After consulting the grimoire of her 17th century Scottish ancestor, Izzy starts down a dark path to resurrect the man she loves and accidentally killed.
Love candle in hand, she visualises Enzo, walking toward her, his body strong and lithe, rather than broken and bloody as she'd last seen him.
Having already asked forgiveness for what she'd done, the imagined look on his face was one of love and acceptance. Harnessing that love, she wrapped both hands around the candle and placed it into a lovely wrought iron pentagram holder.
Once she evoked the necessary protection for her spell, she glanced at the grimoire again, hoping her Gaelic was up to the task, hoping she was up to the task. She slid the blade of her athame across the palm of her hand, held it over her mirror, and recited the chant.
A dark orb rose...then another...and another...
Izzy's gaze flew to the grimoire, landing on a single phrase. A drop of blood—she glanced at the mirror, counted the drops...eleven...twelve...
She jerked her hand away as the last drop plopped on the surface...thirteen...
She leapt to her feet and spun around to find Enzo, and twelve other figures – there, but not there. Transparent. Feet not quite touching the floor.
And looking pissed as hell.
Thirteen authors tell dark, disturbing, and creepy tales of thirteen apparitions bent on revenge from love gone wrong.