C. Rae D'Arc's Blog

The following free and complete story is a follow up of Specter Inspector: Dead and Back Again #1 (Barnes & Noble link). I HIGHLY recommend reading Specter Inspector BEFORE reading this short story as this occurs TWO WEEKS AFTER the events of the book.

Meaning, SPOILERS AHEAD.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, here’s a link to the first book of the Dead and Back Again series, a paranormal mystery with elements of Noir, Cozy, and Professional Sleuth sub-genres.

Supposing you’ve read the book, I hope you enjoy the following complimentary story.

Neil Vs. Pansy (Part 4)

Morning came like a patient gumshoe, slowly creeping on his mark. Aeron’s ma was a no show at breakfast.

Aeron’s old man frowned and flicked his piercing peepers at me. “I talked with her last night,” he said to Aeron, “assuring her that your new friend is mostly harmless. Perhaps you can take her meal out to her.”

“Is she in the knight’s courtyard again?”

The marquis nodded something real grim.

Aeron grabbed his breakfast and extra helping of oats and fruits, and we marched off to the castle’s main entry courtyard. The kind of place where young knights trained with the kind of seriousness that only comes with the gratitude of keeping all their fingers. The air smelled like wet grass and testosterone. The knights sparred, stretched and practiced their stances like they were auditioning for a role in some war epic.

Aeron’s ma was out there too, stretching and preparing for war. She got a training dummy set up like she was about to take it down with a bag full of melee weapons. This dame made me hesitate to come close.

“Mom?” Aeron called out to her with a mix of hope and suspicion. “I brought you breakfast.”

She looked his way and first thing she did when she saw him? Smile. Then the worry hit her like a dark cloud.

“Is that thing with you?”

Always.

“Mom, can’t you think of Neil as just another one of my spirit friends?”

“Hah!” she barked a laugh, half amused, half incredulous. Catching herself, she got all polite-like and softened up. “I’m sorry, Aeron. I…”

She took the bowl of oats like some kind of peace offering and plopped down on the nearest bench. Didn’t eat, though. “You know I love you, right?”

Aeron sat next to her, and she hugged him like only a ma can. I wasn’t one for the sentimental, but something about that hug gutted me a little. Made me remember my own ma.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s not your fault. I’m glad you’re here, and I want you close, but…I still struggle to accept your normal ghosts that haunt your bedchamber.”

He sighed. “I know. That’s why my bedchamber was moved to the other side of the castle after the discovery of my ability.”

She cringed, but didn’t deny it.

“I understand,” Aeron said. “Being cautious saved you for all those years growing up in Horror. It’s part of who you are. You hear that, Neil?” he called out like I was two blocks away, not two meters. “It’s not personal. She hates all ghosts, not just you.”

She giggled and pushed him away like she’d had enough of the I-love-you,-ma routine.

They talked on about heavy topics—weapons, self-defense, the new batch of knights, and matters of the duchy—but with a light and casual air.

Just when I thought the day could actually end up ordinary, King Fromm—God of Conquest—floated by.

“Is it possible?” I asked. “Will she ever accept me?”

He scoffed. “She loathes all of us, yet there is more to it than simple hatred. When Aeron spoke of her tale, I slipped away to hear my grandson’s words with her in their chambers. Theodor reminded Pansy of the moments she spoke with love and gratitude toward those she calls Supernaturals. After dispelling the poltergeist’s spirit in Romance, she shared warm words with her dead brother. Then again when battling hordes of Hauntings in Horror, she called upon the spirits to glimpse into the spirit realm and recognize those fighting beside her. Yet still, she fears and hates her experiences of fighting us. She seeks solitude in her drawing room when wrestling with riddles of the mind. When preparing for a physical battle, she comes to the knight’s courtyard. Neil, she has practiced, sparred, and trained since meeting you.”

The old familiar squirm uneased my gut. Fighting Pansy was not exactly on my list of Things to Do Before I Fade Away. Sure, I had power in spades, but her? Even as a plain Jane, she’d busted up a more seasoned poltergeist with my same moves. No, Aeron’s ma would serve me a knuckle sandwich—extra crispy—and I’d be belly up before I could even ask for the check.

“However,” the king said, peeping at me, “you are in a rare position that none other can claim. Theodor can see your aura and the changes in your spirit. Also, you have the chance to offer peace offerings.”

What was this? Wait, hold up…

I made my way back into the castle, my link tugging on me the further away I went from Aeron. I slipped in and out of the stone walls until I found what I was looking for. With my items in hand, an open window and my link guided me back to Aeron and his ma in the knight’s courtyard. I crept up slowly, hoping to look like an olive branch, not an ambush.

The first one to notice me was Pansy—of course, with her history and reflexes. She grabbed for her holy water like it was a sword, and I could see her muscles tense like a cat ready to pounce.

Aeron wasn’t as quick. He followed her gaze and landed on me—or, well, the painted smile from Sam’s drawing room that I carried.

“It’s Neil,” he said. “It’s okay. He’s letting us know where he is. Did you have a message for us?”

Careful, like I was feeding an unsettled tiger by hand, I turned over the paper.

Aeron let out a laugh, the kind that said he thought my peace offering was either a stroke of genius or a cockeyed joke. Even I wasn’t sure at that point. 

“That thing met with Sam?” his ma asked.

“Yes, and she’s fine,” Aeron assured her.

To make sure the message was loud and clear, I pulled out a single flower from behind my message.

The marchioness didn’t share my optimism. She scrambled back into a defensive position faster than a cat dodging a broom.

“Mom, please stay calm. It’s just a flower.”

“It could be poisonous,” she said, suspicious.

Aeron scoffed. “You’d know better than I would if we had poisonous flowers in our own gardens.”

Shoot, was this flower poisonous? Did I grab the wrong one? Not like I had a botany degree, but I’d picked it for its name, hoping it’d show I wasn’t just a floating ethereal menace.

Pansy didn’t bolt or throw holy water in my face. That was progress, right? I floated closer, taking my sweet time like this was a slow dance, and carefully set the flower down on the bench where she’d sat.

She stared the kind of stare that said, “I’ll take this under advisement.” Then she grunted. “It’s not poisonous, but that doesn’t mean I’ll pick it up.”

“Oof,” Aeron chuckled. “Sorry, Neil. You offered a flower to a woman and got rejected. If it helps, she’s already married and isn’t the type to stray.”

I mentally tipped my hat to him for keeping things light as Pansy’s mouth twitched—a little humor slipped through the cracks.

“You’re serious about this? You trust him?”

“I do,” Aeron said, filling me with warmth. “From what I recall of my spiritual visit last night, I impressed him with tales of your Adventures and Hauntings. He respects you.”

With a breath like she was rewriting the past, she took a slow step forward. All careful-like, eyes locked on my painted smile, she reached out, and her fingers brushed the little purple flower.

“It’s a pansy,” she said.

Aeron and I smiled like we’d dodge a bullet—no, a missile.

“He’s trying to make peace,” Aeron said. “I don’t expect you to become friends today, but will you at least try?”

With all the grace of someone who’d been carrying the weight of a thousand battles, she took in a deep breath. Then, she flashed a small—but real—smile at my painting. “Thanks…I’ll try.”

The End

Neil Vs. Pansy © 2025 by C. Rae D’Arc is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 

The following free story is a follow up of Specter Inspector: Dead and Back Again #1 (Barnes & Noble link). I HIGHLY recommend reading Specter Inspector BEFORE reading this short story as this occurs TWO WEEKS AFTER the events of the book.

Meaning, SPOILERS AHEAD.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, here’s a link to the first book of the Dead and Back Again series, a paranormal mystery with elements of Noir, Cozy, and Professional Sleuth sub-genres.

Supposing you’ve read the book, I hope you enjoy the following complimentary story.

Neil Vs. Pansy (Part 3)

Aeron’s ma was noticeably absent during dinner too. I could tell the kid was rattled, and Theo shot me a look again. Shoot, you’d think I’d get used to it, but his eyes penetrated like bullets.

“I can talk with her tonight,” he said. “Give her time, and she may…someday come to accept your spirit friends.”

Later that night, I trailed Aeron to yet another part of the castle. The place really was massive. He walked right down this long, upstairs corridor—wait, did I recognize that cherry-leafed tree down below? I was a bit distracted by the crowd of spirits loitering around.

“Make way for the Duke of the Dead!”

“I told you of his return, did I not?”

“Did someone alert the God of Conquest?”

Aeron smiled as if he could see his old friends. They parted like they were making room for royalty. One big spirit—shoot, it might have been a troll—slid into my path, keeping me from shadowing my link.

“Who are you?” it asked. Was it male or female? I couldn’t tell from its drooping features. “Only known spirits are allowed access to the Duke of the Dead.”

Good thing I couldn’t sweat anymore, or I’d have been puddling up on the floor. I’d had my share of run-ins, sure, when I first tailed Aeron to his Noir abode. But Mystery didn’t have nearly so many ghosts, and this troll was the kind that could shove me right into the Unknown Beyond.

