Little Ghost - Pt. 1

An East Arcadia Tale

I try not to release my newsletter on the same day as my bi-weekly posts, but as tomorrow is the first of the month, I am making an exception. My newsletter went live a couple hours before this, so if you’re interested in reading it and you don’t get my emails, go ahead and subscribe now. You can also find them by navigating recent posts on my main page.

This is the maiden voyage for the new format of the Chronicles of Writing Spice! I’m excited to share this journey with you. Thanks to my vacation I didn’t get quite as much time to work on this story as I’d been hoping for, but this was a fun little story to write, and you might recognize the setting.

Image by Andrea Bohl from Pixabay

---

Mirrors were something I avoided when I could. If I looked at them for more than a few seconds, my mind produced the memory of what I’d looked like when I’d been killed. Phantoms were made in a variety of ways, but the only way for a witch to become a phantom is to die a violent death. Throwing the covers back, I averted my eyes from the full length of it hanging in Jessa’s wardrobe.

“Then who did it?” She asked me, chuffed about the open blinds.

I peered at the indigo light seeping around the slats, rubbing the sleep away as I stood. My roommate was sitting in front of the archaic box the school had loaned her, though I’d argued a few times it couldn’t even be called a computer at this point.

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t me. Probably just someone playing a joke.” I shrugged a shoulder, shifting so I could stretch my aching muscles.

My body felt so stiff this morning, and I mentally cursed the haunt I’d gone on last night. Dried blood grabbed my attention, and the still seeping wound visible through slashes in the jewel purple corset drew a wince from Jessa as she stared at the tiny wardrobe. Its door hung open, a pink sweatshirt in a deep, blush color slung over the door.

She wasn’t healing. A great deal of skin remained uncovered, and I noted the slash she’d failed to dodge in sparring class still marred her flesh. That’ll do her expression said as she snagged the garment from the door. Good thing, since I doubted she’d heal from the sun’s burns at this rate. A tendril of satisfaction reached me as she settled into the warmth of the sweater.

“When was the last time you slept?” I arched a brow, doing the mental math.

That class had been a week ago, and a well-fed vampire healed instantly. Jessa was not a well-fed vampire. She tugged her white hair free from the sweatshirt and I sent a murmur of thanks to Shai for seeing to my good fortune. Just in case, I tossed in a plea to stay in his good graces. Living with a hungry vampire was dangerous on the best of days. An injured one was even worse.