Content Note: This backstory contains violence, death, alcohol use, mentions of gambling, drug use, and graphic language.

Spring Arbor Farms, MA

Six Years Ago

Death. Marissa Santori smelled death. As the stench of burned and rotting flesh pervaded the sweltering summer air, Marissa’s eyes fluttered open, and she found herself staring up at a crystal-blue sky. Wispy white clouds drifted about, their cottony mists doing little to dampen the sun’s scorching rays. What the fuck was she doing outside?

Marissa sat up, instantly regretting the sudden movement. Waves of nausea slammed into her as the world turned into a violent carousel ride—spinning round and round—the tall grass blades circling her like a sea of starved sharks. She palmed the dirt and closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing, but she couldn’t concentrate on the oxygen delivery. Not with that rancid scent invading her senses.

She coughed, choking down the bitter bile, and flipped her lids open. Where the hell was that smell coming from?

Riss surveyed the sprawling field, her gaze landing on a swarm of frenzied flies off in the near distance. Something—or someone—was probably dead and decaying in the thick patch of wheatgrass. And as much as she didn’t want to take a look-see, she really didn’t have much of a choice. She couldn’t just leave a corpse behind, especially if it belonged to a demon. Humans didn’t need to bear witness to the monsters that lived deep in the shadows of disguise.

Fuck. She was in no mood to play detective, had no desire to solve the mystery of whatever—or whoever—was rotting away in the meadow. Nope. All she wanted to do was find her soon-to-be-ex, dump his lying and cheating ass, and go home.

Speaking of her douchebag boyfriend, where the fuck was Oliver? And how did she get all the way out here, anyway?

She glanced over at the small hill where Oliver’s two-story farmhouse sat, looking like a miniature dollhouse with its white siding gleaming in the sunlight. She didn’t remember leaving the house, let alone trekking this far out. Hell, she couldn’t remember anything from the day. At all. Marissa frowned as the heavy weight of dread formed a knot in her gut.

She rubbed her temples, scouring the deepest depths of her gray matter for answers, but she couldn’t find any. Her mind was a big blank void of nothingness. And gods, that freaked her the fuck out. She’d never blacked out—except for the time she got hammered off Underworld wine—but that was a different story. She’d been inebriated off her ass, surrounded by family and friends, who’d taken care of her. Here, she was alone and vulnerable with no explanation for the holes in her memory—unless Oliver had drugged her.

As fear clawed its way into her psyche, threatening to overtake her, Riss stuffed the inconvenient emotion away. Panicking wouldn’t do her any good. She needed to focus.

She peeked at her designer watch and froze, and not because the glass was cracked or the time had stopped at 2:47 pm on the dot, when it was obviously later than that. No. It was the blood. Dried crimson splotches coated her hands, staining her limbs and clothes. She examined her body, searching for injuries, but her skin was perfectly intact. Either her magic had healed her, or the blood wasn’t hers. Maybe both. Her stomach churned, beads of sweat dotting her forehead as unease curled up her spine.

She tossed another glance at the horde of buzzing insects, and instinct took over, driving her to her feet. Marissa lurched forward, then staggered back, weaving on her wobbly legs like she’d just gone on a week-long bender. She stumbled over to the feasting flies—who thankfully scattered in her presence—and dropped to her knees.

Oh. Fuck.

Marissa gasped, gaping down in disbelief at Oliver’s burned body. Gods, he looked like he’d been oven-roasted by the sun. Blisters covered his lobster-red skin, blood and dirt caked his tattered clothes, and his charred heart rested in the fist-sized crater in his chest. And she knew she couldn’t save him, knew that no amount of healing magic would bring him back, but she had to do something. Even if the thieving, drug-addicted jackass didn’t deserve it.

Marissa hovered her trembling hands over Oliver’s torso as a soft glow emanated from her palms. She poured her healing magic into his lifeless form, trying to revive his blackened heart. But her powers fizzled out. Electric pain speared her skull and ripped through the rest of her body, knocking her flat on her ass.

What the fuck was wrong with her magic? She knew healing Oliver was an impossible feat, but her powers shouldn’t have failed like that. It was as if her magical batteries had been drained. She must’ve expelled a fuckton of power earlier. But why? Had she killed Oliver? Doubtful.

