Page 27 of My Blind Date is a Ghost

“Tell me, did Miss Cora wake up two nights ago?”

“Yes,” I say. There’s no sense keeping anything from her. “How did you know that?”

“Because that’s when this appeared.”

She stops and it takes me a moment to realize what I’m looking at. It appears that some sort of ritual has taken place here. The leaves have blown over a bit, but I can make out what is left of a pentacle drawn in the dirt. I see a smattering of animal bones—or, at least, I hope they are animal bones. I can see where a few small bonfires were once burning.

I pull out my phone and start taking pictures. “What is this? Do you know the significance of it?”

“No,” she says. “I’m not a witch.”

“Well, I know a good one.” I start texting the images to Beverly.

“What else can you tell me about it? How did you find this? It’s not your property, is it?”

“I saw the flames,” she says. “And I heard the chanting, but I couldn’t make out what they were saying. By the time I got here, everyone was gone.”

“Is there any significance to this spot? I mean, if they were trying to raise Cora from the dead, why didn’t they do it over her grave?”

“The grave would have been more ideal, I’m sure. But they never would have gotten anywhere near it without the hounds running them off.”

“The hounds?”

“My dogs. They patrol the grounds here at night.”

“I didn’t know you had dogs.”

“That’s good news for you. If you ever saw them, you probably wouldn’t live to tell anyone about it.”

“Thanks for the friendly warning,” I say. “If you can think of anything else useful, let me know immediately, okay?”

“Certainly.”

My phone buzzes as I get a message from Beverly. “Get back here—NOW!”

CHAPTER 12

I slam my way out of The Book Coven, the doors shaking from the force of my anger. The light dusting of snow on the ground swirls around me as I furiously stomp across the parking lot.

Who does Beckett Dawson think he is? Just because he is a detective, does he think he knows my own life better than me? He barley even knows me. I know him better than he knows me. I was there two years ago when he first walked into The Book Coven, his eyes wide and examining everything, practically begging Beverly to teach him all about the supernatural world.

Despite everything he has learned, he knows nothing of ghosts. Beverly knows nothing. Heck, even I know next to nothing. I know only my own existence. But I have no idea why I woke up, why I am here. I don’t know how long I’ll be allowed to stay. If I will die again. If this is all some bizarre dream.

I understand Beckett and Beverly wanting to know more about me. But there is also danger in knowing. If I were going to die again tomorrow, I wouldn’t want to know. How could I enjoy this small chance at living if I knew it was going to end so quickly? I would be miserable. Terrified! Would I move on to…whatever is next? Would I go to heaven? To hell? Would I simply cease to exist? Would I go back to being a ghost? Would I wander the Earth for another two hundred years before getting another chance at life?

There are too many unknowns. Too many questions. Too many what ifs. I just want to live. I want to talk to friends and distant family. I want to read books and feel the pages under my fingers. I want to eat…everything!

Speaking of which…

I look up and realize I haven’t gotten very far. My wild, rambling thoughts seem to have frozen me in place. I’m only as far as Jumpin’ Beans, and it smells divine.

I open the door, a little bell tinkling over my head as I enter. It’s the middle of the afternoon, so it seems to be the shop’s slow time. I see one young man sitting in a booth at the back, typing away furiously on his laptop. A girl with a cloth in her hand who is probably supposed to be wiping down the tables seems distracted by talking to a handsome man who has been here long enough that his coffee cup is empty. At the counter, Olivia gives me a smile and wave to approach her.

“You’re going to let all the heat out, standing in the doorway like that,” she says with a shiver.

“Sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t actually planning on stopping by, but everything just smells so good.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” she says. “Well, we are almost out of a lot of things, but I can make you a café mocha and heat up a Danish for you.”

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