Reborn Yesterday (Phenomenal Fate 1)

Fighting a smile, Ginny checked the time on her laptop. “My meeting is late. I’ll just call him to make sure he’s still coming.”

She picked up the office phone and dialed, getting a series of beeps in her ear. “The number you dialed is no longer in service,” she murmured, repeating after the robotic voice. “We’ll give him five more minutes.”

Her appointment never arrived.

A while later, as she, Roksana and Tucker carried her dresses out and loaded them into the waiting car, Ginny looked up at the sky and couldn’t find the merest whisper of a cloud.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It was one thing to be the outcast of Embrace the Lace. It was quite another to have so many people witnessing the obvious shunning.

Ginny had been assigned to a display table in the mustiest, darkest corner of the church basement, complete with cobwebs and rattling radiator. The light panel overhead no longer worked, leaving her in the shadows. There was a clear division of her and everyone else, the other tables bathed in light and surrounded by friends and family, who’d come to see the hard work of their loved ones and place bids on the finished dresses.

Ginny had Roksana and Tucker.

They basically waltzed in, fell into the two metal folding chairs she’d been allotted and glowered at everyone who even considered a visit to the distant glacier that was her table.

With a final adjustment, Ginny stepped back from the mannequin to which she’d affixed her Christmas dress and removed the pin from her mouth. “Did I mention how glad I am that you’re both here?”

The pair grunted and continued their hard scrutiny of every living soul in the basement.

“That being said, if you could try and appear just a smidgen less life threatening, that might help increase traffic to my table.”

“This is just my face,” Roksana drawled.

“This basement is a fire trap and the alley out back doesn’t exit to a street. Coincidentally, if something happens to you, Jonas is going to set fire to my insides.” Tucker held up his hands, palms out. “His words, not mine.”

“How am I supposed to auction off my dresses if you’re scaring everyone away?”

Roksana shrugged a shoulder. “We could bid.”

Tucker batted his eyelashes. “Do you have anything in turquoise?”

Ginny slumped. She’d harbored no delusions that she would arrive tonight and suddenly be the belle of the ball. But she’d hoped, at the very least, her dresses would speak for themselves. That unlike the meetings, the expo would place the members on an even playing field. Not everyone in the room knew she was Death Girl, did they?

Determined to keep her optimism, Ginny took her next dress out of its garment bag and arranged it on the mannequin. As she was doing so, someone called her name from across the room and she turned to wave at Gordon. He stood with his mother at the cookies and coffee table in a suit and tie. And wasn’t that nice of him to get dressed up for his mother’s dress club, even if he looked distinctly uncomfortable fidgeting with his collar?

Yes, it was nice. A lot nicer than buying half of her funeral home without telling her first and then surrounding her in people repellent à la Tucker and Roksana.

Lord, that sounded mean-spirited of her. She was grateful for the protection of her friends, but Jonas being high handed and princely was only going to work if she had some input into the decisions that affected her.

A hot poker prodded Ginny in the sternum.

Anger?

Yes, that was anger.

In fact, she couldn’t wait for Jonas to arrive so she could express it. As soon as he walked in, she was going to march right up to him and…and ask to speak to him privately! After all, she didn’t want to make a scene. She just needed him to realize she wasn’t going to live her life like a dog’s favorite bone, constantly being buried for her own protection—and without her consent!

An elderly woman with a sweet smile approached the table. Ginny shot Roksana and Tucker a warning glance over her shoulder before welcoming the potential customer. A dress customer, not a funeral home customer, although her advanced age did technically qualify her for both. Don’t be dark. You’re selling dresses tonight, not coffins. “Hello,” Ginny said brightly. “Are you having a nice time?”

“Yes, I am. Thank you.” The woman re-shouldered her purse and leaned in to admire Ginny’s Christmas dress. “This one caught my eye across the room. Look at the holly detail—I love it!”

“Less talk, more bidding,” Roksana called, smacking her gum.

Ginny brandished a pin at the slayer and imbedded it in the table, in the V between her index and middle fingers.

Roksana looked impressed. “Just trying to help.”

“I would like to bid, actually.” The woman seemed wary about approaching the table. Could anyone blame her? She’d just managed to pick up the little, square bidding sheet when a voice split the air.