“I, uh…I’m Neil Martin. I’m linked to Aeron Spade.”

The troll gave me a dumb, heavy frown. “Who is Aeron Spade?”

Nearby, a little spirit with fairy wings flipped her peepers, and squeaked, “‘Tis the name he uses while in Mystery. Looks like the silly boy tricked you. Are you from Mystery?” He eyed my smart suspenders and hipster haircut.

“Yeah,” I said, “but I’m linked to Aeron, see? So I go where he goes.”

The troll frowned deeper. “You have an odd color about you. What are your gifts?”

“Uh, I can make my voice heard by the living, not with words, but more like sounds—creaks, groans, that kind of thing.”

The troll nodded, but still scowled and didn’t budge. “And?”

“And, uh…I can, uh, touch—”

“Make way for the God of Conquest!” a spirit rumbled from down the corridor. Behind him, a huge spirit glided in like some glitterati. Big guy, the type that reeked of authority. Wait a minute…I knew that face.

The troll—still holding its ground—reached out and palmed my chest before I could react. It shoved me back. How the crapshoot was it doing that?

The rumbling caller floated to the side, making room for the big guy. The God of Conquest barely spared a glance at the troll, but then, he locked eyes with me.

That got it. I knew those penetrating eyes. That was the man in the dining hall tapestry with the unicorn and giant, Aeron’s great-grandfather, the former King of Fairy.

“Neil, was it?”

“Y-yes?”

“The poltergeist?”

The troll shot me a look and its grip on my chest got so cold, I could almost feel my very essence freezing up.

“There, there,” the god said. “I heard the young earl speak in favor of him. Even my grandson has confirmed his loyalty.”

The troll’s grip eased up.

“However,” he continued, “keep a sharp eye on him. If he even dares to harm one of my descendants, even with a scratch, let him feel the wrath of chains, snakes, and the torments of Hel.”

No Loki games for me then. I swallowed hard and threw on my best goody-two-shoes act. The big troll finally let me go, slow and reluctant like a bouncer with second thoughts. I gave it a polite nod, like a gentleman should, then slipped past it and weaved through the crowd of spirits, down to the far end of the corridor of Aeron’s room.

Despite the cold stone walls of Ruezdad, the kid’s room felt almost like his place back in Shigaqua. It smelled like time with dust, moss, and nostalgia’s charm. Healthy molds grew in the wall cracks, dust settled over every surface like the place was in a deep, peaceful sleep. Lavender bloomed in pots by the bed, and winter flowers—pansies, chamomile, wintergreen—popped up like little bits of color in the grey. The wooden floor creaked like a jazz record under a needle as ghosts floated over it. One spirit had taken up residence in the curtains, staring out the closed window and making the fabric wave gently around her like there was a breeze, but there wasn’t a lick of wind in the room.

I slipped into a corner, thinking maybe I could just blend in and stay low.

No dice.

“Hear me,” the God of Conquest boomed at the room entrance, then gestured to me. “We have a new presence. Introduce yourself.”

His voice snapped like a command—sharp, clean, no room to wriggle. I shrank back, but answered like I wasn’t sweating it, “My name is Neil Martin. I was born in Paranormal and was murdered in Noir, Mystery. Aeron Fromm is my link.”

“And your gifts,” the god demanded.

“Uh, audibility and tangibility.”

That got me looks, the kind that folks usually reserved for ticking time bombs. And then, the god grinned. Not a smirk. A real joyful grin.

 “At last! The Duke of the Dead has found one brave enough to risk his very soul to record the whispers of his visits!”

And just like that, the room shifted. What had been curiosity turned into something warmer. Gratitude. Fascination. The spirits came forward—eager to meet me. I backed up a step. That wasn’t right. Wasn’t normal.

People didn’t react like this to me. I got the cold shoulder, fear, suspicion, or sometimes flat-out panic. But admiration? Thanks? That was new.

Before I knew it, I was rubbing spectral elbows with heroes—real ones. Beowulf, all stoic and muscle. Jack the Giant Killer, eyes like he’d seen too much and laughed anyway. And two of the seven dwarves, named Bread and Knife.

It was wild. Somehow linking up with Aeron had flipped my whole afterlife sideways. Or, dare I hope, right-side up?

Around midnight, like clockwork, Aeron’s spirit floated out of his sleeping body—light as a whisper, confident as a noble. He did his usual sweep, scoping out the vibe, seeing which ghosts were still hanging around and who was new to the party.

He whistled one note—clean and sharp—and just like that, the whole room—god included—snapped to attention.

“It has come to my attention that my younger sister has made visits among you.”

“Yea,” Beowulf said. “The silent dame stands at the end of the hall, held fast by fear, her visage wrought with sorrowful dread, frozen in that place for many moments.”

I had to clamp down hard not to laugh. Aeron raised an eyebrow like he’d caught the tail end of my amusement. “She’s been trying to use her ability of one-way telepathy to communicate to you all.”

Understanding dawned on the translucent faces in the room.

“You mean she was attempting to communicate with us?”

King Fromm laughed jovially. “I knew it! There was magic afoot, and it had everything to do with peace offerings!”

“Can no one tell Spoon?” Knife said. “We made a bet that the Snow White look-alike was under a spell, and Spoon will make me dress like a bug for a whole week if he finds out I was wrong.”

I coughed once—innocent and definitely not in jest—and Aeron smirked.

“Yes, so, be nice. She wants to talk to you all as friends and someday might.”

With the matter settled, they got down to business—spirits giving their reports like ghostly intel officers. One by one, they laid out updates since Aeron’s last check-in two months ago.

They knew things. Important things. Stuff they picked up from their links to adventurers, dangerous monsters, treasures, poisons, and the Fromm family. One spirit even mentioned a trend among fairies learning growth magic. Trying to size up, be more…human. Not a problem yet, but I’d seen enough “not problems” turn real problematic real fast.

Then Aeron turned to me, wearing that friendly smile of his. “What do you think of Fantasy?”

I cleared my throat. “There are a lot more spirits lingering around.”

King Fromm barked with a laugh. “Why should we venture forth to the Unknown Beyond when our strength grows mightier after death and the people revere us as gods?”

Aeron shrugged. “The spirits of Fantasy tend to be a little less…strict with their interactions with the living. King Fromm is commonly mistaken as the God of Conquest among the living.”

“There is no mistake about it, young earl,” his great-grandpa said with a point. “In life, I was known as the Giant Slayer. Since my demise, my status was elevated to godliness.”

Aeron flipped his peepers, cluing me in of some old debate.

I tilted my head, thinking about the greetings I’d gotten, the threats, the welcomes, even the shove from the troll. “It’s possible I’ll like it here,” I said, keeping my tone light, like I wasn’t still half-expecting someone to toss me out.

“Good,” Aeron said, “because I plan to make several visits. My father can keep track of your aura’s shade of danger, and my mom…might learn to accept you…one day.”

I leaned back, slow and easy, like I was kicking up my feet on a desk. “You said your folks fought poltergeists and won. Can you tell me about them?”

“My parents or the fights?’

“Both,” I said.

Aeron gave the room a once-over, like a conductor checking if the orchestra had anything left to play. No objections. Just silence and a few expectant stares. Then he looked at me—really looked at me. There was a beat, long enough for me to wonder if he was sizing me up for a shovel talk. He must’ve seen something honest in me—something worth trusting—because he obliged.

He told me about his ma and how she grew up in Horror, where shadows got teeth and screams echoed longer than they should.

“You’re lucky,” he said, “it’s fresh on my mind since I researched her history when learning how to deal with you.”

He chuckled softly, like the laugh wasn’t about the story, but about how it all seemed to work out in the end. He went on about her Haunting, how she’d gone toe-to-toe with a mad scientist, some nutjob who thought it’d be a good idea to jam human souls and haints together. Said it’d give people kinetic powers. Real cockeyed belly-up of a plan.

She’d lost her first love to one of those poor souls, but it didn’t end there. The poltergeist—malicious piece of work—used her lover’s body and spirit to haunt her. Again and again.

But she didn’t do it alone. Friends stood by her. Spirits, too—including her lover’s and her brother’s. She didn’t beat it with vengeance, but with love, grief, and grit.

And all that was before she came to Fantasy. Before she got her supernatural speed. I sat there, thinking I was lucky I’d survived my run-in with her and hadn’t been exorcised before Aeron had his say.

Aeron’s storytelling took the whole night, and by the end, I felt a near kinship to his parents. The heartbreak, the terror, and the fight they suffered.

I shook my head, half in awe. “I can’t even imagine. That incredible woman raised you—a man who crumples in the fetal position during a power-outage?”

“Hey,” Aeron defended. “It’s never just a power-outage. She was the one who taught me that.”

