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    Worth His Salt (Tattooed Corpse Stories)
    Worth His Salt (Tattooed Corpse Stories)
    Worth His Salt (Tattooed Corpse Stories)
    Ebook58 pages35 minutes

    Worth His Salt (Tattooed Corpse Stories)

    By Ofelia Gränd

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Eldred Henstare is a not so powerful witch who’s been left in charge of helping the city’s lingering spirits to move on. He usually handles it pretty well, but something’s wrong with the spirit leading him to the abandoned lighthouse.

    Mo Vin likes his quiet life in the cottage next to the lighthouse, at least it’s quiet until one night when Eldred Henstare—young, beautiful and crazy—arrives. After that night things aren’t the same. A man is found dead on the beach outside Mo’s cottage, and he’s almost sure he’s the one who killed him, except it doesn’t make sense. Why would he kill anyone?

    Eldred needs to get rid of the ghost haunting Mo. If he doesn’t Mo’s life is in danger, but to do it he needs both Mo and his brother Lachtin to help out.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOfelia Gränd
    Release dateJan 1, 2018
    ISBN9781370958900
    Worth His Salt (Tattooed Corpse Stories)
    Author

    Ofelia Gränd

    Ofelia Gränd is Swedish, which often shines through in her stories. She likes to write about everyday people ending up in not-so-everyday situations, and hopefully also getting out of them. She writes contemporary, paranormal, romance, horror, Sci-Fi and whatever else catches her fancy.Her books are written for readers who want to take a break from their everyday life for an hour or two.When Ofelia manages to tear herself from the screen and sneak away from husband and children, she likes to take walks in the woods...if she’s lucky she finds her way back home again.Subscribe to Ofelia's Mailing List!https://subscribepage.io/68FxpG

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      Book preview

      Worth His Salt (Tattooed Corpse Stories) - Ofelia Gränd

      Worth His Salt

      By

      Ofelia Gränd

      Worth His Salt

      Copyright © 2018 Ofelia Gränd

      All rights reserved.

      No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

      The moral rights of the authors have been asserted.

      http://www.ofeliagrand.com/

      Cover art: Amy Spector

      Acknowledgements

      A big thank you to Mr Love, Mr Stewart and Ms Spector as always.

      The Call

      Eldred Henstare rubbed his neck for the hundredth time since he’d left home. The strap of his messenger bag dug into his shoulder, and the salt and candles in it grew heavier and heavier with each step. A long time had passed since he’d jumped off the bus and started walking.

      He didn’t know where he was going, or rather he knew precisely where he was going, could walk there with his eyes closed, but he didn’t know what the end destination was.

      The wind whipped his face; raindrops bounced off his skin with enough force for him to suspect they were hail. He shivered under his too-thin jacket and cursed his stupidity of not donning rainwear. The ghost calling him wouldn’t care what he was wearing, and the risk of running into a living soul out there was minimal. To this day Prince Charming had never appeared when he’d been out chasing ghosts—one day he would, though. With Eldred’s luck, it would probably be the ghost of Prince Charming he’d have to guide into the light.

      He sighed and shielded his face as he climbed a dune and was greeted by the white foam riding the crashing waves of the sea. A thread of moonlight managed to shine through the clouds, and he stopped to catch his breath for a second…or five.

      Why was he never called out on a sunny morning? Why did it always have to be on cold nights? Granted, he had been sensing the call since yesterday; right before dawn it had become unbearable. If he hadn’t promised Lachtin to fill in for him at a bank meeting, he’d probably, maybe, have taken care of it during the day.

      Looking over his shoulder towards the distant lights of the city, he weighed his options. There was nothing he’d rather do than go back home, take a hot shower, and crawl into bed. He could, maybe, pretend he couldn’t taste the rot on his tongue. He could, perhaps, ignore the prickling, chilling energy skidding over his skin. And with a little luck, he might be able to fool Mother into believing there wasn’t anything needing to be taken care of in the area. Mother…

      Eldred rubbed his forehead. There was no way she wasn’t sensing something going on by now. Fucking witches.

      A new wave of energy washed over him, more intense than anything he’d experienced before, and he gritted his teeth around a hiss. He did not want to do this.

      He touched his phone through his pocket, then double-checked that his other pocket was full of salt. The grains clung to the fabric and some of it trickled out when he slipped his fingers inside, but he didn’t care. Perhaps he should call Lachtin and tell him where he was.

      Lachtin hated everything supernatural, but the intensity of what was out there had Eldred breaking out in sweat. Something wasn’t right with this spirit; it didn’t feel like they usually did.

      Rubbing the salt off his fingers, he followed the energy call instead. Lachtin had been glaring at him all day so he probably already suspected Eldred

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