by Clare Kauter
Henry looked at me over the top of his glasses. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”
What? How could he possibly know about… He couldn’t! No one knew. But then how did he know about me at all?
“Who’s been telling you stories about me?”
He shifted in his chair and looked like he might fall straight through it. “We had a tip off from that coven that lives nearby.”
Of course. Who else? If they couldn’t get me to join them, they were going to… What, exactly? Have me arrested? Get me sent on a quest? What exactly was their agenda?
“Right. So what happens now? Am I in trouble?”
“No, no. We’re just waiting for someone to turn up with our orders for the quest. They’ll usually try to pick something that plays to your strength. Someone will be here soon and give us the orders, then we just go from there.” He relaxed back in his seat. I wondered what this would look like to a passerby – a girl and a gorilla eating tacos by the cemetery. Not that there were too many passersby around here. Except, you know, for gho–
“YOU NEED TO FIND MY KILLER.”
I screamed – again. This really wasn’t my night. A ghost (a poltergeist, to be specific – I could tell from his slightly green aura) had just appeared less than a metre in front of me. Just – POP. Out of nowhere.
Henry yawned and stretched, completely unfazed. “I guess this is it,” he said. “That was surprisingly fast. It usually takes them weeks to send out a quest.”
The ghost looked at Henry and frowned as if trying to figure something out. Probably why the hell there was a talking gorilla by the cemetery.
“This is a, uh, special case,” said the ghost. “They said you’re to get started right away.”
“They always say that,” said Henry. He turned to me. “They’ve done a pretty good job here. I mean, this is going to involve a whole lot of talking to ghosts. You should have your licence in no time. What’s your name, ghosty?”
“Ed,” Ed said. “I, uh, I’m dead.”
About the Author
Clare Kauter writes stuff. Like this novel, for example. She’s good with words and whatever. She’s also definitely not responsible for writing her own author bio. Not at all. No sir. Nope. No way. OK, maybe. Anyway, she began her first novel Losing Your Head when she was 13 and so begs your forgiveness for any issues it may have. It’s a grumpy teenager of a book, but she loves it so please be kind. The next one (Deadhead, coming May 2015!) will be better. It has magic and stuff! Woo! Who doesn’t love magic? You don’t? Oh. Right. Well. Awkward.
Clare has an on-again, off-again relationship with her part time retail job and is just waiting for the right time to break it off completely. Like, you know, perhaps when she becomes a novelist. Wink wink.
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