1. Chapter One

Chapter One

S ometime in the future when humans can travel to the stars.

Misty

I've never been this excited before. Not for senior prom, which is a good thing, because my lack of optimism meant I didn't lose my shit when I got stood up. Not the night before I got the job I'd gone through four interviews to land. Which is lucky, because it was one of those bait-and-switch deals that promised way more money than they delivered.

Today? Right now? My anticipation is so high-voltage I feel like there are a dozen live wires flying through my body.

I'm just minutes away from seeing the bed-and-breakfast I flew all the way across the galaxy for. Just a few months ago I was in my nowhere job with my nowhere boyfriend, who has since ghosted me altogether. I was edging toward depression and eating even more than usual.

Today, I'm hover-taxiing to my bed-and-breakfast. It's not a bed-and-breakfast I'm vacationing at , but the one I own— the Interstellar Inn. A shiver courses through me at that thought. I still can't believe it's true .

The first thing about the ad that caught my eye was the little mansion itself. Although it's on planet Hallion, it could easily be located on Earth. It has an almost Victorian style with its two turrets, cupola, wraparound porch, and whimsical gazebo out back. It was only after the picture captivated me that I read the ad text. For a thousand credits, I could enter myself into a drawing to win this place.

A thousand credits is a lot of money. It's a month's rent. I thought long and hard about it, but something told me I might get lucky. It's the perfect fit for me, with my background of helping my aunt at her boutique hotel and my current completely unencumbered lifestyle.

I scraped up the money and then spent the next month dreaming about what I'd do if I owned the place.

A few years ago, I read that people play the lottery hoping to win, but mostly because plunking their money down gives them the right to dream about what they would do if they won the prize.

I must say, my thousand credit entry fee gave me hours of amazing fantasies about owning this dream mansion on the outskirts of the small town of Arixxia Fields. This area of Hallion is known for its myriad celebrations, including its winter Jule Celebration which is heralded all over the galaxy.

People flock here for other holidays too, and from what I read—yeah, I did some research—it's a destination vacation all year long. The B&B has the potential for a seventy-five percent occupancy rate, which the Internet says is almost twice the galactic average.

In high school, I started working at my aunt Cheyenne's boutique hotel. She paid minimum wage, but whenever I found myself between jobs, I'd return to work for her. Sometimes it was the front desk, sometimes accounting, sometimes housekeeping. I usually doubled as concierge and booking agent. I enjoyed all of it, though it never paid as much as other jobs, so I never made it a full-time venture.

The idea of owning a B&B thrills me. I know I'll do a great job. I even mocked up some ads and brochures on my computer and researched the latest techniques to get traction on social media. Winning this bed-and-breakfast is a dream come true.

It's only been about fifty years since Earth has known aliens are real. A few species landed, gave us some medical miracles in exchange for what they considered our best natural resources, and skedaddled out of Earth's airspace. Most other species consider us backward and provincial.

I tried very hard to learn Universal in school, but I'm still terrible at it, especially reading. Good thing I have a subdural translator.

Oh my gosh, here we are. I may not be able to read much Universal, but I've memorized what the name of my street looks like. Zo'rel Place. Soon we'll be pulling up to the Interstellar Inn.

My head whips back and forth as I look at both sides of the street, searching for the gorgeous mansion destined to be my forever home.

Why is the hover stopping in front of this dilapidated, decrepit, wreck of a house?

"You sure you got the address right?" The taxi driver has been silent most of the drive here, which is a good thing, because when he turns around to talk, I see his face, which reminds me of an insect with his bug eyes and chitinous skin.

How could I forget the address of my new home? But I must have, because this certainly isn't what I used the last of my money to fly across the galaxy for.

"72 Zo'rel Place?"

"Yes. This is it."

I may not be able to read much Universal, but I learned numbers. There, over the doorway, with the seven hanging at a funny angle because it's missing a nail, it says 72.

I scoot to that side of the hover and open the window, hoping maybe when it rolls down it will perform a feat of magic and turn my B&B into the picture I saw in my email inbox and not the monstrosity in front of my eyes. No luck.

The picture was a lovely vision of mauves and baby blues. Each column, post, and handrail was painted with care. The fine print in the contract stated, "The seller assumes no responsibility for any minor differences in the changes that might occur from these recent pictures to the time of possession. The winner agrees to take the property ‘as is' without legal recourse."

I guess the definitions of "minor" and "recent" are subject to interpretation. This looks as though it was condemned decades ago: porch steps listing to one side, a few cracked windows, and paint only clinging to pieces of wood hidden under the eaves which have been protected from the weather.

This would be the perfect setting for a spooky movie. Instead of a dream come true, this has turned into a nightmare.