernatural hyphenations?

“The first flurries always come in October,” Rose said. “In two days it’ll be November.”

“Hmm,” Wendy glanced up at nothing, as if considering. “I guess that sounds right. But it still feels too soon.”

Still grinning, Imogen leaned forward and clasped her hands together. “We didn’t get snow until Thanksgiving at the earliest in Sunflower. Sometimes not until mid-December or later.”

“That’s when it’ssupposedto snow,” Wendy said. “It gives Christmas those fuzzy winter wonderland vibes.”

Imogen beamed from head to toe at the positive result of her effort, clearly unable to properly restrain herself.

I would never understand her. I would never understand the comfort any of them took in meaningless interactions, their nervousness crackling beneath their smiles.

I cleared my throat, drawing everyone’s attention to me. “When I arrived at Barnacles this morning, this box was on the step.”

“It wouldn’t be an emergency if the box was full of kittens,” Imogen whispered, almost to herself.

I said, “My head’s inside.”

“What?”Wendy hunched forward, eyes wide, like she was choking on a chicken bone. Her always-frazzled hair seemed to grow larger with her surprise.

Rose crinkled her face. “Since your head looks like it’s still attached to your shoulders, does this mean your clone?—”

“Nie’s dead?”Imogen clapped her hands over her mouth.

“Yes.” It was the obvious conclusion of her head currently residing inside the cardboard box.

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