Continued in Part 4…

Neil Vs. Pansy © 2025 by C. Rae D’Arc is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 

The following free story is a follow up of Specter Inspector: Dead and Back Again #1 (Barnes & Noble link). I HIGHLY recommend reading Specter Inspector BEFORE reading this short story as this occurs TWO WEEKS AFTER the events of the book.

Meaning, SPOILERS AHEAD.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, here’s a link to the first book of the Dead and Back Again series, a paranormal mystery with elements of Noir, Cozy, and Professional Sleuth sub-genres.

Supposing you’ve read the book, I hope you enjoy the following complimentary story.

Neil Vs. Pansy (Part 2)

I tailed Private Investigator Aeron Spade around as he bounced between gigs with Truth Locke, Head Investigator of their new agency, Visionary Investigations. One project included rehabbing an empty townhouse near my old haunt. I got on good terms with the residential spirit on site who ran the joint with a heavy say in how the place got spruced.

Come the first morning of the weekend, Aeron stepped out of his bathroom, looking like an actor for Sleeping Beauty’s woodland Prince Charming—a billowing cream shirt, fancy pants tucked into tall leather boots, and a silk vest decked out enough to put on the Ritz. No suitcase, no trunks, just a little sackcloth coin pouch for his keys and papers.

Of course, Morse already had the shotgun seat in Aeron’s roadster, so I ended up hogging the rumble seat in the back with my feet straddling the hump. The kid gunned the motor and barreled us out of Shigaqua, clean past Noir’s boondocks, zipped through the two-bit stretch of Cozy, then skidded us right up to the curb where Mystery surrendered and Fantasy picked up the road.

He parked his roadster and Morse into a lock-tight garage, waving goodbye to any other spirits following him. He had the routine dialed like clockwork as the border patrol took his passing like business as usual, tossing him a nod.

“Neil?” he asked blindly. “I’ve never had a spirit linked to me before, so…I don’t know how your powers may or may not be influenced in Fantasy. Give me a laugh if you’re still with me.”

I couldn’t resist giving my “creepy” chuckle right into his ear.

He yelped and swung his mitts at me like he could smack me away. Silly kid.

“I guess I asked for that,” he muttered. “But in all seriousness, I need you to refrain from using your gift of tangibility around others—especially my parents. They’ve had, um, experiences with poltergeists in the past, and…let’s just say it didn’t end well for the poltergeists.”

What was this? His old man and ma had met haints before—and beaten them? What kind of fuss would I cause if I picked up a pencil? A knife? A chair?

Terrible pranks filled my noggin as Aeron continued, “I’ll try to find a way to tell my parents about you so they’ll understand, but…my mom’s from Horror. She’s prejudiced against spirits in general, so she might need some time before accepting you. Breathe on my wrist if you understand.”

Right, my gumshoe link was more than Fantasy glitterati. He was half-Horror. I sometimes managed to forget that since his accent was subtle, and people from Horror came with fearsome reps. I breathed a disappointed sigh against his wrist, and he nodded curtly with satisfaction.

Slipping out a long candle, he said, “Last time I visited home, my mom gifted me with a traveling candle. Of course, she gave me something that I could only use in Fantasy as a suggestion that I visit more often. But this magic is akin to a spirit’s teleportation gift. I don’t know how your link works, if you’ll teleport with me or not. If you need to find me, I’ll be at Ruezdad, the royal castle in Eimad, capital of the Margen Duchy in Fairy.”

Did he say…royal castle?

With his last syllable, the kid vanished like he’d been hit by day-light, tugging my link with the weight of a ship anchor. I’d never been that distant from my link, and the sensation brought back every memory of hurling beans and a pain that nearly stole my noodle. I didn’t have a choice but to chase the pull across the Mysterious Mountains, past shadowed forests and valleys where giant eagles soared and dragons slunk, then over another rise to an old-school city perched by a lake.

In the center of that burg, a grand stone castle of blue-grey rock piled on a mount and dominated the view. My link directed me straight to it. I’d lost track of how long I’d glided, but the nauseating pull eased off as I closed in.

I flew over a stable that smelled of horses but sounded like a pub of neighing laughter. Knights—real, tin-helmeted heavies—swung broadswords in a courtyard while other toughs bent light into spells, shooting shafts of glowing energy. On the far side, laborers pruned flower gardens that glowed like spirits.

I slipped through the walls of the main part of the castle (the keep?) to find Aeron in a library with bookshelves climbing clear to the second-floor cornice. Sofas and chairs ringed a roaring hearth, and bright lights bobbed overhead like moths at dusk. There was a Medieval-looking ghost staring out the window and another two perusing the bookshelves, talking about the books they’ve read.

Aeron stood near the door with a cross-my-heart-and-hope-I-was-already-dead bear. Not any bear, but a seven-foot brown bruiser doing the upright bear-stand, decked in a martial-art gi like a dojo master. The animal rolled its shoulders like some conspicuous bodyguard from a fairytale with fists of fur, watching Aeron twirl a little missy.

The teenage gal wore a full-length maroon dress with sleeves stitch-tied to her bodice with pink ribbons. Her dress flared and trailed behind her movements like an echo of light.

As if they were in center stage instead of a library, Aeron hopped out a little swing-dance jig with the young miss. “I’ll need to show you this move I learned at a swing club. I think you’d love the big band music of Noir, Sam.”

Sam? Short for Samantha? Had Aeron mentioned her before?

Without any indication of a response from her, Aeron scoffed. “Bagh! You’re on summer break. Live a little. One of these days, I will hear you laugh out loud.”

I got it! She was Samantha, the Silent, Aeron’s kid sister! I’d heard about her ability to speak to (not read) minds, but meeting her in person finally explained her nickname. She didn’t speak—not a word—outloud.

I studied the siblings for their family resemblance and found none. Aeron was tall, dark, and light eyed, all suave like some big-time hepcat. Sam could have come straight out of a Snow White postcard—innocent like a princess, skin chalk-white, hair black as midnight, lips cherry-red, and peepers brown as dark syrup.

Aeron led her out of the library to a main entryway with a great winding staircase that rose up four flights to heaven. That seven-foot dojo bear padded along behind them.

“Are the ghosts friendly?” Aeron asked. Only hearing one side of their gab gave me zero clues to their conversation.

“Come on,” he said. “You need to give me something.”

She simply smiled back.

“But on that note,” he relented, “I have someone I want you to meet.”

Her eyes went bright and hopeful, and Aeron cringed.

“Er, no. He’s a man.”

Whatever the Silent Sam conveyed next made Aeron wince.

“Ew, no. I mean, no offense, Neil, if you’re around, but no. He’s too old for you.”

Say, just because something was true, didn’t give him a pass to chew on me like that. Sam looked like she’d just slipped into her teen years, early on at that, and I felt like a right-smart geezer, wobbling in my mid-thirties.

“Aeron, you’re home!”

I jumped as a middle-aged dame showed up at the door. Shoot, it was like she’d just appeared there. Not with any flash of light like with the candle, but more like she’d blurred into place.

“Mom.” Aeron smiled and spread his arms, like he was expecting a hug. Sure enough, she blurred again into motion, solidifying with her arms around Aeron’s waist, her chin perched over his shoulder. Now, I’d never met anyone from Horror before, but “dark” fit her hard features and harder smile. Her face’s left side was scarred by three thick clawmarks. Her clothes were something else too—thin leather pants under a dress that cut off at her knees in the front but hung down to her ankles in the back. Real strange look, but somehow it worked.

“Welcome home,” she whispered. “Have you seen your dad yet?”

“Not yet,” Aeron said.

Then the bear talked. Yeah. The bear. Talked. I had to make sure I wasn’t hearing things, but nope, the big guy was growling real words. “The marquis is currently meeting with the duke and lords.”

Aeron cringed. “A meeting with Father, Grandfather, and the lords would turn into a questionnaire about me returning to my duties as earl.”

My brain struggled to catch up between all the fancy titles. I didn’t know what a marquis was, but dukes, lords, and earls were…important people, right?

Aeron’s ma jerked her thumb toward the doorway. “I saw the lords gathering in the wine cellar, so they should be finished with their meeting.” She paused to look at her daughter. “Yes, but only one more chapter. Don’t be late for lunch again.”

Sam skipped off, back to the library, all grins, like this was just another Tuesday. Aeron trailed his ma down some stone hallway—guess this was what folks meant when they said “corridor?”—until we hit a little courtyard with this massive white tree. It had leaves like red cherries. Real strange. A real-deal thoroughbred-type horse clopped down from the far end.

“How was the meeting?” Aeron’s ma asked. The horse. She was talking to the horse.

“As expected,” he neighed back, all calm-like. Shoot, did everything talk in this place? “Ah, Aeron. How good it is to see you. Do you plan to stay long?”

“For the weekend,” he said with a friendly pat down the horse’s neck.

“Will you join us for lunch?” Aeron’s mom asked the horse.

