Author: Rosalie Lario
Reading Level: Young Adult
Genre: Paranormal
Released: September 3rd 2014
When an undead woman with serious de-comp issues stalks sixteen-year-old Lyla Grimm, her hope of rescuing her rock-bottom reputation takes a back seat. Especially once Lyla’s new talent of resurrecting the dead draws the attention of Eric, a Grim Reaper with a guitar and a chip on his shoulder.
While Lyla navigates the gossip-ridden halls, Eric works to gain her trust and discover why Death’s clients aren’t staying down. If she passes on her gift, his death-messenger destiny might be altered. But the closer he gets to Lyla, the less sure he is of his plan. The dead are way easier to deal with than the living.
Gossip explodes, the Grimm family implodes, and desperation sets in. Death wants the gift and a soul. Lyla and Eric face hard choices with hidden consequences. Sometimes life’s choices aren’t really choices at all.
EXCERPT - Chapter 9
Tap. Tap. A knock rattles against my car.
From out of the darkness, Mrs. Weller’s pale face presses against the passenger side window.
A quick intake of air is all I manage before I freeze.
She’s here.
Skin sags off her face, creating gray pouches beneath her glazed eyes. But they don’t look like eyes anymore, just opaque circles. Her smooth silver curls jut out in tufts and frizzes around her head.
My insides tighten like someone’s squeezing them, lungs included.
Her rickety finger rises. She points to the empty passenger seat.
Does she want to get closer? In the car closer?
Her hand moves above the lock and she taps on the window again.
Crap! The passenger door’s unlocked.
I lunge across the seat and slap down the lock.
Mrs. Weller’s eyes track my hand touching the window before her. She taps faster with her fingers.
I jerk my hand back and scoot my body across the seat as if the window can’t stop her. I need to get farther away. But there’s nowhere to go.
Cool air rushes in from my window.
“Crap! C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” I mutter and feverishly crank my window handle, urging it to work faster.
My arm muscles burn.
When I look back up, she’s still there, on the other side of the window, tapping with those bony fingers. The dashboard light shows details of her grayish skin. Bulging veins riddle her neck, and dark shadows cover her hand and cheek.
She paws at the handle. Each knock echoes inside me.
I punch the gas pedal and tear out of Cassie’s driveway backwards, bumping over brick pavers that line the driveway and fishtailing near the mailbox. I dart all the way into the road and pull my wheel hard to the right. My car rocks back and forth when I brake. Burnt tire smell hangs in the air and dust clouds my headlight beams.
I scan each window, searching for her.
Cassie’s yard instantly darkens and I struggle to make out shapes without my headlights. My heart pounds like KX’s big drum. I shift the gearstick into drive and turn the wheel, checking each side slowly. If she gets in front of me, I’ll hit her. That will get rid of her.
But I can’t hit what’s not real.
Because she’s not, right?
Ben’s eyes grow hooded, and he lowers his mouth back to mine. His lips are like liquid fire, burning me from the inside out, and when Matt’s hands travel up my body, closing around my breasts, my last bit of fight melts away.
From out of the darkness, Mrs. Weller’s pale face presses against the passenger side window.
A quick intake of air is all I manage before I freeze.
She’s here.
Skin sags off her face, creating gray pouches beneath her glazed eyes. But they don’t look like eyes anymore, just opaque circles. Her smooth silver curls jut out in tufts and frizzes around her head.
My insides tighten like someone’s squeezing them, lungs included.
Her rickety finger rises. She points to the empty passenger seat.
Does she want to get closer? In the car closer?
Her hand moves above the lock and she taps on the window again.
Crap! The passenger door’s unlocked.
I lunge across the seat and slap down the lock.
Mrs. Weller’s eyes track my hand touching the window before her. She taps faster with her fingers.
I jerk my hand back and scoot my body across the seat as if the window can’t stop her. I need to get farther away. But there’s nowhere to go.
Cool air rushes in from my window.
“Crap! C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” I mutter and feverishly crank my window handle, urging it to work faster.
My arm muscles burn.
When I look back up, she’s still there, on the other side of the window, tapping with those bony fingers. The dashboard light shows details of her grayish skin. Bulging veins riddle her neck, and dark shadows cover her hand and cheek.
She paws at the handle. Each knock echoes inside me.
I punch the gas pedal and tear out of Cassie’s driveway backwards, bumping over brick pavers that line the driveway and fishtailing near the mailbox. I dart all the way into the road and pull my wheel hard to the right. My car rocks back and forth when I brake. Burnt tire smell hangs in the air and dust clouds my headlight beams.
I scan each window, searching for her.
Cassie’s yard instantly darkens and I struggle to make out shapes without my headlights. My heart pounds like KX’s big drum. I shift the gearstick into drive and turn the wheel, checking each side slowly. If she gets in front of me, I’ll hit her. That will get rid of her.
But I can’t hit what’s not real.
Because she’s not, right?
She loves the color red, has an appreciation for chocolate and coffee that borders on obsession, writes stories that challenge the laws of nature, and wishes fall temperatures would linger year round.
Elsie is a member of several writing organizations: RWA, SCBWI, and WSW. The Undead : Playing for Keeps is her debut novel.
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Thanks for hosting The Undead during the tour =D
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