For an instant, it was like heaven. I soared like an eagle
through the moonlit night, the world silvery beneath me. Like the dreams I’d
had when I lived, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. I was light
as a feather, leaving earthbound cares far below, the freest I’d ever felt.
But only for an instant. When the first moment of elation
passed, I felt the tug of gravity. I fought it, and it got worse. And then the
ground was rushing at me; hard, furrowed dirt littered with the broken remains
of cornstalks and husks. At least this time I remembered to keep my mouth shut
as I dove with bone-breaking force into the long-plowed field. Nothing says
defeat like the grit of dirt between your teeth for hours on end.
Had I still been among the living, the painful snaps of
facial and my left collarbone giving way would have stolen my breath. All it
did was make me mad, however. No sooner had the body I inhabited slammed to the
ground when I jumped up with a scream. My howl of frustration, streaming
between broken teeth and sounding comically nasal – well, comical to anyone but
me – startled the few birds who chose to call on this cold February night. No
doubt it curled the hair of anyone who chanced to hear it echoing over the
wide, fallow fields that served as my practice area.
Like magic, a huge brown hand, liberally sprinkled with
black hair, appeared by my face. It held a gracefully shaped black bottle. The
gold trimmed label on it was emblazoned with the burgundy letters proclaiming
it to be Blood Potion No. 9. Had I been in the mood to continue reading, the
fancy calligraphy would assure me that it was the finest, purest elixir next to
the stuff one could drink straight from a vein.
My name is Brandilynn Payson. I was murdered less than a
year ago, left to wander as a ghost. I am not a vampire. I just had the really
bad fortune to get sucked into the body of one when its owner’s soul was eaten
by a creature known as the lamia. But that’s another story.
No release date set.
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