The Blood Moon

Plan B

Summer in Whisper Valley was as hot, bright, and lazy as any summer I'd experienced in my first life. It didn't matter that I was booted from my room for the morning so that my presence didn't disrupt the arrival of a neighboring werewolf pack or that I'd be heading to work later that day to sell decaying human meat to zombies. From the outside in, we looked like a group of friends watching the day roll by as we enjoyed the embrace of the morning sun.

When had absurdity become so normal?

"Hey, Will," said Irene with a sigh as she placed her sweating glass of lemonade onto the concrete curb we found ourselves on, "can you hand me a fruit cup?"

We sat across the street from the hotel with our legs stretched out over the hot asphalt that steamed beneath the bright summer sun. Behind us a tree loomed, its long branches and thick foliage providing a canopy that eased the vicious beat of the sun's fiery rays. Irene fanned herself with a flyer she had torn off a nearby lamppost. At some point the flimsy paper had detailed the attendance of a popular paranormal band performing at the Blood Moon Festival, but now its message was lost in the accordion fold of Irene's construction.

"Sure," Will mumbled, his mouth busy with swallowing a hunk of croissant that Spencer had provided, along with other goodies, as an apology for blockading us from the hotel for the morning. Wiping the crumbs from his free hand onto his jean shorts, Will dug into the cooler we'd been provided and retrieved a small bowl filled with chunks of melon, slices of strawberry, and cubes of apple. Our burly keeper of the treats, passed the cup over to his neighbor, the lean and immaculately groomed Dean, who then passed it on to his neighbor, the effervescent Irene, whose red face only accentuated the colorful earrings that dangled beneath her mane of curly brown hair.

"Jackpot," she said, licking her thick lips before snagging a luscious chunk of pineapple from the bowl. "Want some, Dean? You must be stewing in that getup."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my bare knees so I could see past Irene and get a better look at Dean. Though Dean and Will were the veterans amongst the Bodies, now that Violet had converted to her new life as a ghost, they still hadn't been around long enough to experience what the summer heat was like in Whisper Valley. Dean had been there for four months prior to my arrival three months earlier, which meant he was past the halfway point of his one year contract as a Body. Will, I knew to have arrived not much earlier than Dean. It meant they had come to Whisper Valley in the cold embrace of winter and their wardrobe reflected that. Will eventually broke down and bought some new clothes using our limited weekly allowance, while Dean continued his trend of dark clothing and long pants. I did note that he had at least chosen a slightly lighter shade of grey for that sweltering day.

"No," he said, with a cock of his head as he continued his intense scrutiny of the proceedings across the street. "I'm fine. I grew up in South Carolina and this heat is nothing as far as I'm concerned."

"Well, I grew up in Massachusetts and I'm currently melting."

I turned to face my other neighbor, whose skin beaded with sweat. I watched a drop cascade down from the tight curls along his hairline and over his sullen cheeks. Armand, at least, had the benefit of arriving right at the start of summer, which meant he could splurge on a proper wardrobe with the initial allowance he received during his first week as a Body. I opened my mouth to ask more about his life in Massachusetts, but recalled that the first unofficial rule of being a Body was never to ask about each other's first life unless the information is being freely given.