Page 5 of Transatlantic Terror Cruise

Dear Carrie,

Who said small spaces can’t be exciting? Think of it as an opportunity to get creative with yourstoragesolutions. Those cabin walls are surprisingly sturdy (trust me), and the shower? Let’s just say it’s designed for thorough cleanliness. As for the bed, well, they don’t call it a king-size for nothing.

Remember—it’s not about the size of the cabin, it’s about how you use it. Although I do recommend keeping your voice down. These walls aren’t quite as thick as some couples wish they would be.

Happy sailing (and other activities),

XOXO Elodie

P.S. The balcony furniture is far more versatile than you’d think.

Trixie

“Okay, so he had to work,”I mumble to myself as I merge with a crowd of anxious passengers. “It’s not like it’s the end of the world.” A small group of women breezes by chattering a mile a minute and I scoot to the edge of the wall. “Although it might be the end of my honeymoon.” And perhaps my sanity, considering the fact I’m talking to myself in public.

The crowds buzzing around with electric energy, the light scent of cleanser in the air, and the sparkle and shine of any and every surface my eye can see assures me that this is indeed the first official day of a brand-new voyage.

With fifteen decks available to the public, close to three thousand staterooms, and a passenger capacity that edges toward seven thousand, theEmerald Queen of the Seasis a city on the water. A city built for entertainment, that is. And with a waterpark, a quasi-amusement park—complete with a midway, an IMAX movie theater, in addition to a Broadway-worthy theater, an entire gaggle of comedy clubs, bars, dance clubs, and a casino—this ship can keep even the most captive audience entertained for weeks. And good thing, since every last soul on this ship will be a captive audience for the next ten days. That’s actually one of the reasons it makes for such a great honeymoon cruise—except for now. But that’s not the ship’s fault—just one of the ship’s employees who goes by the name Quinn Riddle.

But I try not to think about her. Instead, I take a look around at the glorious structure that I call my floating home and I can’t help but smile.

TheEmerald Queen’sinterior deck shimmers with opulence with its brass fixtures gleaming and an army of crystal chandeliers throwing iridescent rainbows across the polished floors. The excited chatter of fresh passengers mingles with the soft ding of slot machines from the nearby casino, and for some reason, I find it the most comforting sound in the world.

My comfy gray sweats and hoodie feel outright rebellious against all this grandeur, but I don’t care. I’m intoxicated by it all—the fresh-start energy of a new cruise and the promise of adventures ahead.

Someone lets out a sharp whistle and I stop shy of the casino entrance. Before I can fully turn around, I’m ambushed by two of my favorite octogenarians—Bess and Nettie.

Bess Chatterley is a smart and confident redhead who looks put together, per usual, with a sensible teal cardigan and matching slacks, but she’s added a crimson scarf for a splash of contrast.

Bess used to work as a teacher back in Vermont before she tossed her cheating ex to the curb and claimed her spot on the high seas. Our origin stories are nearly identical, save for about twenty years.

And Nettie Butterworth bops dutifully by her side, sporting her trademark gray tumbleweed of hair and a kaftan that could double as a paint sample for the entire color wheel.

Nettie had a similar experience with men, but her desire to live on the ship had more to do with eschewing traditional society so she could live out her carefree hippie dreams. Not to mention the endless supply of chocolate had more than a little to do with it, too.

“I told you it was her!” Nettie leaps and claps with the enthusiasm of a trained seal as she points my way.

Bess shakes her head and gags. “And here I thought I was the one seeing a ghost for a change. Although let’s face it, Trixie, if I was seeing your ghost, that would be a strong indication that your honeymoon went sideways.”

“Slippery when wetcomes to mind,” Nettie says, nodding my way and both Bess and I open our mouths, but not a single sound comes out.

“Well, great news,” I say. “I’m not a ghost. Not yet, at least.”

Both Bess and Nettie know that I can see clear to the other side. It’s sort of a new thing with me.

It turns out, I’m something called transmundane, further classified as supersensual—an otherworldly gift that wasn’t initiated in me until these two sweet ladies bonked me over the head with a rogue bottle of liquor. There was a struggle between the two of them and, well, I got in the way. Fast-forward—not only do they know all about my supernatural quirk, but so do Ransom and the captain.

And I’m not saying a word about my supernatural abilities to another living soul on this ship—not even the dead ones. Not that there are any. Thank goodness. And knock on—well, there’s no wood for me to knock on at the moment, but you get the point.

A tall tornado of a woman whizzes by before backtracking, and it’s none other than Tinsley Thornton, my on-ship nemesis—aka the cruise director.

She’s dressed in the requisite uniform of a crisp white shirt and navy pencil skirt, accessorized with her trademark frown that never seems to leave her face.

Tinsley is a stunner, though, with those long chestnut locks of hers, perennially tan skin, and dark glowing eyes that sort of give her that I-belong-to-the-dark-side appeal. And I so believe she does.

I don’t have anything against Tinsley per se, but she certainly has a beef with me—namely that she thinks I stole both Ransom and Wes away from her. While it’s true that their romantic interests may have floated in my direction, I had nothing to do with swaying either of them away from her. Aside from the fact of just being me.

“What in the world is going on?” Tinsley gasps as she rakes her eyes up and down my body. “Did you escape Ransom’s lair, or did he finally come to his senses and give you the boot?”

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