Sure, they’d been fighting a lot, and gods knew she had wanted to throttle him, but she wouldn’t have murdered him. Not this brutally. At least, she didn’t think she would. But hell, even if she had killed him, barbecuing him wouldn’t have drained her magic. Not in this capacity. Not even close. So, what the hell happened out here?

Maybe Oliver had attacked her, provoking her to blow her magical lid. But then, the field and its surroundings would’ve been completely decimated and not looking like a picture-perfect postcard. There had to be another player in this twisted game, someone who was strong enough to drain her powers without causing complete destruction—and that list of dangerous and deadly was a short one.

And yet there she was, chilling on the lawn—the perfect prey—powerless and exposed. Could she be any dumber? She needed to get back to the farmhouse and call her brother. And as much as she hated relying on anyone for anything, she couldn’t get through this alone. Her life was more valuable than her wounded pride. 

But first, she needed to do something with Oliver’s flame-broiled husk. Marissa couldn’t just leave him out here, but she also didn’t have the strength to haul his ass back home. Maybe she could cast a veiling spell. They were simple and required little energy. It was her best option. Hell, it was her only option.

Marissa blew out a breath and silently whispered the ancient incantation, willing Oli’s corpse to blend in with the landscape. As she repeated the spell, Oliver’s body slowly melded with the pale green turf until he became completely invisible.

A wave of exhaustion washed over her, fatigue flooding her system as her lids grew heavy. Marissa shook herself. No. She couldn’t afford to pass out. Not yet. Riss had to get back to that stupid farmhouse, even if it meant crawling back. Her phone was back at the house—had to be—because there was no way her cell would fit into the pinky-sized pockets of her denim shorts.

Come on, Riss. You’ve been through worse. You can do this.

 Just as she finished her little pep talk, magic—malevolent and menacing—punched through the air. Time stopped, and the world stilled, drowning everything in a deafening silence. Sunbeams glimmered over the meadow as a ghostly figure emerged from the grove of apple trees. Dressed in a white ballgown, she glided across the pasture with grace, her long, silvery blonde hair billowing behind her despite there being no wind.

Riss had never seen the ghost before—if that’s what she was. She could be a wraith or demon or some other monstrous creature that had escaped the pits of the Underworld. And she wasn’t about to stick around and find out. If she’d been operating at full capacity, Riss would’ve sent the creature packing. But she wasn’t.

Time to exit stage left.

But she couldn’t move, couldn’t tear her gaze away from the spirit. She was completely and utterly mesmerized, her ass glued to her seat like she was watching some kind of captivating movie. The blonde floated around, like she was taking some kind of leisurely Sunday stroll. And then within the snap of a second, the ghost vanished, poofing out of existence like she’d grown bored with the place.

Marissa blinked, and the world came back to life. The birds and crickets resumed their chirping, singing their songs of summer as a gentle breeze brushed against her fevered skin. It was the wake-up call she needed. Fueled by adrenaline, Riss gathered her strength and shot to her feet. She weaved through the long stretch of grass, the dried blades scratching her legs as she veered towards the back porch.

Marissa stumbled up the short wooden staircase and all but tumbled through the back door. Relief crashed over her as she flipped the locks and slumped against the glass, reveling in the cool air. All was quiet, except for the whispered hiss of the a/c blowing through the vents. She didn’t sense any danger, but she still needed to do a thorough sweep of the house. Too bad she was all out of gas. She’d be lucky if she made it to the living room at this point.

Gods, she just wanted to take a hot shower and sleep. For a day. Maybe two. But not until she called her brother.

Riss shoved off the doorframe with a groan and hobbled into the expansive country kitchen on legs that were made of jelly. She swiped her phone off the quartz counter and limped into the living room, collapsing onto the cream-colored sofa. Marissa pulled up Nick’s number, her finger hovering over the green phone icon. She hated bugging him, hated that she needed him to bail her out. Again. But she didn’t know what else to do. Her brother was her best bet, and he was one of the few people who could get her memories back.

Face it, Riss, you need him.

She heaved out a sigh and hit the call button.

Nick answered on the third ring. “What’s up, Riss? You dump that asshole yet?”

“Not exactly.” She winced, swallowing hard. “I…I think I fucked up. Oliver’s dead.”

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