“You must pardon me,” he said with a whuff. “I fear that I lack the energy today. Have my meal sent up to my room.”

“Okay,” she said with a nod—serious, like she was talking to some big shot. The horse kept on clopping past us, slow like a tired work horse, as Aeron and his mom continued down the corridor.

“Every year,” she sighed, “the duke’s health declines a little more. I wish there was something I could do for your grandpa, but…even modern medicine can’t solve the natural problems that come with age.”

I turned to sneak another look for the long-gone horse. That was the duke? That was Aeron’s granddad?

I thought I’d had Aeron figured—young gumshoe, maybe a little spiritually special, and Fantastical fancy. Turned out he was far more Mysterious—despite packing a Horror ma and Fantasy pa.

We stepped into this big wooden dining hall—real grand, with floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall letting in more light than was natural but without making people squint. The walls were covered in those fancy rugs you don’t walk on. Tapestries, I think they were called. Each one told some Fantastical story. One depicted a guy on a unicorn—yeah, a unicorn—waving a shiny sword at some dead giant in the background. Real dramatic.

At the head of a long table—big enough for a dozen—sat a lone man. Soon as I laid eyes on him, it clicked. Aeron got his height, build, dark brown hair, and those piercing blue-green peepers straight from this guy.

He gave his wife and kid a smile…then locked eyes on me.

Next thing I know, he’s standing and throwing up an arm like I was a threat. “Curses!”

“Theo?” Aeron’s ma said, already dropping into a stance like she was expecting trouble.

“What is that?” the man—Theo—asked.

I twisted around, figuring maybe he meant the unicorn-and-giant rug behind me. Aeron was also on the defense, guard up, eyes flicking to the rug.

“You see nothing?” Theo asked. “Curses, Pansy! A poltergeist is here!”

How the crapshoot was he seeing me?

“A—here?” Pansy asked, then ran out of the room with a blur.

“Wait—wait!” Aeron called his ma, but she was already gone. He stepped between his dad and where he expected I hovered. “I thought you couldn’t see my ghostly friends. You can see Neil’s aura?”

Was that how he saw me?

Theo frowned. “You know—”

“It’s okay,” Aeron said, all calm-like. “He won’t hurt you. How long is his aura? How dark are ours?”

His old man blinked like he’d just stepped out of a fog, eyes scanning each person in the room—including me—putting pieces together like a seasoned cop at a fresh crime scene.

“I cannot determine his aura’s length since I see only a dark shape with no body. However—”

Aeron’s ma came back like a rolling tornado—torch in one hand, a holy water sprayer in the other.

Crapshoot! Every instinct I had screamed to get out. There wasn’t much that spooked the dead, but a one-way ticket to the Unknown Beyond? That did it.

“Theo,” she asked, “where is it?”

Theo’s arm flicked toward me. “There, except he appears—”

She didn’t wait for whatever else he was going to say. She blurred into motion, leaving after-images like shadows as she tore through the entire space between Theo’s arm and the wall, dousing everything in her path like a priest at an exorcist convention.

Shoot! She nailed my elbow before I could dodge. Holy water sizzled on contact, burning through me like acid on old film. One drop wasn’t enough to send me packing, but it was plenty for my tastes. Pain shot through my form, and worse, steam curled off me, visible to the living.

So, I took the high road—literally. I floated up above them, barely skipping over the next splash she hurled my way.

“Mom! Please, stop!” Aeron yelled, trying to catch ahold of her, but she was moving like lightning wrapped in leather. He reached for her and came up with air.

If I wasn’t so busy dodging fire and brimstone, I might have been touched by Aeron’s concern. Meanwhile, Theo just stood there—watching me like I was some puzzle. Even after the steam cooled off of me and the sting faded, his eyes tracked me, subtle but sharp. Thanks to that, his wife had a fair guess where to aim next.

“She cannot hear us,” Theo said, “while tapped into her speed ability.”

Aeron pleaded, “How do we stop her? Please! I need Neil!”

Need? His voice cracked with raw, desperate honesty—real stuff, no polish. The kind that hits you square in the chest and warms the cold parts you forgot were there. Unfortunately, warmth didn’t mean much when his ma stormed in my direction like a divine blender set to obliterate.

Pansy lunged for where I was floating, swinging her combo of fire and water straight for my legs.

Theo finally moved. Giving his kid a confused look, the man waved his right arm in this weird, deliberate motion. It ended with a sharp jab toward his wife. “Pansy! Yield!”

Next thing I knew, a see-through blue wall snapped up around me, the lady, and her holy demolition routine. She spun into me right as I phased through the wall—her torch flames licking at my chest before I was out the other side. The flames, water, and Pansy’s fury stayed locked inside that open-topped magic box.

“Theo!” she shouted, slamming a fist into the barrier. Thankfully, the shield held. “What are you doing?”

“Our auras are light,” he said, squinting like he didn’t even believe himself. “We are not endangered by him.”

“What?” she shot back, pure disbelief.

Whatever he meant, it worked in my favor as Theo eased back. “Aeron, you knew about this Haunting? And you brought it here? Has it been following you?”

Aeron kept fiddling with that leather bracelet of his—clasping it, unclasping it. Kid was nervous, no question. “For about two weeks. Mom, when I called asking about poltergeists, that was right after I’d met Neil.”

“Neil?” his ma asked, her voice cracking like thin ice under a heavy boot. “You fraternized with a poltergeist?”

“I befriended him,” Aeron said. That simple, and the kid lit something warm in my soul again. “He uses his gift of tangibility to take notes for me, to help me remember what I learn while I’m with the spirits.”

“He helps you?” his father asked, doubtful.

“For how long?” he mother challenged. “How can you guarantee he won’t trick or betray you?”

I cringed. Couldn’t blame her for being skeptical—I had tricked and pranked Aeron more times than I could count. Daily.

Aeron looked her dead in the eye. “How can you guarantee that anyone won’t trick or betray you? You can’t. But we trust people anyway.”

“People,” she emphasized. “Not supernaturally condemned poltergeists.”

“Neil’s a person too. He just has an unsanctioned gift to interact with the physical.”

“To levitate and throw items—like weapons. To trip, push, and hurt people. To possess people.”

Each option she rattled off made me wince. Aeron had seen me do all of them.

“Mom,” he said, “I know Neil. He’s not a bad person. His birth in Paranormal, Mystery, gave him power to cry for vengeance after he was killed. His murder was written off as an accident until I found justice for him. Neil is my friend.”

Warmth.

Still, his ma’s face tightened like she’d bitten into a lemon laced with betrayal. “I…I can’t handle this. Excuse me. Theo, please release me and watch that…thing. I need a moment.”

Theo flicked his arm, curious and silent, and the shield-box around her cracked and vanished into the air like it was never there. She ground her teeth—hard—then ran out in a blur. Ghost-like. Almost poetic, if she hadn’t just tried to exorcise me.

Theo’s frown lingered as she disappeared. “I dare hope that she does not offend your…friend. She cannot see the safety of our auras, and…her past has given her many reasons to fear poltergeists.”

I’d heard stories—whispers—but I’d never met another poltergeist. What were her experiences with them?

Aeron gave a small gesture toward his dad. “Your name was also mentioned in Jonathaniel Mystery’s report on the poltergeist fought in Romance.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “That malicious spirit would have killed me if not for the aid of Horror’s supernatural angels. However, poltergeists frighten me less than other monsters of this world.”

Okay, now I really needed to know their story.

Theo fixed his eyes right on me—directly—and stepped toward me with that curious look men get when they’re about to take something apart just to see how it ticks.

Maybe if I pulled a few stunts—lifted a chair, tripped him, laughed audibly in his ear—he’d get spooked and back off.

He flinched. “Forgive me if I came too close. I suppose you are unaccustomed to being seen by the living. Could you raise your hand and spread your fingers for me?”

His request seemed harmless enough. No traps, no threats. Simply curious. I did what he asked.

“Hmm,” he whispered. Not with fear. Something else, like…awe. That was new. “Fantastic.”

“What is it?” Aeron asked.

“Right, you only see him while you sleep. You talk with your invisible spirit friends often enough that I forget that.” He lifted his hand and held it up to mine. His palm and fingers were a touch longer. “Despite his floatation, Neil is a few inches shorter than we are,” Theo said. “I may assume his hands are smaller. Spreading my fingers at the same angles, however, I can determine that Neil’s aura is just under three centimeters long. He may have some devious ideas, though he means no harm, at least to me.”

I blinked my peepers. He could see all that? Through my aura?

Aeron fidgeted with that leather bracelet again. “Father, you said his aura is dark? Doesn’t that mean he’s in mortal danger?”

“For the living, yes. The shading of my auras indicate when a life is endangered.” What was this? That seemed handy. “However,” he continued, “I have yet to meet an undead or cursed Haunting with a light shade. In fact, Neil’s was the lightest I had seen among the cursed, though it turned black as a hole during Pansy’s attacks. It is marginally lighter now.”

