The Golden Age of Death (A CALLIOPE REAPER-JONES NOVEL) by Amber Benson

ghost kid.
    She narrowed her eyes, not buying his nonchalance.
    “Maybe I should’ve just left you for dead,” she muttered under her breath, obviously annoyed with him.
    He decided it was a rhetorical question and didn’t deserve an answer.
    “Should we go to Sea Verge now?” he asked, instead, standing up. He was still unsteady on his feet, but he was actually starting to feel better.
    “I thought you’d never ask,” she purred.
    *   *   *
    jennice had never seen a more beautiful home in her life. It was like a museum or a castle…or something out of a
Masterpiece Theatre
miniseries.
    There were views of the water from almost every window on the backside of the house, making Jennice wonder what it would be like to wake up in the mornings to such a beautiful vista. Probably made the start of your day more pleasant than waking up to a brick wall, which was what she saw every morning when she opened her eyes, because her bedroom window looked out onto the brick enclosure separating her building from the next building’s Dumpsters—not a very inspiring sight.
    She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to sell a place like Sea Verge. If it’d been her home, she’d have done everything in her power to keep it. Then she realized that if she’d grown up in a home like this one, her life would’ve been very different. Money would not be an issue, and she might not be so attached to one house, in particular, because she’d probably own like fifty more of them.
    This was a sobering thought.
    Well, if the house was going to be sold, then she was glad to be the one to do it. She would take good care of Sea Verge and make sure the people who bought her were worthy of her beauty.
    “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were in here.”
    Jennice turned away from the view of the sea to find Clio standing in the doorway, her cheeks red and tearstained. Jennice, her big heart always getting her in trouble, couldn’t help but reach out to the other girl.
    “Are you all right?” she heard herself asking—which was a silly question because anyone with a brain could see she wasn’t.
    “I’m okay,” Clio said, trying to smile, but the quiver of her lower lip undermined her words.
    Jennice could feel the other girl’s anguish radiating like heat, and before she knew what she was doing, she’d crossed the space between them and laid her hands on Clio’s arm. She could feel the intense whirlpool of emotion percolating inside of the other girl, and where she touched bare skin, sorrow shocked Jennice’s fingers like static electricity. It hurt, the pain making Jennice’s eyes water, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as when she worked on her mother, so she ignored the prickling sensation under her fingers and steadied her breathing. She gripped Clio’s arm, squeezing the soft flesh as she corralled the anguish, forcing it to flow out of Clio and into her own body. She let it find purchase inside of her—and then it was over, Jennice dropping her hands and falling back against the wall, her breath coming in ragged bursts.
    She had a terrible headache, but even distracted by the painful throbbing of her pulse in her temples, she was pleased to note Clio looked much better.
    “What did you just do?” Clio demanded, her eyes brimming with uncertainty.
    Jennice didn’t know what to say. She’d never let a stranger see her power before. Had never had to explain herself to anyone.
    Even as a baby, Jennice’s mother had known there was something special about her child, and she’d been very protective of her. But then when Jennice was fourteen, her mother, already old at fifty-seven, had gotten sick—so sick the pain made it impossible for her to look after Jennice properly. Jennice had learned to take care of herself, to make sure her mother’s disability checks got cashed and that there was always food on the table. Besides these chores, Jennice had become her mother’s caretaker and nursemaid, using her powers