Кирстен Уайт – Supernaturally (страница 1)

Dedication

TO NATALIE AND STEPH,

FOR HELPING ME MAKE THE STORIES

AND TO MICHELLE AND ERICA,

FOR HELPING ME MAKE THE BOOKS

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Out of the Blue

Flying Lessons

Job Interviews

Open Sesame

Sparkles Make Everything Better

A Trashy Life

Ex Marks the Spot

Dream on

Like Aphrodite on Steroids

There’s No Place Like Home

Old Haunts

Deadly Reunions

Bite My Tongue

Extracurricular Activities

Virgin Dreams

Oh, So Busted

Grim Prospects

Tourist Friendly

A Teeth-Gnashing Good Time

Like a Bad Movie

I Like the Night Life

Honestly a Liar

Lies, Lips, and Lunatics

Alternative Lifestyles

Caramel-Coated Complications

Happy Freaking Halloween

Uber-Bleep

Guilty Is As Guilty Does

Matters of Life and Undeath

Tree Hugger

Vamptastic

Going Nowhere, Going Somewhere

Matchmaker, Matchmaker

Old Friends

Do Ask, Do Tell

Family Reunions Always Suck

What He Said

The Truth Will Set You Free—or Break Your Heart

Sleeping Beauty

Dimpled Terror

Hello, Hell

Meet Me in the Middle

Acknowledgments

Praise for Paranormalcy

Copyright

About the Publisher

bleep. I was going to die.

I was going to die a horrible, gruesome, painful death.

My hand twitched at my side, reaching for the pink Taser I knew wasn’t there. Why had I ever wanted this? What was I thinking? Working at the International Paranormal Containment Agency might have been close to indentured servitude, and sure, I had some nasty run-ins with vampires and hags and creeptastic faeries, but that was nothing compared to the danger I faced now.

Girls’ gym.

We were playing soccer—without shin guards. The girl I was supposed to cover (a creature so hulking I swear she was a troll) charged toward me, steam practically flowing from her nostrils. I braced for impact.

And then I marveled at the clear blue autumn sky. Not a cloud in sight. But why was I looking at the sky? Maybe it was connected to my sudden inability to breathe. Come on, lungs. Come on. They had to start working at some point, right? Bright spots danced before my eyes and I could just see my obituary: Tragedy Strikes During Soccer. How mortifying.

At last, blessed air filtered through. A familiar face, framed by long, dark hair, leaned over me. My one normal friend, Carlee. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Green!” a tenor barked out. I was pretty sure that Miss Lynn had a deeper voice than my boyfriend. “Get off your butt and get back in the game!”