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We’re all going to die one day. But I’m not dying today. I’m choosing to live.
New Orleans is full of spirits, but now something sinister has settled over the city. The ghosts are all gone or hiding from me.
I have to find a way to help. Track down any spirit willing to talk. When I meet Juliana, she catches me off guard. I feel seen for the first time. She makes me feel understood in a way no one else ever has.
But with the death toll rising no one is safe. Our enemies are being hunted and we are next. Is the disappearance of the ghosts, the deaths, and this dark spirit all connected?
We are at war with an enemy we can’t see. Fighting a losing battle. But we are the Ruthless Kings and a King never bows to anyone, especially not an enemy.
I've lived a life that's all about death, but Juliana makes me want to live.
PROLOGUE
My parents and I sing along to some old Brazilian song as we drive along the highway. They laugh, the love for each other so evident in their eyes that it almost makes me sick. I love my parents so much, but their love for each other can be a little overwhelming. It makes me long for someone of my own, but it’s become clear that that’s not happening anytime soon.
This is how they always are when we’re out celebrating. When we get home, they’ll probably blast the music so loud that the neighbors will complain. Papa will twirl Mama around the living room and they’ll pretend they’re still in their early twenties, rather than their late 50’s.
For now, my father kisses my mother’s hand in the front seat and she laughs, delighted. He turns the music up even louder and they dance in their seats. I join them, my body moved by the beat, electrified. I may be chronically single, but that isn’t going to stop me from enjoying the night. We’re all too distracted to notice the oncoming headlights.
Everything goes dark, but I can still see Papa’s face in my head, staring adoringly at Mama. I try to open my eyes, but the pain is too much. When I breathe in, it’s like a thousand shards of glass are working their way through my lungs. I’m terrified I’m going to combust from the inside.
I feel someone approach, and I pray it’s Papa, coming to check on me. But as I painfully open my eyes, I realize I don’t know the figure approaching me. He’s dressed in all black, holding a large book and chanting in some language I can’t make out. His presence sends a fearful chill through my body. I have to get up, find my phone and call an ambulance. We’ll be okay, if only I can get away from this man.
But then his hand is on my forehead, and if I thought I knew what pain was, I was seriously mistaken. I cry out, despite the pain in my throat and lungs, and then there’s silence and darkness like I’ve never known. The world is black nothingness, emptiness, and I’m all alone.
CHAPTERONE
Agentle trill of laughter catches the wind and I follow it. I don’t recognize the voice, yet it’s like I’ve known it all my life. The high-pitched, feminine sound draws me in, and I am powerless. I must follow.
It echoes behind buildings and under doorways but remains out of reach. I will tear up all of New Orleans to identify the woman who makes this sweet sound. She is nowhere to be found. As fast as I run, as hard as I look, I find nothing but a whisper in the air.
The ghosts don’t help. They point and laugh and joke that I’ve met my match. Bastards. It’s just like them to be silent when I need them the most. After everything I’ve done for them, the least they could do is help me locate her.
A stroke of luck and a strike of raven hair. There’s a form to match the sound. She’s turning the corner, darting behind a headstone. I chase after her, confident I can overtake her. As I get closer, I see the space is empty. I stop and survey my surroundings.
I see her hair blowing in the wind again, this time outside the cemetery gate. She has nowhere to hide, and I’ll easily overtake her. I run as fast as my feet will carry me and call after her, but the moment she turns to face me, she vanishes into thin air. What the hell is going on?
And how did I get to the graveyard? I wasn’t here a moment ago. I was inside a bar. What is that cold chill going through me? It should be much warmer—it’s the middle of August.
I sit up in my bed, drenched in a cold sweat, and angrily eye the ghost, Cassandra.
“What did I tell you about watching me sleep?” I growl at her, which only makes her giggle.
Cassandra is a harbinger of chaos, having died when she was eight years old. Her afterlife’s mission is to make me her perpetual babysitter. As if I don’t have enough things on my plate. As if I only live to entertain a young ghost.
“You were having a nightmare,” she says cheerfully, reaching for my hand and causing another chill to shoot through my arm. I hate when she does that.
“Cassandra,” I warn. “You have to respect my personal boundaries or you won’t be allowed into my room anymore.”
She looks at me skeptically, knowing I would never truly take measures to shut her out. Of all the ghosts at the clubhouse, she’s the least problematic. Not that she isn’t consistently a pain in the ass, but hey, she’s only eight, after all. I can’t blame her for lacking maturity.
“Tell me about your nightmare,” she demands, a hopeful gleam in her eyes.
Cassandra loves nightmares. The gorier, the better. She’s endlessly entertained hearing the other Ruthless Kings’ nightmares. They, of course, aren’t aware that she’s privy to their private conversations, but I can’t control where she goes. This house is as much hers as it is mine.
I shake my head, not because I want to deny her pleasure of the macabre but because it wasn’t a nightmare at all. It was a frustrating dream, sure, but I felt hopeful and excited. I still hear the woman’s laughter echoing around my brain.
