Gasping for air, I sit upright, my heart pounding against my mending ribs. Said ribs aren’t too happy about it, and a hiss of pain slips between my gritted teeth as I shift my legs over the side of the bed. It’s been three weeks since the car accident that killed the real James, leaving his body vacant for me to take over, but that’s the first time I’ve had a dream like that—a nightmare where I was still dead. Granted, I haven’t really dreamt of anything since the doctors prescribed me sleeping aids. Sleep helps the mind heal, and since I—aka James—can’t remember any of his life before the accident, a solid eight to ten hours of sleep was recommended. It’s not going to help since I’m not really James, but I still have to play along until everyone gives up on trying to revive what’s no longer there.
The blinds flutter in the window, a chilly breeze snaking through the unfamiliar room. Fortunately, this place is supposed to be unfamiliar—a rented, fully furnished apartment in Seattle. When none of the doctors back in Twin Cedar Pass could figure out what was wrong with me, they recommended some well-known specialists here. After some frenzied phone calls, a lot of medical debt, and a four-hour drive later, here we are. I couldn’t find the words to tell them not to bother. There’s no convincing way to tell them it’s not worth it while I wear their son’s face. Instead, I go through the motions, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of guilt while hoping that a few more weeks of specialists will be enough for them to accept that there’s nothing that can be done. Despite the guilt, I feel a small sense of relief living in this temporary space. James has no memories attached to this place, which means no disappointed looks when there’s no sign of recognition on my face.
I get up to close the window as carefully as I can, my bare feet making a soft shushing noise over the plush brown carpet. Unfortunately, the blinds rattle when I push them aside and the window makes a sharp click when closed.
Anxious, the muscles in my back tighten as I look over my shoulder. I sigh with relief to see Bree, James’s girlfriend, is still quietly snoring, surrounded by her various photo albums. She passed out crying after showing me pictures that were clearly important to her and James but meant absolutely nothing to me. I held her awkwardly, because what the hell else was I supposed to do with a sobbing person, and listened while she rambled on about all the special moments they had together. James, apparently, was a bit of a romantic… and they were having sexa lot.Not that it came as a particular surprise considering the uh… special NSFW selfies of Bree on James’s phone. He, apparently, was also a bit of an idiot. I deleted the pictures as soon as I found them—along with the ones he sent back—turning several shades of awkward while doing it. Fingerprint phone security doesn’t mean no one will find the nudes on your damn phone.
Walking carefully back to the bed, I pick up my phone on the bedside table and unplug it from the charger, desperate not to wake her. With the dream still on my mind, I really don’t have enough in me to deal with Bree. There’s nothing wrong with her, she seems nice, but she isn’t Callie, and right now, feeling so shaken that I want to run away screaming into the night, I hate that she isn’t.
Quietly, I slip away and head for the forest green couch in the living room. Snores can be heard down the hall, announcing that I’m the only one awake. Dropping my phone onto the ground, I adjust the matching throw pillows to lean against one arm of the couch then lie down on my back. It’s comfortable enough, although a little too narrow lying this way since this body has at least double the muscle mass of my original body, but I’m alone, which is all I can ask for right now.
Pulling the thick, multi-colored blanket off the back of the couch, I cover myself as best as possible. The beads of my bracelet—hematite and lava stone—rattle as I move. It was a Christmas present from Callie… her promise to bring me back from the dead. Her promise was fulfilled, and it’s now my lifeline, a reminder that Callie and the guys are out there waiting for me and that there is more to this new life than trying to be James. My heart thuds painfully with loneliness, and I retrieve my phone from the floor.
After pressing my pointer finger to the back of the phone to unlock it, I tap the text message app. Searching through my contacts, I find the one I’m looking for—PG. I don’t know exactly how to say what I’m feeling, so instead I quickly type out, “I miss you, pretty girl.” After sending the message, I delete my text history just in case. I’m not ready to deal with the fallout of James’s life crashing into mine. One hurdle at a time.
I tuck my phone underneath the pillows and close my eyes, hoping to dream of Callie again—only with me not still dead, but honestly, I’d be happy not dreaming at all. Anything to escape this nightmare.
