Eleventh Grave in Moonlight (Charley Davidson #11)
Darynda Jones
For Trayce
Because, day-um!
Acknowledgments
Some times getting the words out of the head and onto the page proves more difficult than others, but the people who push and plead and beg for another Charley book make it all worthwhile. I am insanely grateful, dear readers. You are my everything. You are my Grimlets.
Thank you to my fantabulous agent, Alexandra Machinist, and my spectacular editor, Jennifer Enderlin, as well as everyone at ICM, St. Martin’s Press, and Macmillan.
Thank you to the woman who brings Charley to life so vividly, Lorelei King.
Thank you to my team members: Dana, Netters, Jowanna, and Trayce. You guys are the best of the best. You’re the bestest!
Thank you to the Collas family, for letting me share your story here. Your angel stole my heart and is in my thoughts always.
Thank you to my amazing family, for being so patient and supportive and pretty. Because that’s what’s most important.
Thank you from the very deepest and most cavernous depths of my heart to the incredible Trayce Layne. I have no words. You have gone so far above and beyond, I’m pretty sure you’ve landed among the stars. The only way to express how much I appreciate everything you’ve done is through interpretive dance. So, you have that to look forward to.
And thank YOU, for picking up this book. May it bring you bouts of laughter, a few surprised gasps, and a squirmy kind of pleasure.
1
Lord, help me be the sort of person my psychiatrist medicates me to be.
—T-SHIRT
I lay on a psychiatrist’s couch, a couch I’d named Alexander Skarsg?rd the moment my gaze landed on its buttery curves and wide back, and wondered if I should tell Dr. Mayfield about the dead kid scurrying across her ceiling. Probably not.
She crossed her legs—the psychiatrist, not the kid, who was male—and gave me her most practiced smile. “And that’s why you’re here?”
I bolted upright, appalled. “Heavens, no. I’m totally over the whole evil stepmother thing. I just thought, you know, full disclosure and all. FYI, I had an evil stepmother.”
“Had?”
“She died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No worries. She had an ugly demon inside of her at the time.”
“I see.”
“Wait, no, that was her outfit. The demon wasn’t that ugly.”
“Ah.”
“No, seriously, her outfit was hideous.”
“Perhaps we should get back to the fact that you’re the grim reaper?” She pushed plastic-framed glasses up a slender nose. Thankfully, it was hers.
“Oh, right.” I relaxed again, falling back into Alexander’s arms. “I pretty much have the reaper thing down. It’s the godly part of me I’m struggling with.”
“The godly part.” She bent her head to write something in her notebook. She was quite lovely. Dark hair. Huge brown eyes. Wide mouth. And young. Too young to be analyzing me. How much life experience could she possibly have?
“Yes. Ever since I found out I was a god, I’ve felt a little off balance. I think I’m having one of those identity crisises.”
“So, you’re a god?”
“Wait. What’s the plural of crisis?” When she didn’t answer, I glanced back at her.
She’d stopped writing and was looking at me again, her expression mildly expectant. And ever so slightly taxed. She was trying to decide if I was playing her. I wasn’t, but I could hardly blame her for thinking that. Dealing with delusions of grandeur was probably an everyday aspect of her life. Trying to sort out the legit from the cons.
When she continued to stare, I said, “I’m sorry, what was the question?”
“You’re a god?”
“Oh, that. Yes, but to quote a very popular movie, I’m a god, not the God.” I snorted. Bill Murray was so awesome. “Did I forget to mention that?”
“Then you’re not the grim reaper?”
“Oh, no, I’m that, too. I volunteered. Kind of. Long story. Anyway, I thought you could hypnotize me. You know, give me a full-access pass to my pre-birth memories so I won’t be blindsided again.”
“Blindsided?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m here. Because my sister refuses to do regressive therapy with me, and—”
“Your sister?”
“Dr. Gemma Davidson?” The shrink-wrap community couldn’t have been very big. Surely she knew my sister.
“Dr. Davidson is your sister?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Not for me.”
“Fantabulous.” I rubbed my hands together. “Okay, so, you know how you’re going through life, remembering everything that ever happened to you since the moment you were born—”