Aeron’s brows shot up, and his eyes gazed at my general location. Even when I floated an inch to the right to correct his gaze, he just stared glassy-eyed. Not like his old man who looked right at me.

“I wonder,” Aeron said, “if it has something to do with him helping me. Maybe his soul is less condemned because he uses his gift of tangibility to take notes for me—to help me solve Cases and serve justice.”

Uh, yes, please. I really, really didn’t want to end up on the bad side of the Unknown Beyond just because I spent a few too many years spooking folks at that rundown theater.

Theo gave this slow, thoughtful nod. “Perhaps. To confirm that theory, I would need to view more Hauntings. An unfavorable idea.”

“Or,” Aeron offered, “you can observe Neil whenever I visit for the next few months. If his shade grows lighter as he helps me more, that might confirm the theory.”

“Perhaps,” he said with another of those nods that said he was piecing together more than he let on. This time, he actually smiled. He turned right to me again (shoot, it was still weird) then lowered his chin in a slow, respectful way. What was this? Speaking to me, the Marquis of Margen said, “While my duties keep me preoccupied here, I am grateful for your watchful aid over my son. Regardless of your methods, thank you.”

Like I’d just done him a solid. Aeron looked just as shocked. From the way his face mirrored mine, I guessed this kind of royal gratitude wasn’t something the marquis handed out lightly.

Pretty little Sam came waltzing in with the perfect timing as the servants started filtering in from the kitchen, setting up the table for lunch.

I hung near the rafters, watching as they ate fancy omelets and chatted. Aeron’s ma was nowhere in sight.

Theo made a quiet request to the servants—take a meal up to the duke in his rooms, and, “I cannot say where Pansy went. You can try her drawing room—no, more likely the knight’s courtyard. I expect she is training to ease her mind.”

Aeron cringed just enough to say that was a bad sign. Sam threw a sharp look between her dad and brother. Theo caught her look and tossed it back to Aeron. I didn’t need Sam’s telepathy to catch her “Why?” and Theo’s “Your mess” to Aeron.

Aeron sighed. “I’ll explain after lunch. Somewhere without prying eyes and ears.”

Not long after, the marquis gave a polite nod and excused himself—said he had “duties.” He gave me one more piercing look before he left. When Aeron and Sam finished, I tailed them through the stony palace to another courtyard. How many of these did they have? The place was a maze wrapped in a palace wearing a castle’s skin. How anyone knew where they were going, I had no clue.

We finally stepped into a room that was a library-look-alike. Books from floor to ceiling, plush chairs like clouds of cotton, and scattered around were several musical instruments. There was also one of those big old art easels set up with a half-done painting. Looked like a bird resting in the hands of two different people. Poetic. Probably symbolic. I’d figure it out later.

Sam turned on Aeron with a direct stare.

Aeron answered her silence with a sigh. “I made a new friend, the one I wanted to introduce to you. His name is Neil.”

Sam blinked, and Aeron laughed. “No. Worse. He’s dead.” I frowned, wishing I could hear her.

“Yeah,” Aeron said, “Neil’s different. He’s, er…Neil, show her.”

Show her? Show her what? I couldn’t show myself—oh! I could write a message with her paints! I floated over to her paintbrushes and rolled it into my hand. Dipping it in the nearest glob of color, I started scrawling across a blank sheet of paper that had a fabric-like texture.

Shoot, writing with pencils was tricky enough—painting was awful. Wiggling, dripping, and inconsistent, I had to dip for more paint with every other stroke.

“Hello, Sam,” I wrote. Shoot, was that creepy? Maybe I should’ve led with “Don’t panic,” or something.

“Yes,” Aeron said, as if answering some unspoken question. “He can take notes for me and help me to remember important pieces of my dreams. But, more than that, he can interact with objects. Sam—” Shoot! He was about to drop the bomb on her, and my message wasn’t done! “—Neil’s a poltergeist.”

And boom!

Sam’s peepers went wide, locked on Aeron. I scrambled to finish my message, throwing penmanship to the wind to get the letters down.

I dropped the paintbrush, and Aeron gave a calm, almost apologetic gesture toward my note. “He finished his message.”

It read simply, 

Sam flicked her wide eyes back and forth: my messy little message, the air round-abouts where I was floating, and her brother.

Aeron chuckled. “Hardly. More accurately, he’s…he’s like an older brother. He teases me relentlessly and keeps me on my toes, but in the end, he means well and watches out for me.”

He nudged her like a classic older brother that he was to her. She shot him the stink-eye. When he was suitably scorched, she turned back toward my area and narrowed her eyes. Was she trying to see me? Did she have some version of her old man’s vision—that I-see-dead-people-even-while-I’m-awake kind of power?

No, she scrunched up her face and squeezed her eyes shut. She looked like concentration in its purest, most hopeless form.

She let out a huff of surrender. No dice.

“Either?” Aeron asked, surprised. “You’ve tried communicating with my other spirit friends?” Aeron folded his arms and started tapping his elbows—deep in thought. The kid had a whole Morse code of body language, if you know what to look for. “Because you don’t need to see someone to talk to them, but the better you know them, the farther they can be and still hear you, right?”

Huh, maybe if I…

I flipped the paper over, grabbed that wayward little brush again, and this time kept it simple. Two dots, half-circle grin. Classic smiling face.

I raised the paper up in front of my face like a mask. Aeron laughed, and Sam smiled.

“Hey, that’s actually helpful,” Aeron said. Score one for the friendly neighborhood poltergeist. “Father can’t see the auras of my other spirit friends, but he can see Neil’s… Yes, he confirmed that Neil isn’t dangerous. But maybe that means that one day you can strengthen your ability even more to communicate with Neil. In the meantime, you can always write to my spirit friends. They can read too.”

Continued in Part 3…

Neil Vs. Pansy © 2025 by C. Rae D’Arc is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 

The following free story is a follow up of Specter Inspector: Dead and Back Again #1 (Barnes & Noble link). I HIGHLY recommend reading Specter Inspector BEFORE reading this short story as this occurs TWO WEEKS AFTER the events of the book.

Meaning, SPOILERS AHEAD.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about, here’s a link to the first book of the Dead and Back Again series, a paranormal mystery with elements of Noir, Cozy, and Professional Sleuth sub-genres.

Supposing you’ve read the book, I hope you enjoy the following complimentary story.

Neil Vs. Pansy (Part 1)

When I linked myself as a spirit-sidekick to a gumshoe in Shigaqua, Noir, I figured my afterlife would blow up with tailing creeps and serving justice. I thought I’d be chasing down bad guys and noting their incriminating dirt. Instead, I found myself cruising the suburbs, trailing some dame’s missing cat.

Now, when I first met Aeron—an up-and-comer mortal who could chat with the dead in his sleep—I thought he was no more than a pain in the neck for disturbing me with his endless and pestering questions. Then he came back to my haunt. Again and again. Shoot my Mystery-influenced mind, as much as he rubbed me the wrong way, I couldn’t help but be intrigued by the guy who’d seek justice for a poltergeist. With my murder solved, I wasn’t ready to go on to the Unknown Beyond, so I figured, shoot, why not? I linked myself to the young gumshoe, thinking I’d help with his Cases like a side-kick to a dime novel detective.

Instead, I followed P.I. Aeron Spade’s spirit through a backyard cellar door of a suburban joint. Aeron had a dark complexion with bright eyes and rocked a plain cotton button-up shirt and drawstring slacks. Unlike the rest of us spirits, he couldn’t switch his duds with a mere thought. Despite dying over seventeen years ago, I still dressed like my time, shirt sleeves rolled up to my elbows and proper suspenders cinching my waist-high pants.

The two of us drifted through the cellar boxes, following clues of furballs and litter-sand trails till we spotted a little tabby curled up on a top shelf. She musta wandered in when the neighbors left the cellar open, then got trapped by accident.

“Found her,” Aeron said with an unnecessary breath of relief. “Neil, I’ll need you to note—”

His spirit zipped out of the room—called back to his body as something roused him and yanked him back to the living state.

“Ah, shoot,” I swore. My link to the gumshoe tugged on me uncomfortably, urging me to haul after him. I almost missed my seventeen dead years linked to the theater where I’d been knocked off. Those years were a haze, moaning about my unsolved murder, practicing my gifts to make sounds and make things move, waiting for payback. For all my waiting and scheming, I fumbled when time for payback came. I hadn’t planned to whack my murderer’s kid, but…that happened.

Then along came Aeron with his aspirations to be a PI and the pluck to go with it. He was the type of oddball who’d fold up in the dark then build the gumption to go toe-to-toe with a pro twice his age and rep.

When I finally made it to his rambler across Shigaqua, I found Lestrade and Dupin already there, jawing about their old Cases. They gave me their usual withering stare as “Hello.” I scoffed. Jealous of my tangibility gift, like everyone else. If I had their lame gifts, I’d be green too.

