The Savannah Shadows #1
Happily Never After
There's no such thing as happy endings.
Savannah, Georgia is rumored to be the most haunted place in America. Quinn Roberts knows it is. She's felt the presence of spirits her entire life, investigating and photographing them with her best friend. Only none of those encounters ever turned violent, until now. The menacing darkness feeding off her stepmother has promised she won't live to see her eighteenth birthday.
After a chance meeting Quinn reluctantly allows actor Jason Preston into her life, which has complications of its own. She's not used to letting people get close. Falling for him while fighting for her life, and her family's legacy, only complicates things more. Jason shows her exactly what she stands to lose, especially when she's being attacked by the mysterious entity. Each attack is more violent and terrifying than the last.
With Jason's help, she dives into the Roberts' family history, searching for a link between a woman who went missing a hundred and fifty years ago and what's happening now. What they find is a brutal murder and that the ghost doesn't just want to hurt Quinn, it wants revenge.
It wants her life.
BUY THE BOOK
Mama always told me Savannah was home to more than just the living. I remember her telling me stories of ghosts and magic, and things that normally belonged in fairy tales. Her rich, syrupy voice would wrap round me with a magic of its own, making me believe. She said all you had to do was step out onto any street and you could feel it in the air, tickling the edges of your imagination, inviting you in.
We lived in one of the oldest houses in the historic district. A tall, proud home fronted with white columns standing like guards against the unrelenting Georgia humidity. Mama said that besides her, Daddy and me, we also lived with a little boy and a soldier from the War of Northern Aggression. They crept through the house at night, moving furniture or crying. She said they even stood guard at the end of the bed. I never saw that. For me, it was always a flicker of an image, a brush of wind on my face, or the glimpse of something from the corner of my eye. I never gave them a second thought. In Savannah, you were only considered odd if your house didn’t have ghosts.
I was seven when Mama died of an aneurism. She once told me our loved ones never truly left us, and those words were a comfort to me during that confusing time. At least they were until late at night, when Daddy was already asleep, and the shadows pulsed around me in their silent dance. Those shadows made me wonder what happened to her.
One night, as I watched the shadows dance, I wondered where she truly went. To my child’s mind, if the city were as haunted as she said, she must still be there somewhere. All I needed to do was find her.
The following mornings, on my walks to and from school, I searched for her everywhere. I investigated the slightest breeze or tiniest movement of the bushes. Every night, when my house fell silent, I wandered through the rooms asking for her. When I saw something out of the corner of my eye, I begged them to find Mama and bring her back where she belonged. Each time I felt cold fingers walking up my spine or the hair on my arms and neck stand up, I whispered ‘Mama’ into the darkness.
In all my years of searching, I never found her.