Chapter 1
Callie
Mei blinks at me with her mouth hanging open in surprise, the water spritzer in her hand forgotten. I can tell she’s trying to form words, the half-formed responses churning in her dark brown eyes, but I’ve managed the impossible—I’ve shocked her speechless.
While she attempts to gather her thoughts, I save Mr. Mischief—my nan’s all black, monster cat—from playing with the bloodroot plant. The plant looks innocent enough, with its pretty white flowers growing wildly from one of the many large ceramic pots making up Mei’s family’s “special” greenhouse. What makes it special is that everything growing inside can kill or severely debilitate a person with little effort. The juice from the root of a bloodroot plant can, according to Mei, be made into black salve which will melt a person’s face off. The flowers are also poisonous, so all around, it’s really not cat friendly. The smart thing would have been to leave him outside, but he kept eyeballing Rand, one of the wolf shifters who seems to have nothing better to do than follow me around everywhere. That’s a showdown I’d really like to avoid for everyone’s sake.
“So… let me get this straight,” Mei mutters, the words rolling slowly from her mouth. “You’re a witch with godlike powers.”
“Yes,” I reply, grunting under Mr. Mischief’s weight.
“And the reason your aunt Mildred brought you to Twin Cedar Pass was to hide,” she continues.
“She’s actually my grandmother, not my aunt,” I correct, scanning the room for what to do with the cat. Do I sit on a stool and hold him or put him back on the floor and hope for the best?“She pretended to be my aunt because she looks a little on the young side to be my grandmother. Persuasion spells are a lot easier to use when they seem believable to begin with.”
Mei’s expression pulls into a frown. “Wait, if she’s your grandmother and has the Volkov grimoires, does that mean she’s…”
“The matriarch of the Volkov coven? Also yes. That’s why she’s in London right now. Matriarch business.” I attempt to say the last bit with air quotes, but it’s hard to see my fingers under all the black fur. Settling on sitting down on the plain wooden stool next to some potting materials, I sigh. “She wasn’t specific as to what that business was, but it probably has something to do with covering up how I completely decimated and buried my father’s house under tons of Arizona desert.”
“You did what?” she exclaims but doesn’t let me respond, instead mumbling to herself. “I don’t know why that surprises me. You vaporized the old alpha out of existence and took acres of innocent trees with him.”
“He tried to kill me and Connor first,” I retort a bit defensively, because any way you slice it, I murdered someone. “And it wouldn’t have happened if the binding spell hadn’t exploded under the weight of my pent-up magic.”
Mr. Mischief releases a low, throaty growl despite appearing content to drape himself over my right shoulder. I conjure one of those floaty, illusion lights he enjoyed batting at over the holidays, hoping he’ll find it more interesting than all the lethal plants around us.
Mei flashes me a sympathetic look then turns toward the caged gympie-gympie plant, lightly spritzing it with the magic-laden water from the bottle in her hand. “I’m not blaming you for doing it. It’s just… My best friend murdered a guy. He was a bad guy, but this is Twin Cedar Pass. Stuff like that doesn’t happen here.”
“She says as she waters a plant that, when touched, causes enough pain that people are known to commit suicide to escape it,” I counter flatly while squeezing Mr. Mischief a little tighter. “What’s with the garden of the world’s deadliest plants anyway?”
“Because earth witches have a reputation for being a sweet, easygoing bunch, but we’re actually badass bitches who shouldn’t be messed with,” she answers with pride, a grin stretching across her face. Using the back of her wrist, she pushes some of the black strands of her hair that escaped from her loose French braid out of her eyes. “We have the plants just in case we need them. Besides, they are pretty.”
I laugh. “Nolan would say that it makes sense that the prettiest things would also be the deadliest.”
“Speaking of one of your harem members…” Mei walks over, putting the bottle down on a nearby wooden workbench covered in little seedlings of mass destruction, before hopping up onto it.
“Not my boyfriends,” I correct. “They are boys who are my friends.”
“That you make out with on occasion,” she retorts, her legs swinging with unspent energy.
Unable to look at her, I bury my face against Mr. Mischief’s soft fur and mumble, “It’s complicated.”
