She didn’t have the patience for dishonest terms like medium, psychic, or empath. The only sign of animation was the bare look of surprise on her face as she took in her visitor. The woman who answered looked like she’d stumbled back from the afterlife or was on her way there. Refusing to use the ghastly colonial doorknocker-a brass lion’s head clutching an ornate hoop between its jaws-she rapped on the door three times before it swung open. Kafka-the-boy-the one who’d gifted her the labradorite-had been absent from the dreamscape for three long years, but she suspected he was watching through Kafka-the-raven. The dream stone-a piece of it, anyway.Īs she started up the porch steps, her companion flew away and perched on the blackened compass atop the roof.

Taking a deep breath, Miya clutched the pendant that hung around her neck-a copper raven with its talons contoured over the top of an iridescent stone. Truth was never an antidote-only a drug too short in supply to meet the demand. Did they think proof of the supernatural would keep the demons at bay? Amateurs armed with EVPs and electromagnetic readers went barging into people’s homes, yelling taunts and expecting answers. A faded, grey sign was splayed on the lawn, the text barely discernable: As seen on-Īmerica loved its ghosts. But Summersville, West Virginia was no Black Hollow. Lily-white paint chipped from the rickety paneling, and the bumpy driveway, with its patchy interlocking and overgrown weeds, reminded her of a world she longed to forget. Miya trained her gaze on the house up ahead. He squawked back, beating his wings as he clung to her. “Hey, Kafka.” Miya scratched the raven’s breast, enjoying his silky plumage. Talons dug into her shoulder, but the animal trilled contentedly. A mass of black feathers and a sharp, curved beak entered her periphery. She canted her head at the sound of a shrill cry echoing through the vacant night. Her long, dark brown hair whipped around her face, and her muddy green eyes prickled from the sharp cold that howled at her to go home. Save for the wind scattering autumn leaves over cracked asphalt, a lone young woman stood in the middle of the road. The street was as empty as the eye of a storm. īook Links: Goodreads, Signed Paperback, Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo

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