Lestrade could read real fast, and Dupin did no more than peep into others’ thoughts and feelings. After two weeks of tailing Aeron with his nod, reading him was as easy as a book.

Aeron, back in his body, was up in his bed, holding his corded phone to his ear. He ought to move that ameche if he wanted decent Z’s and chats with us spirits.

I scraped up the pencil from his nightstand and started scribbling on the paired notepad. Slow and steady. Sure, I could chuck a chair in a hot fit, but writing? That took precision and focus.

An older dame’s voice crackled over the receiver.

“Mom,” Aeron responded and sat up like he’d been caught sleeping on the job. Now, I’d heard him talk about his folks before, but he usually shut that conversation quicker than a speakeasy door. Naturally, that made me all the more curious. I’d asked Sherlock, who treated everybody (not just me) like we were inferior, and was always ready to show off his smarts.

I already knew the kid was a big deal with the spirits—he could visit us and send our messages back to the living. But what threw me for a loop was when Sherlock and other spirits called him Aeron Fromm, the Haunted, instead of PI Aeron Spade. Turned out, the kid wasn’t just some wannabe gumshoe with a supernatural quirk. No, he was some glitterati from Fantasy, straight up royalty, and a direct inheritor of a whole duchy.

Seventeen years of spending my afterlife in a playhouse, and suddenly my world got a whole lot bigger.

Aeron cleared his throat from the morning frog. “Yeah, I was sleeping in for work.” I smirked. What an odd thing to say that only made sense for this kid.

“Work?” his ma asked.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy. Sorry I haven’t called. It’s been…” He drifted. At least since before I’d linked to him.

“Two weeks, Aeron,” she said. Ah, right before I’d linked to him. “Theo said you’d called to say you found a job and wanted to buy a condemned lot—which I’ll only approve if it goes through a complete cleansing—especially since the last time you called me, it was to ask about poltergeists. I’m trying really hard not to be a helicopter mom, and you can thank your dad I wasn’t on your doorstep last week, but I’ve been worried sick. Are you okay?”

What was this? The kid rang up his ma to jaw about poltergeists? What could Lady Fromm possibly know about haints—about my kind—or about…me?

“Sorry, Mom,” Aeron said, revealing his nerves by latching and unlatching his leather bracelet. “I’m fine. It’s just this new job keeping me busy all through the night.”

“I only heard it through Theo, so clarify for me; you solved that Case and were hired by that big investigation agency you wanted?”

“Not exactly,” he slurred. I chuckled to myself with the memory of that “big investigation agency” that was now under threat of disbanding. I set down my pencil, finishing my note. Aeron said, “That fell through, but I was offered a better position with Truth Locke. Remember her?”

“How could I forget? That’s wonderful to hear! And you’re already working on another Case?”

“Yeah.” He lowered the phone to his chest to say, “Neil, what do you mean by, ‘neighbor’s cellar?’ Which neighbor?”

I flipped my peepers at him. The kid passed the buck more often than he could jog his noodle.

Back to the ameche, he spoke, “Thanks, Mom. I hope to round off this Case and come visit the family soon.”

“Great! And who were you talking to? Didn’t you just wake up?” Her voice pitched with suspicion.

“Mo-om.” Aeron flipped his own peepers. “It’s one of my spirit friends.”

I let out a soft snort. His old lady was unnecessarily concerned. With every ghost swarming around Aeron’s joint, no dame in her right mind would cross his doorstep—let alone step a toe in the kid’s bedroom where we all hung out.

“Really?” his ma asked. “Is it one I’ve heard of?”

“Uhh,” he slurred, eyes shifted, and hands fiddled with his bracelet. With a heavy swallow, he said, “He’s a new friend. His name is Neil Martin.”

That warmed the cockles of my heart. He called me his friend.

Aeron continued, “He’s kind of my assistant. He helps me remember what I dream about…by taking notes.”

I frowned as his latching and unlatching grew faster and faster like a jitterbug. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him so shook up, and I’d seen him psyche himself up to go toe-to-toe with a big-time double-crosser.

“Really?” his ma said. “That’ll be helpful. I know you struggle to remember your dreams, so that’s great!”

Aeron’s shoulders sank with relief and confusion. Why’d he been so nervous?

“Do you know what days you’ll be visiting?” she asked. “I can request Chef Steve to prepare your favorite omelets.”

Aeron said he’d swing by that weekend then signed off all polite-like. The second he hung up, he let out a long moan and ran his mitts slowly down his face.

“I don’t think she understood that a spirit ‘taking notes’ means a poltergeist… Supernaturals, she’s going to kill me.”

Continued in Part 2…

Neil Vs. Pansy © 2025 by C. Rae D’Arc is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 

Book Clubs are amazing! I love attending mine (it’s been going for 20+ years)! Since books are my life (working at a book store, writing my own books, and networking with other awesome authors), I really enjoy the opportunity to listen to other people talk about books.

With that said, Specter Inspector is a fantastic book club book because it dips into EVERY fictional genre of Mystery, opening discussions for members to talk about their favorite genres and decide how to focus their future club meetings.
Specter Inspector is also extra fun to read in October, since it’s a safe “scary” book to read for those who don’t normally read scary stories.

Since I don’t always finish reading my book club books, I made this post SPOILER FREE. (That’s nothing to say about your discussions though).

To encourage and support book clubs, here are some resources to enhance your discussion of Spector Inspector.

Discussion QuestionsWhere would you live in the world of Novel, and why?
If you need help deciding, here’s a quiz!Aeron has a crippling fear of the dark. What’s one of your fears, and how have you worked to overcome it?Which character is your favorite? Why?What twist surprised you the most? Did you predict any?This series has a common theme of working through culture-shock and paradigm shifts. When did an eye-opening experience help you understand others in your own life?Deleted Scene

Specter Inspector went through a LOT of plot changes. At first, I planned for Aeron to interview in Mystery then return to his homeland (Margen–the Grimm’s side of Fairy) to find and solve a Case among his own people.

CLICK HERE to read Alternative Scene of Aeron’s First Meeting with Nita

[Aeron’s on a ferry, going from Mystery to Fairy, Fantasy. He notices some passengers, including three women (one middle-aged and two others in their 20s). They all have the same brown hair, presumably family.
One comes and talks with him . . .]

If she was pretending to not know who I was, she failed. . . .
“Your accent–?  Are you a Fantasy native?”
“Yes, I’m returning home.”
“That’s so cool!  I mean, I’ve never been to Fantasy before.  What’s it like?”
I quirked a small smile, “This is your first trip to Fantasy?  . . . Mysteries categorize my people as fools.  They see our lack of technology and old-fashioned mannerisms and assume our society lags behind.  Little do they recognize that we have magic to surpass even some Sci-Fian tech.”
“Is that so?  Isn’t that dangerous?  Maybe you should keep me company for protection.”
She battered her eyelashes at me and swayed out then back in to come closer than before.  She was too good at flirting.  Maybe it was time to slip up a little.
“You shouldn’t be in any danger.  Though I reckon you’d survive even an emergency.”
Her flirtatious expression caught on my Horror accented words.  “Did you stay in Northern Mystery?”
“No.  My mother’s a Horror.  The suspicious tone of Northern Mysterys is similar to the hushed Horror accent.  By the way, I never got your name?” I asked.
She showed off rows of tinted teeth in a slightly jarred smile.  “Sandra Hahn.”
I struggled to contain my smile to a respectable line.  “No, it’s not.”
Her smile faltered, “What?”
“Ironic, isn’t it?  Your ‘sister’ asked if I was an undercover detective while you’re the one who plays the role.”
A split second couldn’t have measured her shift as she latched onto me like a viper.  She trapped my body between her own and the railing.  Passersby would assume we were in a passionate embrace as she wrapped her arms around me and grinned as she lifted her lips to whisper in my ear.  They wouldn’t see the small blades pressed against my neck and wrist.  They wouldn’t hear the threatening tone in her voice.
“What gave me away?”
I struggled to gather my wits again, then struggled against her hold.  No use.  I swallowed a heavy gulp of saliva to make sure the blades wouldn’t cut me if I talked.  “Hahn is a common name particular to Guzd.  It’s difficult to tell, but you’ve had your teeth and hair dyed to appear as a local.  Then you claim ‘Sal’ is your sister, but her jawline and cheekbones are softer than yours and the three of you have different laughs.  You’re not family.  Yes, I haven’t forgotten about your ‘mother’.”  I spared a quick glance to the deck below where the older woman hiccupped at being found.  “So tell me, ‘Sandra,’ what’s your real purpose in going to Aven?”
‘Sandra’ didn’t make any motion at first.  My thoughts had time to drift to the intimacy of our position before she retracted her blades and stepped back.  She stared hard at me, and chewed on the inside of her lower lip for a good minute.  Then, “What business is it of yours?”
“Technically, royalty is a family business, so if you’re spying in my uncle’s town, it’s my duty to inform him.”
She breathed deeply, then sighed, “It’s not the town, but the man that worries Mystery.  There’s always someone spying on Lord Fromm, the Night Terror.”
“That’s hardly an undercover operation,” I scoffed.  “Uncle Dunstan’s been by the book for over a decade.  Or is it two now?”
She smirked, “Don’t tell me you’re ignorant of his past or capability to turn.”
I hardened my eyes on her.  “I don’t know anyone, living or spirit, who’s proud of every decision they’ve made.  Concern your mission on his people, not the man.  His heart is in the right place.”
“If you say so,” she shrugged, “though it’s my mission regardless.  Will you compromise it?”
My instincts were to alert my uncle.  However…  “No.  If Dunstan knows the Mystery State is suspicious of him, he’ll become suspicious of them in return.  That break of trust would do more damage than ignorance.”
She gave me another long stare, then shifted back to her flirty stance.  “Then I suspect I won’t worry about seeing you again.”
With her shift, I relaxed enough to quirk a smile.  “I don’t know.  I imagine a skilled agent like yourself spends a lot of time in Mystery’s Police Departments.  We might end up as partners in a Case.”
“So you are a detective?”
“No.  Not yet, at least.”
With a flirtatious smirk she turned away and waved over her shoulder, “Take care of yourself, Lord Haunted.”
I watched her go, realizing I never got her real name.  If she was on a Case, though, I doubted any pressure could divulge it.  I turned back to my railing corner and watched the scenery drift by.  I kept an eye out for her and her companions, but didn’t run into them again for the remainder of the trip.  I hoped to catch one more glimpse of her when docking in Aven, but the woman alluded me.

