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Dedication
TO NATALIE AND STEPH,
FOR HELPING ME MAKE THE STORIES
AND TO MICHELLE AND ERICA,
FOR HELPING ME MAKE THE BOOKS
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Out of the Blue
Flying Lessons
Job Interviews
Open Sesame
Sparkles Make Everything Better
A Trashy Life
Ex Marks the Spot
Dream on
Like Aphrodite on Steroids
There’s No Place Like Home
Old Haunts
Deadly Reunions
Bite My Tongue
Extracurricular Activities
Virgin Dreams
Oh, So Busted
Grim Prospects
Tourist Friendly
A Teeth-Gnashing Good Time
Like a Bad Movie
I Like the Night Life
Honestly a Liar
Lies, Lips, and Lunatics
Alternative Lifestyles
Caramel-Coated Complications
Happy Freaking Halloween
Uber-Bleep
Guilty Is As Guilty Does
Matters of Life and Undeath
Tree Hugger
Vamptastic
Going Nowhere, Going Somewhere
Matchmaker, Matchmaker
Old Friends
Do Ask, Do Tell
Family Reunions Always Suck
What He Said
The Truth Will Set You Free—or Break Your Heart
Sleeping Beauty
Dimpled Terror
Hello, Hell
Meet Me in the Middle
Acknowledgments
Praise for Paranormalcy
Copyright
About the Publisher
I was going to die a horrible, gruesome, painful death.
My hand twitched at my side, reaching for the pink Taser I knew wasn’t there. Why had I ever wanted this? What was I thinking? Working at the International Paranormal Containment Agency might have been close to indentured servitude, and sure, I had some nasty run-ins with vampires and hags and creeptastic faeries, but that was nothing compared to the danger I faced now.
Girls’ gym.
We were playing soccer—without shin guards. The girl I was supposed to cover (a creature so hulking I swear she was a troll) charged toward me, steam practically flowing from her nostrils. I braced for impact.
And then I marveled at the clear blue autumn sky. Not a cloud in sight. But why was I looking at the sky? Maybe it was connected to my sudden inability to breathe. Come on, lungs. Come on. They had to start working at some point, right? Bright spots danced before my eyes and I could just see my obituary: Tragedy Strikes During Soccer. How mortifying.
At last, blessed air filtered through. A familiar face, framed by long, dark hair, leaned over me. My one normal friend, Carlee. “Are you okay?” she asked.
“Green!” a tenor barked out. I was pretty sure that Miss Lynn had a deeper voice than my boyfriend. “Get off your butt and get back in the game!”
Ah, Green. It seemed like such a cute last name when Lend made it up to fake my legal documents. However, the more Miss Lynn shouted it, the less I liked it. “GREEN!” Carlee held out a hand and helped me up.
“That’s okay. I suck at soccer, too.” She smiled and ran off. She totally did not suck at soccer.
It wasn’t fair. Here I was, standing like an idiot on a muddy field, while Lend was away at college. What a waste of time. And who knew how much longer I had left, anyway? What if I was expending the precious remnants of my soul on soccer?
Maybe I could get a doctor’s note. I could see it now: “To whom it may concern: Evie has a rare condition in which she doesn’t have enough of her own soul to live a normal life. Therefore, she should be immediately and permanently excused from all physical exertion involving sweating and getting knocked down in the dirt.”
Ridiculous. But then again, it might be worth a shot. Lend’s dad had some connections at the hospital….
I ducked as the ball whizzed past my head. One of my teammates, a vicious redhead, swore as she ran by. “Header, Green! Header!”
Carlee stopped. “Just fake cramps.” She winked a mascara-heavy eyelid.
I put my hands on my lower stomach and shuffled over to Miss Lynn, who stood at the painted white line on the crunchy grass, surveying the game like a general at war.
She rolled her eyes. “What is it now?”
Hoping
