Reborn Yesterday (Phenomenal Fate 1)

Tonight, apparently.

But were they really head games if she was merely stating the facts?

Jonas was not happy. “You will tell me right this moment who threatens you and I’ll deal with them before sunrise.”

“So it’s true, you can’t go out in the sun?”

“Not without turning to dust.”

“I didn’t invite you in. I guess that’s a myth?”

“Yes. And please stop changing the subject. Who seeks to harm you?”

“Sorry. My lips are zipped.”

“One last chance, before I make you tell me.”

Alarm pinched her spine. “How will you do that?”

This time, when his eyes started to glow, he seemed reluctant about it. “Do you remember earlier tonight when I made you hang up the phone instead of calling an ambulance? I can give you a very strong…suggestion. And you’ll be compelled to follow.”

“Please don’t do that,” she said on an exhale. “You’d be taking away my will.”

His fingers tightened on her arms. “You’re not giving me a choice.”

“Yes,” she stressed. “I am.”

“I can’t walk away and leave you in danger. And I can’t come back.” His gaze fell to her neck and he blinked several times. “You don’t know how or what you tempt. I’ve already stayed around you far too long.”

She shook free of his hold, backing toward the hallway that led to the residential section of the funeral home. “I’d rather face the threat alone than have my memories tampered with. Memories are all a person has some days.”

He tilted his head curiously at her words, but matched her retreat, step for step. “Tell me now, Ginny,” he murmured, smoothly, so smoothly, and her footsteps halted, her thought process trailing off and spinning into a spool of silk. “Tell me who threatens your life.”

Instinct ruled her and instinct dictated she make Jonas happy. It was suddenly what mattered most. Give him what he wants. She wanted to get on her knees and bow to him, on the off chance he might stroke her hair and grant her some praise—and wait, what? What is happening to me?

He’s doing this.

Him and his hypnotic green eyes.

The words were right on the tip of her tongue. Words that would reveal the information she’d told exactly nobody. But if she told Jonas about her recent night of peril, this would be the last time she saw him—and not only was that possibility abhorrent…it also struck her as wrong.

I’m not supposed to let him go.

“Stop,” she wheezed, covering her eyes with a hand. “Please stop.”

When long minutes passed without him saying anything, she peeked out from between to fingers to find him dumbfounded. “How did you do that? How did you fight me off?” He studied her face. “No one’s ever tried, let alone succeeded.”

Ginny had worshipped Lauren Bacall her entire life, but she’d never felt more like her than when she laid a hand on the hallway doorknob, flipped her hair and looked back at Jonas. “Better luck next time, Dreamboat,” she breezed. “See you tomorrow. You know where to find me.”

CHAPTER THREE

The following afternoon, things got weird.

Weirder, more like, although the insanity took a while to gain momentum.

Ginny woke up at approximately two o’clock, when the sun was highest in the sky, par for the course for someone who worked night shifts. Whenever her late starts felt unnatural or she woke feeling as if she’d missed the important half the day, she reminded herself of all the bartenders, subway technicians and bodega staff waking up across Brooklyn at the same time—and went about her usual routine.

She watered the herb garden on her fire escape, waving her green, metal can at Mr. Jung as he watered the sidewalk outside his fish market across the street. She pinched some basil off between her thumb and pointer finger, carrying it to the kitchen to sprinkle over her eggs. If there was a knife missing from the chopping block, she didn’t consider it odd. Her stepmother liked a midnight grilled cheese on occasion and routinely left cutlery in odd places.

Like the freezer. Or outside beneath the welcome mat.

Her stepmother Larissa hadn’t been an excessive drinker when Ginny’s father was alive, but she’d really put the pedal to the metal of late. Ginny didn’t blame her. The former pageant queen had fallen in love with a mortician, but she’d never expected to become one. P. Lynn Funeral Home had fallen into quite a bit of debt under her father’s supervision, however, and after marrying a woman with supremely expensive taste in jewelry and leisurewear, he’d promptly bitten the dust, leaving them with two choices.

Attempt to sell an outdated funeral home (spoiler: no one wanted it) that was rather unfortunately located beneath the Q train, which on more than one occasion had caused a casket to tip over. And some very unhappy online reviews.

Or, option two. Continue on, business as usual, and attempt to dig out from under mounds of small business loans and credit card debt.