The Seventh Sister, A Paranormal Romance Read Free

and the only McDonald’s in town. I enter our shallow downtown, where the structures are barely visible from the sidewalk. Right now, I know I’m passing the mayor’s symbols of progress, which are two glass buildings designed by Rodale Washington. The only reason I can remember what this guy’s name is that for about a year prior to the grandiose ground breaking ceremony, posters were plastered on every light post and in every shop window in town. Not only that, but there was this cheesy billboard featuring the architect, smiling like the guy who just sold you muddy swampland for a few million bucks, erected at the site of construction. Rodale Washington—Architect of the Century—Building Moonridge into the 21 st Century , the poster read. I thought it sounded awkward; I mean it said Century twice. Maybe it should’ve said Architect of the Decade .
    What’s really funny is my mom, Deanna Decker, couldn’t recall seeing even one of those posters or the humongous billboard, ever. She only took notice this spring after seeing the actual buildings established while driving up Main Street in that red, convertible Corvette of hers after returning from an extended business trip to California, then to New York, then back west to Denver, to Seattle and then finally here. The place, as far as I’m concerned, she hasn’t suffered in long enough to call home.
    Yet even with the glass towers, which look completely forced into existence, the town’s true pride and joy and lucrative tourist traps are the quaint cottage-styled shops that make up the Main Street Towne Square that’s built next to the towers.
    Once I pass downtown, I continue up Main Street for about five more miles until I’m relieved to see our mailbox. The fog was starting to wear on me. It’s not the regular wet kind that flows off the ocean. The haze is dry and extra cold, making the air chillier than what the snow has already made it. Not only that, but it’s seriously unsettling.
    It’s toasty inside of the house. The iciness outside has kicked the central heating system on, and it’s been blowing all day long. I drop my full book bag down on the armchair near the front door and call for no one. Deanna is on another long business trip. She does check in every day to make sure I’ve done the shopping, cooked dinner and gotten to bed on time. This must make her feel more like a mother.
    I turn on the television, and there’s no news on reporting what the fog may be so I turn it off. I’m not a big TV watcher. I go into the kitchen and put together a spring salad for dinner. I’m still debating on whether to show up for duty tonight or not. It’s foggy outside for goodness sake. Surely that’s enough to cancel the silly dance.
    After chopping up the tomatoes and cucumbers, I shuffle over to the telephone to make a call to the school’s office, but it rings before I can lift the receiver.
    It’s five-thirty so I know who’s calling.
    “Hi, mom,” I say right away.
    “You’re home,” Deanna says through a hard sigh of relief.
    “Of course, where else can I go? This place sucks.”
    “Yes, yes…” She’s being dismissive and it makes me mad.
    “Plus, this creepy thick fog rolled in and…”
    “What fog?” she cuts me off. Her tone is completely different, like she’s about to miraculously take whatever I say serious.
    I hesitate, debating whether to take this opportunity to voice how much I hate Moonridge and how unfair it is for her to go traipsing off to the exciting parts of the world without me. “Fog—fog,” I decide to answer instead.
    “Isn’t it kind of early for fog?”
    “Yeah,” I mutter. I think I’m pouting a little because we’re not discussing ways of getting me out of Moonridge forever.
    After a long pause she asks, “How does it feel?”
    “What do you mean feel ?”
    “When you’re in it, how does it feel on your skin?”
    I frown at her strange question. “I don’t know—like fog. Although, it is