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    To the Grave: A Supernatural Mystery
    To the Grave: A Supernatural Mystery
    To the Grave: A Supernatural Mystery
    Ebook94 pages1 hour

    To the Grave: A Supernatural Mystery

    By Monica Corwin

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    About this ebook

    Not even death can keep her down.

    Fresh from digging out of her own grave, cursed dark witch, Dani, must hone her magi-coding skills to hunt down her own murderer.

    Soon she finds herself in the middle of battle between the light and dark.

    And the light usually wins.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherEvershade Publishing
    Release dateJan 11, 2018
    ISBN9780999625651
    To the Grave: A Supernatural Mystery
    Author

    Monica Corwin

    Monica Corwin is a New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author. She is an outspoken writer attempting to make romance accessible to everyone, no matter their preferences. As a Northern Ohioian, Monica enjoys snow drifts, three seasons of weather, and a dislike of Michigan football. Monica owns more books about King Arthur than should be strictly necessary. Also typewriters...lots and lots of typewriters.

    Read more from Monica Corwin

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      Book preview

      To the Grave - Monica Corwin

      wins.

      Chapter 1

      No two graves tasted the same. And no matter how many times I clawed my way out of the Earth, I never failed to inhale dirt as I ascended.

      Why these concerns were my first thoughts after a resurrection, I don’t know.

      The moon shone through the low tree branches, almost full. I tracked it across the sky all night while I waited to be set free.

      Unleashed, Angel would correct me. I leaned back on the pile of dirt, only a nailed in plank wood plaque with Danilo Santos on the other side. The cemetery would wait for a grave stone no one ordered. As I shifted the rope tied to my wrist, the bell jerked and sent the tinkle of the noise through the quiet night. It grated on me. That sound heralded my continued existence, but also my confinement by magic.

      Next time, I’d tell Angel to put a cell phone in my memory drawer or slip it into my dress pocket after I’m in the casket. He had a bad habit of making me wait. As if putting off releasing me rebelled against his family’s curse. A curse placed on my family which somehow ensnared the casters too.

      The snapping of twigs came from the entrance gate, and finally, I watched Angel slip through the steel barriers. His white gold hair gleamed like a beacon from the moonlight above.

      Finally, holy hell. His great-grandmother moved faster than he did.

      I’ve been sitting here all night, I grumbled, knowing it wouldn’t matter. No use complaining at him just to be ignored.

      He crouched in the freshly turned dirt and untied the bell at my wrist.

      An electric shock zipped its way through me, and I sighed at the freedom. Climbing the rest of the way out of my grave came easy after that.

      Angel didn’t help. In fact, he put a few feet of distance between us as I finally gained my footing on solid ground. My black dress was caked in mud and dirt; it was useless to try to wipe it away. I’d have to start labelling my clothes so Angel didn’t inter me in a favorite again.

      Let’s go, I said, scratching as much of the dry debris off my skin as possible. I trekked and stomped across the cemetery, continuing to try and loosen the grime. Angel’s car, a white Honda Accord, sat idling at the curb with the lights off.

      I folded carefully into the passenger side and waited. Once he climbed in next to me, he froze until I glanced over. The only light in the vehicle originated from the green glow of the dashboard console. Even in the dark, I could feel the cold disdain emanating from the glare leveled at me. What?

      He clicked his seatbelt with deliberate force.

      I sighed. We both obviously know I’m immortal. If I fly through the windshield, I’ll come right back as usual.

      His hands went off in a flurry of movement.

      Instead of arguing further, I rolled my eyes and clicked my seatbelt. It’s not like you have to plan the funeral and pay for it. I do all the work. You just have to deliver the instructions and the bell. Stop being a baby.

      He didn’t respond, only put the car in gear and pulled out onto the dead street.

      A shower and a bottle of wine would help clear the fresh memory of being buried alive from my brain. Or so I told myself every time it happened. Hopefully, we had hot water. It was always a lottery.

      With a werewolf downstairs and a family of witches upstairs, everyone kept odd hours. Well, unpredictable hours. But no one, dead or alive, used the shower after a full moon. Sam always got first dibs. It had never been a rule, but it became a thing in the house.

      We rode in silence. Angel refused to sign while driving. And the one time I offered to drive, he glared and refused to speak to me for a week.

      I picked dirt out of my broken fingernails as streetlights flashed down on the windshield enough for me to see. The stylist at the funeral home hadn’t bothered with a top coat. All that was left of Salacious Lady 99 had been pressed into my cuticles.

      Once I gained some semblance of my dignity, it would be a busy recovery week. New identity, obviously a manicure when my schedule freed up. I chuckled to myself. Like I had any sort of schedule to keep.

      Oh, and solving my murder should be added to that list.

      Thankfully, we didn’t live far from the cemetery where I owned my own plot. I looked at it like a real estate investment. If anyone ever got suspicious, I could just sell it or trade it. Not like it lost equity over time.

      I stared out the window as we made our way to the four-story run down building we called home. We being the only supernaturals in our little corner of Hercule, Illinois, just outside of Chicago. Too far away from any significant civilization to matter to anyone else, but different enough that we all seemed to band together.

      Well, Angel stayed out of necessity to me. He didn’t inherit his family’s gifts. It went with his ability to speak. His hearing was affected too, but he’d gotten the witches upstairs to magic him up a hearing aid to help with that.

      Now, if only I could get them to give him a personality, and all would be right in our little homestead.

      We pulled up the short incline drive, and I practically rolled out of the car in my effort to climb out of it as fast as possible. Shower. Wine. Shower. Wine. In that order, and then more wine to follow it up.

      I burst inside through a cloud of sage.

      Doesn’t work, I yelled as I bee lined for the bathroom. The white witches upstairs were always trying to keep me from coming back. Thinking sage could repel the evil in me. Dark magic, white magic, gray magic. It didn’t matter. It was all the same, just cost more depending on what kind you used. Sometimes that white magic shit cost the most. Thank all the unholy saints, the bathroom was empty. I flipped on the light, slammed the door, and studiously refused to look at my reflection.

      I didn’t need to see the dirt caked into my hair or the way mud hardened in the creases of my eyelids. Guess no one thought about that when they cursed my Filipino ancestors to immortality. Well, they didn’t think of a lot of things back then. I flipped on the shower and chucked clothes while I prayed it heated. Instead of testing it, I just climbed in. Not going to lie, even a cold shower would do after the night I endured.

      A knock broke through my concentrated effort to scrape the mud from my scalp. I cursed loud and thorough and in the language of my father. Then I figured whoever was out there wouldn’t know what it meant anyway. What, I shouted over the water spray.

      I just wanted to grab something, a deep masculine voice cut through the door.

      Sam.

      I let out a sigh. Fine.

      He entered to the creak of the hinges. "Sorry to interrupt. I know you like to

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