To save her ghost-hunting career, psychic Kayde Foster must confront an evil and darkly attractive entity that has taken up residence in her uncle's business.
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Kayde prides herself on being fearless. Ghosts? Crumbling buildings? Scary legends? No...
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"Yes, yes, I've heard it all before. The council is dissatisfied with me. You offer nothing new." I reclined on an excessively luxurious chair, crossing my legs at the ankles over the left arm. Using my tail, I wrenched open drawers. Nothing but candy wrappers, used pens, and crossword puzzles. Tragic. What did Chris do all day? Fiddle with himself and cry about his miserable baubles? "You can be on your way now. Send my regards to our stand-in prince."
If he didn't leave, I'd make him leave.
Simple.
This mansion was already congested, with restless spirits causing chaos on the lower level. Despite having already consumed half of them, the stifling air continued to impede my progress. Most of them steered clear of me, as they should.
Fools, the lot of them.
But I had made them a promise of freedom.
The council's enforcer, Agdran, glared at me, his blackish lips set into a grim line. Tendrils of acid smoke billowed around his imposing frame, lashing at all the gaudy furniture in Chris's office. Fabric ripped and chair legs snapped.
He was angry. Good.
Perhaps if I riled him up further, he might cure my boredom with a good fight. I grinned at the thought of the owner coming back to see the entire place leveled from such an event. Agdran would prove to be a formidable opponent, but he would still die.
Just like everything else that challenged me.
He frowned at my mirth. "Prince Rulgar is the rightful heir to the throne. I will not stand by while you slander his good name. I came here to caution you, Ozzol, because I don't know what the fuck you are up to."
Reaching under the desk, I pulled out a bottle of half-empty malt scotch. "Rightful heir? Is that so? Oh. I forgot. They are letting half-breeds run the gambit now."
"Your lies are blasphemy."
"And sadly, your ignorance isn't shocking. He is driving our realm—our kingdom—right into its ruin, and you know it."
I was content to remain here, assigning trivial tasks to a collection of insignificant spirits, enjoying the owner's subpar cigars and booze. But my brother—the stand-in prince—had to squawk at me and send his minions. Oh, what unlawful work this was, indeed. Drinking and plotting.
Plottingwasn't against our rules.
Chris, a careless mortal, was fleeing from his fate and evading his mistakes, which I would point out.
Each. And. Every. Time.
He was a fool. My preferred type of human, considering the circumstances; easy to cheat, easy to deceive. But he was worse than a fool; he was a coward. He stepped into dung he couldn't scrape off his dingy boots, and now he was hiding from me. The little shit warded himself with another one of his gadgets.
