How to Date a Mermaid

by Rose Pressey

  I plucked the heavy volume from its hidden location and blew the dust from the stained and weathered cover. Fear placed its icy arms around me, and cold shivered up my spine when I touched the leather binding. My heart rate increased. A panic attack, I thought. Inheriting the house was an ambitious undertaking and the anxiety had caught up with me, that was all. Goosebumps emerged on my arms.

  As I held the book, a dark sensation, evil just beyond its edge, nagged at the boundaries of my thoughts. But I couldn’t release my grip. I opened the cover, and a rich scent of leather stirred in the air around me. An unrecognizable foreign language covered the thick, yellowed pages, not French, certainly not Spanish. With each flipped page, my fingers tingled. Nothing about the book’s contents offered a clue as to what it was about, no owner’s name inside or even initials, but the symbol on the front was strangely familiar: a twisted knot circled by fancy scrolling. Had I seen it before in my mother’s Book of Shadows? If this was a spell book, it was unlike any I had seen before.

  “Anyone home?” a familiar singsong voice called out.

  I jumped three feet in the air, almost tossing the book across the room. I slammed it shut as if I’d been caught reading someone’s diary.

  “I’m in the attic. Come on up.” My voice wavered. I’d forgotten my best friend Annabelle Preston had agreed to stop by.

  “There’s no way in hell I’m coming up there! It’s creepy. You come on down here.”

  I rolled my eyes. It had been all I could do to convince Annabelle to come over in the first place. She thought for sure the house was haunted. Even so, I told her, ghosts wouldn’t hurt her. But being non-magical, she got a little on edge when around the supernatural and she wasn’t buying my reassurances.

  “I’ll be right down,” I called back.

  I tucked the book under my arm and made my way to the door. With my hand on the knob, I paused and looked back, sure that I’d heard footfalls behind me.

  Now Annabelle’s paranoia was getting the better of me.

  My best friend stood at the bottom of the stairs, peering up at me with wide, mascara-rimmed blue eyes.

  “I don’t know how you can live in this place all by yourself. At least get another cat or ten, for heaven’s sake.” She looked around for my black cat, Pluto. He’d been scarce since the first day at LaVeau Manor.

  “Great, so then I can officially be the weird cat lady in the big old creepy house.” I moved down the first few steps.

  “Okay, how about a dog?” she asked with hope in her eyes. Annabelle was obsessed with animals. She had two dogs, three cats, a hamster, and too many fish to count. I’d had to stop her from getting a monkey. When I’d told her about the diaper-changing she’d changed her mind right away.

  I nodded. “Fine. Maybe a dog, but I doubt Pluto will take too kindly to a new resident.”

  “What are you doing up there all by yourself, anyway?” She gestured with a tilt of her head. “I’d be afraid I’d get trapped and never get out.”

  “I wanted to know what was up there,” I said.

  “A trunk full of bones, that’s what’s up there.” She rubbed her arms, warding off a shiver.

  I made my way to the last step of the wide, winding staircase. “Sorry to foil the urban legend, but I found no trunk, no bones. Just a bunch of old crap.”

  “This place is the epitome of creepiness. I could have sworn I saw a man standing on the front porch when I pulled into the driveway.” Annabelle looked over her shoulder toward the front door.

  A bang echoed through the foyer and Annabelle screeched, wrapping her arms around my neck.

  “Oh my God, we’re going to die!”

  About the Author

  Rose Pressey is a USA Today bestselling author. She enjoys writing quirky and fun novels with a paranormal twist. The paranormal has always captured her interest. The thought of finding answers to the unexplained fascinates her.

  When she’s not writing about werewolves, vampires and every other supernatural creature, she loves eating cupcakes with sprinkles, reading, spending time with family, and listening to oldies from the fifties.

  Rose suffers from Psoriatic Arthritis and has knee replacements. She’s soon having her hips replaced, elbows, and at least one shoulder. She doesn’t let that slow her down.

  Rose lives in the beautiful commonwealth of Kentucky with her husband, son, and two sassy Chihuahuas.

  Visit her online at:

  http://www.rosepressey.com

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  Rose loves to hear from readers. You can email her at: rose@rosepressey.com

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