Page 5 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter

Death leaned back, the shock of her irreverence increasing his curiosity tenfold. A slow smile crept into the corner of his mouth. “You shall have no descendants. No family. No tangible legacy on this earth. Only the words you write for me. And you can tell no one of our bargain.” He extended a strong brown hand, tickled at the idea. “What do you say?”

“How will you see these words?”

“You will publish them along the way, and I will meet with you to discuss them and anything else you want to show me.”

She took a deep, ragged breath. “How will you know the writing is mine?”

“I will know.” He liked how she underestimated him. “Any more questions?”

“For how long?”

“As long as you are able.” His smile deepened. “Given the task, I doubt it’ll be very long.”

“And if we don’t agree?”

He shrugged. “Then you die. I’ll take your soul and collect the rest of the world as planned.”

He watched memories rush through her mind: her brother and first friend Silas, sold away to the outskirts of New Orleans five years before. Her mama died not soon after that. Her lonely life left behind as Master Carter’s enslaved daughter. “You can’t do that.”

“I can, and I will.” He smiled at her, pleased with his solution despite her turmoil. “Whether I do so or not depends entirely upon you and the bargain you put forth. If I am not compelled by what you write, what you show me, then you’ll come with me, and the rest of this world will end too.”

The small cabin filled with her heavy breathing as she weighed his offer—the gift of life or a certain death.

Slowly, Nella put out her hand. “I’ll do it.”

He took her slender hand in his. He wondered how long it would be before she broke—before she saw the world as he did and surrendered to his will.

“I’ll check in from time to time—I’ll let you know when. Until then, I look forward to your efforts.” He reached out one long brown finger, brushing it across her forehead.

Nella shuddered. He watched the cooling sensation ripple across her skin as the pain receded. She rose, taking her first easy breath in days, lungs clear. She stared at her hands, spots gone, her rich brown skin smooth, every movement effortless. He relished in his power to change her.

Death stood, pulling Nella to her feet. She staggered a bit before she steadied, clutching her book to her chest.

She faced Death, eyes wide, uncertain. “What now?”

He smiled, his teeth white against his tanned brown skin. “What, indeed?”

Part I:Savannah

June, Present Day

The Savannah Tribune

Dust Tracks Column

A Crossroads City

The Reaper Ignores the Hostess City

Vivian Edwards

The haunted rumors about Savannah have always been true, despite reports to the contrary. Tourists’ claims of spirits standing above their beds in the Marshall House Hotel or lurking beneath the oaks of Madison Square, their business unfinished or their confusion about their demise ever present, have been debunked by the city council for years. The mayor and aldermen wish to keep ghost hunters searching for paranormal activity out of the city, in favor of a higher caliber of visitor. But perhaps the Hostess City of the South is a crossroads between this life and the next ... or, worse, has been ignored by Death—the reaper having grown lazy in his collection pursuits, leaving behind untidiness and restless souls.

If seeing the otherworldly is on your vacation wish list, Savannah has all you’ll ever need. See the guide starting on page ...

One

Isit in my favorite café, as I do every day, and wait for Death to arrive.