[This scene was deleted when Aeron stayed in Noir, Mystery.]

Frequently Asked Question:

One of my most common questions is “What inspired the world of Novel?” The answer is actually quite complicated, but you can read about it here!

Concerning inspiration for Specter Inspector, I began writing Aeron’s adult story back in 2018, when Don’t Dance with Death (Aeron’s childhood introduction) was only 1/3rd drafted and early alpha readers of Don’t Date the Haunted (the book that started it all) frequently commented on how much they enjoyed the snippet of Pansy’s layover in Mystery. After exploring the lands of Romance, Fantasy, and Horror in the Haunted Romance trilogy, I wanted to explore the other genres of Novel.
Also, somewhere in there, I’d seen “The Sixth Sense” film, and I wanted more about the kid who solves murders because he can see dead people.

There’s More!

Did you know that Specter Inspector is a Next Generation follow up of my Haunted Romance Trilogy? Officially meet Aeron in Don’t Dance with Death: Haunted Romance #3!

Specter Inspector is also Book 1 in the Dead and Back Again series. Follow Aeron, Nita, and Truth’s next step in Visionary Investigations: Dead and Back Again #1.5!

Contact me!

Have you ever wanted to ask the author direct questions about a book you’ve read? I’m available! If your book club chooses to read one of my books, send me an email or message me on Facebook or Instagram to let me know. I’d love to attend your meeting! Even if I’m not local to your area, I’m open for a video call.

Submit a form.

A large part of the plot of my “Dreaming Beauty” plays on the fact that Sleeping Beauty was asleep for a very long time and the “good fairy gave her most agreeable dreams,” making me wonder, “What did she dream about?”

This could have been answered in countless different ways, but I chose to play with the idea of her dreaming about modern England. Why?
Because it’s where my heart is.

I grew up with stories about my mom living in England for 18 months and always dreamed of going there myself. There came a point during my university years where I realized, if I wanted to visit England so badly, I needed to make it happen.

So, I signed up for a Study Abroad during the Summer of 2012 (totally oblivious to the Summer Olympics and Queen Elizabeth II’s Jubilee year).

I found that writing in a journal once a week wasn’t enough to express everything during that short summer, but I kept record of my adventures through my pictures. I took an average of 100 pictures per day. Here are some of the places that inspired Emer’s journey in “Dreaming Beauty.”

Boscastle and Tintagel

We hiked along the coast between Boscastle and Tintagel, and I found the views absolutely stunning. Considering that Emer had never seen the ocean before, I thought it was the perfect place to welcome her to England.

St. Michael’s Mount

Visiting St. Michael’s Mount felt like visiting a fairytale. With markers for The Giant’s Heart and The Giant’s Well, turrets and gardens that seemed out of this world, I knew I needed to include it in a fairytale retelling.

Notice the Dr. Suess-ish looking plant? That’s the one I used for Emer’s experiment to grow to the sky.

Stonehenge

I’ve actually been to Stonehenge twice as I went there in 2012 then again with my husband in 2017. I love the mysteries about the iconic monument and thought they’d be the perfect setting for Emer to try her magic.

The Seaver’s Townhouse

Based on the London Center where I lived with 40 other students for 6 weeks.
In an effort to convince a bunch of university students to respect the place, one of our professors said, “The fireplace is worth more than my house.”
My bed was on the 5th floor (top) with a window exit to the roof, where I felt like Peter Pan had already whisked me away to this magical place. That’s where I based Caden’s nursery.

Kew Gardens

I returned to Kew Gardens in 2017 to share the beauties with my husband. With Emer’s love and magical powers with plants, I knew she needed to visit this reservation of plants.

London

Oh, London. I didn’t leave my heart there. It’s always been there, and I just visit it when I get the chance. I knew Emer needed to visit the city and explore its mashup of cultures.

There are many more places in the British Ilses where I wish Emer could have visited (such as Oxford, Cambridge, Land’s End, Bath, Stourhead Gardens, The Eden Project, Dover, and Edinburgh to name a few…).

For “Fairest and the Frog,” I knew that I needed to explore more of England by showing off Warwick Castle and the beautiful Lake District (I could die happily there).

One of the other places I visited twice included Hanover Court (home of the Tudors) as my main influence and inspiration for Ruezdad Castle (from “Don’t Marry the Cursed: Haunted Romance #2”).

[Please insert here a scream of EVERY emotion!]

I don’t know if I can wait another 2+ years for the next books because [*gaaagh!*] I called it, but not in the way I wanted!

Okay, first of all, this is BOOK FIVE of Brandon Sanderson’s Stormlight Archive. If you haven’t read the first four, you will be thoroughly confused. Even if you have read the first four books but you haven’t read Mistborn, Elantris, and Warbreaker, you still might be a little confused.
However, I suggest reading The Sunlit Man after Winds and Truth because minor spoilers occur.

Supposing you’ve read the first 4 Stormlight Archive books and other Cosmere best-sellers…

We start off with TEN DAYS.
Ten days to claim what lands they can and end the war with Odium. It becomes a mad scramble to keep and regain kingdoms as boundaries will become official with the treaty. Adolin goes to help Azir, Jasnah goes to Thaylen City for support, and Szeth and Kaladin need to reclaim the honorblades and Shinovar. Meanwhile, Dalinar and Navani have decided to use their bondsmith powers to explore his visions and the past, unwittingly pulling in other main characters and villains.

The book has ten parts. One for every day. So, there’s a LOT happening in a lot of places with a lot of characters. Hello, Epic Fantasy.

Minor Spoilers and Trigger Warnings

Despite their treaty deadline, there’s still a war going on for ten more days, and they make the most of it. There are a few main character deaths and brutal (but not gory) fights.

While this book includes a LOT of therapy (even meta-therapy), it also includes a couple of sensitive topics.

There is an on-page same-sex kiss with a few sections leading up to their romance.
There are also a few chapters from “god’s” perspective if that makes you uncomfortable.

Final Rating…

I enjoyed the book overall, but for reasons explained in my spoilers section below… I’m a little annoyed. Still, intriguing, enlightening, and leaving me glad there will be five more of these books, I give Wind and Truth ****4.5 stars.****

About the Ending…Spoilers Ahead!

Alright, I did not want this to be a spoiler, but I CALLED IT! Kind of.

Please refer to my predictions section in my review for Rhythm of War. I hadn’t changed it since reading Wind and Truth.
I predicted the last book would have the acronym of KoW…which it would have with “Knights of Wind and Truth” (the title of the book this one is based on), but whatever. Mess up the perfect palindrome.
I also predicted either Dalinar winning in the end for a happily ever after
OR
Odium would win and everyone would scramble to make it right, probably by involving shards from other planets.

But the problem is, I predicted that mess to happen at the end of Part 1! Not the end of the book!

With the expectation of this book rounding off the “first set of five,” I’d expected a more solid conclusion. I’d expected a large time and technology jump before Stormlight #6, that Wind and Truth was meant to conclude the first arc of the Stormlight Archive…
However, the ending of Wind and Truth doesn’t feel like a conclusion for me. It feels like the ending of The Way of Kings as some big things are concluded, but there are also several “Oh no, now what?” problems left open.

