July 26, Friday

"WHAT KIND of redneck witchcraft village did you move to?" Frida demanded. "This is next-level scary stuff. You can't see me, but I'm crossing myself."

"I didn't know you were Catholic."

"Girl, when it comes to the supernatural, everyone's Catholic. When people's heads start spinning around, even Evangelical Christians and Orthodox Jews start dialing the damn Pope begging for an exorcist."

I scoffed. "It's all just a bunch of folk tales and made-up stuff to drum up tourist business."

"I thought you said people had died."

"They have, but at the hands of plain old humans, or by their own hand."

"So how do you explain your electricity going off?"

"Power surge?"

"What about the Satanic goat?"

I frowned. "Okay, he does seem possessed. I can't believe I have to start my book over— again ."

"Have you told the bookstore guy that his manuscript is now goat poop?"

"Not yet. I really need for this booksigning event to go well to get Bruce off my back until I can get the book written."

Frida heaved a sigh. "Girl. Your life. How's the hot graveyard guy?"

"Out of town. Which is fine. I'm too busy for… heat."

"A fling is exactly what you need."

"We're a long way from fling territory. He might not be interested."

"The man has a pulse. He's interested."

" I might not be interested."

"You already have an exit plan—you're leaving in a few months. You couldn't write a more perfect situation."

She had a point.

"I have a point," Frida said. "Just say you'll think about it."

"I'll think about thinking about it."