Excerpt
PROLOGUE IT’S COLD, BUT not winter-cold. The wind bites, but it hasn’t drawn blood yet. There’s a softness to the evening — the kind of air that smells like burning leaves, caramel apples, and distant fog machine juice. You step outside, and you know what night it is. The porch lights are orange. The pumpkins are glowing. There’s something in the air — something old, something playful, something just a little wrong. It’s Halloween. Not just a day. Not just a holiday. A vibe. The one night of the year where we pretend we’re not afraid of death by turning it into a game. Every other day of the year, we flinch at the word. We scrub it from our vocabulary. We cover gray hairs, hide wrinkles,...