Because–what the heck, they find Odium’s well, but they’re not trying to destroy it? And the Stormfather’s been replaced by Syl and Kaladin’s basically a demi-god? Oh, not to mention whatever Shallan might be because she’s the daughter of a demi-god–I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS!
It almost felt like a series finale where writers frequently mess up their main characters’ lives to the point that we almost don’t care to know about their “happily ever afters,” but then we have so many problems hanging out in the open!

I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Don’t mind me. I’m just suffering from story trauma. Welcome to the Stormlight Archive.

This urban fantasy explores a fun variety of mythical creatures from around the world. We follow Rebecca, a mythical working for the Department of Extraordinary Emigration and Delivery (AKA: DEED). As the cover reveals, she’s a centaur with the ability to contain her hind legs to appear as human. This was a fun and fresh perspective for me as I don’t know many books with a centaur main character.

Set in our diverse modern world with a land of hiding mythical creatures, Rebecca’s a field agent, whose job is to make sure mythicals remain secret and safe from ignorant and/or abusive humans. To do this, she’s trained in multiple forms of combat and weaponry to safely secure and transport her clients to safety. To the great pleasure of any thriller reader, this book explores the various ways that can be applied and go wrong.

The reader gets to chase the thrills on high suspension between car chases and the gathering of team members for a covert rescue mission. Mr. Doran also explores the tension of her daily job life as we never know what to expect with each of Rebecca’s visits to clients.

Many of Mr. Doran’s books include romance (and as a hopeless romantic, I’m constantly looking for characters to ship), but DEED’s relationships are less about romance and more about family.

Cleanliness

Despite the high tension and multiple Covert Ops fight scenes, there’s very little blood. There are no sexual references and no vulgar language. I’d say ages 10+ as it would probably make a fun but intense PG movie.

Final Thoughts

Even though the main character is a little older (30s?), she has a motherly nature as she interacts with younger characters to make this book feel appropriate and relatable for younger readers. I think this could be a fun book for a mom and tween/teen daughter to read together.

Heart-warming and thrilling to the end, I couldn’t wait for the next page in this whimsical thriller.

Rating: 5 out of 5.

In the end, I give it ****4.5 Stars****.

This is a stand-alone, but I hope there are sequels, because these characters are too intriguing, and there’s SO much I want to explore in this version of our world.

Visionary Investigations Agency has a small but mighty team with a variety of…odd strengths.

Meet Truth Locke

Based on one of my oldest characters, Truth was inspired by a family I created with The Sims 1 (particularly using Unleashed and Makin’ Magic expansions, which dates her back to at least 2003).

If you don’t care for the full insane story, skip the next block.

I made Sahuie Gauzier by literally button mashing for her name because (before Makin’ Magic was available) I wanted to create a crazy Professor Trelawny-like character who would match my crazy completionist desires (I like to do ALL the things). So, when Sahuie got a dog named Shasta from Unleashed, I trained it in every way to win all the awards.

Then, Makin’ Magic was released to satisfy my love for the arcane. I had Sahuie learn every spell, make every potion, grow every crystal, and she climbed that beanstalk for the “credits” of the never-ending game.
Naturally, I also tested the spell to turn a pet into a human. Shasta became human and my new favorite character to do ALL the things.

Except, Makin’ Magic was the final expansion released with The Sims 1, meaning the only thing left for me to do with Shasta…was create stories with her. Using the photo tool, I turned her “scrapbook” into a storybook.
For some reason, that meant making her fall in love with a vampire.

Why a vampire? The Sims 1 didn’t have vampires. However, Makin’ Magic (2003) had a spell, “Beauty or Beast,” that could temporarily make a Sim look like a vampire. Also, The Sims 2: Nightlife was released in 2005, and that may have influenced my brain (despite never owning it).
Twilight was also published in 2005, but I didn’t really know about or read the series until Eclipse was released (2007).

All I know for sure is that I created a new character, Ricky Van Pier (I thought I was so clever), specifically to look like a rich vampire and to fall in love with Shasta. In her storybook, I gave him more depth and a full conflict of interest as he didn’t start as a vampire, but was turned into one, then he turned Shasta into one, then together (with Sahuie’s help), they found a cure.

I began writing “Shasta’s Story” in a Word doc around 2008, then wrote my Creative Writing: Short Stories Final paper with an herbalist named Truth in 2011.

During Covid, I played D&D with some friends and created Verida (“veritas” = “truth” in Latin). We played an over-powered game with feats, and she became my favorite D&D character.

Please note her PASSIVE senses… Thankfully, the DM also enjoyed her, and based an NPC off of her in another campaign.

As an inside joke with myself, I included Truth Locke like a cameo in Don’t Date the Haunted (published in 2020). But when it came to exploring the State of Mystery, I knew I needed to include her and finally explore her story.

Now, that’s a LOT for a backstory of any character. Sometimes, as writers, we need to simplify our characters because “they have too much going on.” So, instead of basing Truth directly off of Sahuie or Shasta, I made Truth the adopted third generation of those crazy women.

Again, for fun cameo, readers get a glimpse of Shasta and Ricky in Visionary Investigations.

Meet Aeron Spade

Speaking of characters with too much going on, the next member of the Visionary Investigations Agency is Aeron Spade.
Okay, if you really want to meet Aeron Spade, read his book, Specter Inspector: Dead and Back Again #1.

But if you really want to meet Earl Aeron Spade/Aeron Fromm, The Haunted, of Margen, then read his official introduction in Don’t Dance with Death: Haunted Romance #3.

Inspiration for his character came with exploring the idea of “What kind of kid would Pansy and Theo have?” Also, “The Sixth Sense” turns a scared little boy into a little boy who can solve murders and give justice to the dead. I wanted to see more of that.

Again, Aeron has a much deeper backstory. I originally wrote Specter Inspector as a direct follow up to Don’t Dance with Death, expecting the reader to already know about Aeron Fromm’s childhood abduction and royal inheritance. However, I ran into the same problem of too much going on. To simplify it for new readers, I decided to give him an alias as Aeron Spade–a young man just trying to serve justice to the dead who haunt him every night in his sleep.

Meet Nita Incog

Nita Incog is the team specialist on weapons and combat forms. Need to pick a lock? Need to get in and get out without being noticed? Need to incapacitate a threat? Nita’s the one for the job.

Inspiration for her character came from watching the Bourne movies and Agents of Shield TV series. I’d explain specifics, but… spoilers.

PS. I flipping love this picture of Aeron and Nita (even if it was AI generated).

What do you think of that cover? Do you like it? Does it not scream Christmas contemporary romantic comedy?
I hope so. That was my goal in making it.

Introduction

At six feet tall, Abby Knotts is used to comments about her height and questions about her athletics, but her love has always been the piano. With her new teaching job at The Piano Co, she eagerly takes on students—including a handsome adult student: a tech CEO named Thomas.

Thomas Johnston is in love with Juliet, his long-time college crush (and current marketing director), but can’t seem to catch her return interest. After learning about her fondness for musicians, he decides to learn the piano to perform at the work Christmas party. With Abby as his teacher, however, he quickly realizes another area where she could teach him: the art of flirting. Abby agrees to teach him how to flirt, and Thomas finds he’s a quick learner…as long as he can remember that Juliet’s the reason he’s learning piano and flirting, not Abby.

Real Life Inspiration

Since I personally know the author, I can verify that the author is writing what she knows with Yes, I’m Tall. Mrs. Aimee also six feet tall. And a piano teacher. And a natural flirt. And she decorated for Christmas in October.
She also based other main characters on real-life people (Thomas is based on her husband, and Abby’s friends are based on Mrs. Aimee’s university roommates).
Even though her other two published books are “romantasies,” contemporary romance is her favorite genre to read, so this book is (again) writing what she knows.

Cleanliness

As a Christmas romance, you can bet there’s a non-denominational reference to the birth of Jesus Christ, but the story’s more about the music and festivities than religion. (Like a classic Hallmark film.)

Along those lines, there’s no foul language, no sexual content, and no violence. The most “sexual” comment is Thomas noticing sexy heels and a co-worker remarking how they’d have “tall babies.” (Again, like a classic Hallmark film.)

Disclaimers…

To whom it may concern: Yes, I’m Tall is written in present tense like this blog post and many other slice-of-life romances. Present tense can be tricky, but Mrs. Aimee does it well.

Disclaimer #1: I had a large influence in the making of this book. I was an alpha reader, the formatter, and the cover artist. That said, I wouldn’t accept those positions (or to claim my part) for a trash book.

Disclaimer #2: this author is one of my best friends. In fact, this author and I are such good friends, that Yes, I’m Tall includes a character (Rose) based on me. As such, I’ll admit this is one of my most biased reviews.

Even still, I try my best to look with an outsider’s perspective, and to someone who loves contemporary non-denominational Christian romantic comedies, I think they’ll be more than pleased with Yes, I’m Tall.
****4.4 Stars****

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

This is book one is a series of stand-alone novels.