Page 7 of Fish and Chip

Well, that’s one way to bankrupt a theme park. I wonder if the creditors accept payments in commemorative popcorn buckets, because after this week, that’s all I’ll have left.

Delora looks genuinely perplexed. “That’s not—I’m sure she’s just teasing.”

“Mother,” Dexter says again, this time through gritted teeth.

“We’ll discuss it later,” Delora hisses.

Belladonna continues, oblivious to the minor financial crisis she’s just announced. “Throughout the week, you’ll find two authors stationed in each of our ten haunted hollows at any given time. So make sure to explore every corner of this incredible park!”

The crowd erupts again.

“Now, I’d like to quickly introduce a few of our fabulous authors joining us this week.” Belladonna gestures toward the side of the stage where three women stand waiting.

“First up, the delightful Eulla Bell Nightwind, author of the Sweet Tea & Tombstones series, and her bewitching cat, Salem. Eulla Bell writes about murder with more sugar than a Southern tea party, which is perfect for readers who like their corpses served with a side of biscuits and an extra helping of Southern charm. Though I hear her latest sales figures could use a little sweetening too. Bless her heart.”

Light laughter and a round of gasps circle the crowd.

Delora leans in. “It’s all in fun.”

I’ve seen friendlier fun at a piranha tank. At least the piranhas wait until you’re in the water.

A petite woman steps forward, honey-blonde hair teased to perfection. This must be Eulla Bell. She’s dressed as a Southern belle vampire, complete with a hoopskirt in deep purple, lace gloves, delicate fangs, and pearls, because what self-respecting vampire doesn’t wear pearls? Her outfit is perfectly coordinated, monogrammed with her initials on a black velvet sash, and there are adorable tiny jack-o’-lanterns embroidered along the hem of her skirt. But the centerpiece is the sleek black cat with glowing yellow eyes that’s currently taking up residence in her arms. The cute kitty is wearing a matching miniature cape and a tiny tiara that catches the light.

Eulla Bell waves to the crowd with a tight smile. “Such a kind introduction, Belladonna.”

The passive-aggressive tension is thick enough to spread on toast.

“Next up,” Belladonna howls, “we have Felicity Graves, author of the Gravestone Gardens series. Felicity writes about cemetery groundskeepers with all the excitement of, well, a cemetery. But I’m sure book seven will dig up some real sales. I’m kidding, I’m kidding! We all know how hard it is to thrive in this market. Not all of us can do it.”

Another roar of laughter and more applause break out.

A woman dressed as a fairy steps forward, her mousy brown and quickly graying hair worn in a practical bob. She’s somewhere in her late fifties, wrapped in a blue tulle gown covered in sparkles with silver lamé accents catching the light. Her fairy wings sit slightly lopsided, and she carries a long wand with a star on the tip that blinks on and off with all the magic of a dying flashlight. Her warm hazel eyes look perpetually tired, but she manages a genuine smile for the crowd.

There’s something instantly likable about her. Give me twenty minutes and a pot of coffee, and I’d tell this woman every problem I’ve ever had, plus a few I’d invent just to keep her listening.

“Thank you, Belladonna,” Felicity says in a soft voice. “It’s always a pleasure to be in your rarefied air.” She lifts a brow as if she’s not so sure about that.

At this point, I’m not either.

“And last but certainly not least,” Belladonna continues, “Gertie Gloomwood, former publishing executive turned author of the Corporate Corpses series. Gertie knows all about cutthroat business practices. Literally. And about making a graceful exit before anyone asks too many questions about the budget. But we’re all friends here, aren’t we, Gertie?”

More polite applause ensues.

A tall, athletic woman in her early fifties steps forward, dressed as a zombie ready for a corporate takeover. She’s wearing designer jeans with artfully placed bloodstains and a torn cashmere sweater that looks expensive even in its deliberately shredded state. Her short dark hair is perfectly styled despite the whole undead executive look, and she gives a small wave.

Her expression is unreadable, as if she’s sitting in a zombie board meeting deciding whether to approve your proposal or sink it without a second thought.

“The budget was fine when I left it,” Gertie says evenly, though her smile loses its steam as she levels her gaze back at the witch holding the stage. “We’re the very best of friends.”

Sure. Friends who want to murder each other.

I get the feeling that one’s already picked out the shovel, Fish points out. I respect the preparation.

Gertie doesn’t join the mingling right away. Instead, she stays near the stage, tracking Belladonna the way Chip tracks a cookie he plans to bite in half. If Gertie’s keeping a mental list of grievances, I have a feeling the witch’s name is underlined twice.

Just when I didn’t think any more chaos could possibly ensue, a couple of furry cutie-pies dart in this direction, fresh off their fifteen-minute break from photo ops. My sweet mascots, Fish and Chip—Fish with her cape still draped just so, Chip still wedged into the pumpkin costume that makes him look like he rolled off a porch.

“And here are the king and queen of this magical kingdom,” Dexter says with a grin, scooping up Fish before I get the chance. I swear at least ten women in the crowd audibly sigh at the sight of a handsome man holding a cute cat.