Most days, Anwen regrets working at a funeral home despite the good pay. With the residents no longer inclined to stay in their coffins where they belong, she’s got her hands full making sure everyone follows the rules:
In the funeral home, there is no screaming, no murdering, no mutilation, no possessions, no kidnappings, no resurrections, and no cursing of any type. Be quiet and stay polite.
The day Old Man McGregor decides to take a walk and disturbs her peace, Anwen learns there’s a lot more to the basement in the funeral home than a vampire and a handsome gentleman on ice.
If she’s not careful, she’ll learn first-hand why ‘eternally yours’ is the most potent of threats.
Warning: this novel contains romance, humor, bodies, shenanigans, and mythological puppies. Proceed with caution.
NOTE: It’s unknown if the author means this as an actual warning or if it’s a dismissal of people’s triggers that may be caused by reading traumatic events.
Had I been smarter or wiser, I never would’ve accepted the job offer at the funeral home. With my prospects few and far between, I hadn’t had a choice, not really. Who else would hire an eighteen-year-old high school drop out?
I could type.
Dead bodies didn’t bother me.
When the dead started chatting up a storm, I ignored them until the priest arrived. I almost liked the days when the corpses got talkative. The boss paid me triple the normal hourly rate per incident, and if nobody screamed, a gift card would magically appear on my desk the following morning. Without fail, the gift card would be for the grocery store, and it would offer me the rare opportunity to enjoy a luxury.
Luxuries came few and far between.
Tomorrow, I would take my gift card, fondle some honey rocks until I found the perfect pair to take home with me, and I’d crack them open and go to town on their sweet, sweet insides. I sighed happily at the thought of two perfect melons all for me.
It really was the little things in life.
“It’s no fun if you don’t scream, Anwen m’dear,” Old Man McGregor groused. “Must you suck all the joy from my funeral?”
“Your funeral is at noon tomorrow,” I reminded him. That was the problem with the newly dead. They got lost on the way, refusing to leave their bodies until someone came to lay them to their final rest. Old Man McGregor could make my life a living hell if I wasn’t careful.
In life, he’d enjoyed yanking on chains for the fun of it.
In death, all he had to do was sit up to yank on the entire town’s chain.
The author will be giving away a $50 Amazon gift card and a signed collection of 13 magical romantic comedy books!
About the Author
RJ Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.
In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until satisfied.
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