But it was more than a fun game. My finger stroked the pile of bills once more. I wanted her to have my money. Tapping the thick pile against my palm, I racked my brains for ways to give it to her. Whatever she needed, I wanted to be the one that provided. And not because she cleaned my unused bedroom.
That needed to end.
I’ll find a way.
Because the truth was becoming painfully obvious. Magnolia Rae was going to be mine.
Chapter 15 – Rae
The last stop on the Boston ghost tour was a historic farm that boasted of a skirmish in ye olden days.
“Y’all think any of the dead soldiers will rise from their graves?” I asked the group of college age kids with whom I’d struck a friendly rapport.
“Nah,” Brad huffed. “Not unless they animatronically raise one.”
Gavin turned a shade of green. He really shouldn’t have come to something like this. But Amy clapped her hands eagerly, bouncing in her seat.
“I need a good scare tonight!” the screamer insisted. “Something that will really get me fired up.”
Amy winked at Gavin, who gave her a shaky smile.
Yeah, there was no way in hell he was going to be the dominant she was hoping for. That girl needed to be chased, tied, and ravished, and poor Gavin wasn’t quite up to the task.
The bus pitched forward as the brake was applied. I jolted in my seat, but even the stinking caravan of tourists couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. So far, tonight had been a blast! Even if it was gimmicky and designed to bring in the travelers’ cash, it wasdifferent. Granted, there was a bit of Revolutionary War history in Georgia, but not like up here.
“Maybe this stop will be real.” I wagged my brows at the group. “The souls of the dead might be restless with the full moon.”
“Exactly!” Brad grinned. “They saved the best for last!”
“Goodie!” Amy cheered.
Gavin gagged.
Glancing at the moon through the cloudy window, I shivered in anticipation. I shuffled off the bus, confident the nerves playing like banjo strings inside me would pass. My stomach was tight with knots, which had nothingto do with the questionable street tacos I’d scarfed down at the tin stand earlier. Those had been delicious.
We gathered around the host and his pretend wife, who were both dressed in period costumes. The woman held a lantern.
“One if by land, two if by sea,” someone told their friend in the crowd.
An owl screeched in the distance.
We were in the heart of the city, but this ten-acre preserve was a national monument. As we walked to the tiny farmhouse, the noise of traffic faded away. I flicked a glance to the golden orb in the sky before ducking into the two-story home.
“I heard someone died here last year,” Brad whispered to our group.
The others made faces back at him. However, the little fellow, who didn’t look old enough to drink, couldn’t hide the terror from his face.
Poor Gavin.
I gave him a reassuring smile. “None of it’s real, you know that right?”
Amy huffed, which only made Gavin scowl. He slunk behind his friends.
A defined ache formed in my chest. They were fun, but they weren’tmyfriends. Reaching up, I fidgeted with the industrial bar that was back in the top of my ear—right where it belonged. I was surrounded by other tourists, thirty people, ready to experience a haunting, but here I was, standing by myself.
I missed my friend group.
We did everything together. Often, we’d wind up living together for stints at a time. I debated texting them, to see what everyone was up to tonight. But it wasn’t like that would change the fact that I was here, working for a brighter future while they stayed, content to live in poverty like their parents and grandparents.
