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    Josie's Shade: In Between Tales, #2
    Josie's Shade: In Between Tales, #2
    Josie's Shade: In Between Tales, #2
    Ebook56 pages51 minutes

    Josie's Shade: In Between Tales, #2

    By Jess Reece

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Josie Harper has only just discovered that she's dead. unfortunately for her, dying didn't immediately include singing angels and pearly gates. Instead, Josie is stuck in the In Between. 

    And she's not the only one.

    Mysterious messages, terrifying chases, and unlikely clues from a Dungeons & Dragons game lead her to discover a terrible secret involving an unholy bargain, all leading to ... Josie's Shade.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJess Reece
    Release dateJun 13, 2016
    ISBN9781386286035
    Josie's Shade: In Between Tales, #2
    Author

    Jess Reece

    Jess Reece was practically born with a pen in her hand. She wrote her first story, about a dog taking a ride on an alien spaceship to the moon, at four years old. As a teenager and young adult, she won various local writing awards for her poetry and short fiction. Jessica's goal is to draw her readers into worlds that are as real to them as they are to her, and have them fall in love with the characters that they get to know. She also writes nonfiction, using her skills to mentor adult survivors of childhood abuse and trauma - healing that pain, sometimes decades old, through creative writing and storytelling. Jessica also paints and designs her book covers, as well as finds time to relax with her husband, daughter, and motley crew of rescue animals.

    Read more from Jess Reece

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      Book preview

      Josie's Shade - Jess Reece

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 1

      My last clear memory was of blinding white light filling the Cottage. My grandmother’s Cottage. Oh, and being dead. I raised my hand to my head to shade my eyes, still dazzled from the illumination glowing brightly everywhere at once. It was barely perceptible, but behind my tightly closed eyelids, I thought maybe the light had begun to fade. Yes, it was definitely getting dimmer now. I risked a quick look around, nearly falling out of my chair.

      A chair that was sitting in a coffee shop.

      Holding perfectly still, I examined my surroundings. Warm-hued wood floors, eclectic art, comfy chairs, and of course the heavenly aroma of my favorite guilty pleasure told me, without a doubt, I was in a coffee shop. They were easy enough to find around the Pacific Northwest. Hell, you couldn’t throw a stone without hitting at least three, but I didn’t recognize this particular one.

      Like many Seattleites, I preferred my coffee shops to be hole-in-the-wall treasures, where the décor was interesting and full of local artists’ items, where the baristas knew my name and my favorite order, and where the coffee was roasted to perfection on site. The bigger chain locations were fine for a latte on the run, but when I needed to get away to write or simply relax from the chaos of life, I needed a smaller, more intimate retreat. In fact, if I could have created the ideal coffee shop, this would quite possibly be it, I thought as I looked around.

      With some surprise, I realized I was alone.

      Soft jazz music played from unseen speakers. Espresso machines hissed and spit, without any baristas attending them. I had the best seat in the house next to a large, rain splattered plate-glass window looking like it had come from an old Queen Anne house after some hipster restoration.  It was one trend I could never wrap my head around. What was the point of renovating a beautiful, hundred-year-old house if you weren’t interested in trying to keep its character intact?

      The irresistible odor of fresh coffee drifted over me.

      A fresh mug of coffee had been set on my table, next to a small silver carafe of fresh cream, and a bowl of sugar cubes with a teeny pair of tongs placed to the side. The light filtering in through the rainy window, along with the soft lights in the coffee house gave everything a strange sort of glimmering patina, reminding me of swimming too long in the community pool as a kid. My eyes, irritated from the chlorine, would be red and grainy; no matter where I had looked, a sort of angelic halo surrounded it.

      I looked around for the barista, but I was still alone. Staring at the coffee with a strange mixture of suspicion and longing, I debated whether it was safe to drink. Seriously, what was wrong with me? I had no memory of coming to this place, I was completely alone, but here I was debating if I should drink the mysterious coffee. In the end the siren call of the gently steaming mug of coffee was simply irresistible.

      Stirring in some thick cream and three sugar cubes, I raised the mug to my lips. The coffee shop’s logo was on the side of the cup. The In-Bean-Tween. Ha, cute. Coffee shops were notorious for their tongue-in-cheek play on words with anything coffee related, and apparently this one was no exception.

      Oh, my.

      This must be what heaven would taste like. Surely such delicious coffee wouldn’t be anywhere else, I reasoned. Dreamy shapes moved just beyond the rain-washed window, but they were distorted and unrecognizable. They might have just as easily been cars, or people, or circus elephants, for all I could tell. None of them, however, came very close to the In-Bean-Tween. Eventually I decided trying to figure out what they were wasn’t nearly as important as figuring out what I was doing here.

      Now, you might think in my shoes you’d be doing something completely different, and it’s true, you just might have. But I had only been dead a short while, and I really didn’t have any experience with this kind of thing. So

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