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298 pages, Paperback
First published May 21, 2014





“Dark grows near, sense the fear,” a voice, possessing the deep rasp of death, croaked in the sing-song tempo of a nursery rhyme.
“Cloak of night,
brings Horseman’s plight.
His pricy toll,
will be a soul.
Run and hide,
before his ride.
Or the dead—”
The face of a haggard old woman peeked around the back of the chair, her mouth open in a wide, toothless grin. A shock of white hair framed her ghastly face, falling to gaunt shoulders in wiry wisps.
“—Shall claim ye head.”
“Dinner, as friends. Where I don’t expect you to pay or hold doors and you don’t expect make-up or sex.”
“I’ll be rude, and you’ll be purposely homely. It’ll be magical”
“First off, you’re what? Like three hundred years old?”
“Twenty-four,” Ireland corrected, with a humorless scoff. “But, thanks. I’ll look into a better moisturizer.”
Ireland turned the box cutter over in her hand, admiring the sharp angle of the blade. "Rip, would you mind if I performed a little experiment real quick?"
"What kind of-oh! Please, no-zzzzzzzzzz."
...
When the old man came to yet again, she anticipated his first words before he opened his mouth to croak, "What-what happened?"
"Alien attack. Don't worry. I stopped them shortly after they probed you."

"Hello?" Ireland called out in a breathless squeak. If anyone actually answered, there was a high likelihood her heart would leap from her chest, give her a quick nod, and scurry off to save itself."