Four weeks ago, a dead man washed ashore. Four days ago, his body disappeared from the morgue. Four hours ago, I was accused of his murder. Unfortunately for me, my last nerve drowned in the sea of my new friend named night sweats.
Just when I thought it was safe to step onto my porch, the power of the Oracle has sent another person in need to my stairs. He thinks he's searching for his missing husband, but the moment I smell him, I know he's dragging along a curse from a necromancer with a stench strong enough to curl the leg hairs I haven't had time to shave.
Which reminds me—I should probably do some lady grooming before my date.
And did I mention I have an arraignment in court? For murder? It's all I can do to put this legal nonsense to bed before the rotten bouquet of necromancy wafts into my world yet again.
If one more person says that age is just a number, they're going to wish they'd disappeared with my last nerve.
