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Haunting Adeline

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. . .

“Are you ready?” my personal assistant asks from beside me. I glance

over at Marietta, noting how she’s absently holding out the mic to me, her

local bookstore wasn’t built fora large number of people, but somehow,

attention ensnared on the people still filtering into the small building. This

they’re making it work anyway.

Hordes of people are piling into the cramped space, converging in a

uniform line, and waiting for the signing to start. My eyes rove over the

crowd, silently counting in my head. I lose count after thirty.

Yep,” I say. I grab the mic, and after catching everyone’s attention, the

all the way to my cheeks. It makes my skin crawl, but I love my readers, so I

murmurs fade to silence. Dozens of eyeballs bore into me, creating a flush

power through it.

Before we start, I just wanted to take a quick second to thank you all for

coming. I appreciate each and every one of you, and I’m incredibly excited to meet you all. Everyone ready?!” I ask, forcing excitement into my tone.

It’s not that I’m not excited,I just tend to get incredibly awkward during

book signings. I’m not a natural when it comes to social interactions. I’m the type to stare dead into your face with a frozen smile after being asked a

question while my brain processes the fact that I didn’t even hear the

question. It’s usually because my heart is thumping too loud in my ears.

I settle down in my chair and ready my sharpie. Marietta runs off to

embarrassment with me. Guess it’s one of the downfalls of representing a

handle other matters, shooting me a quick good luck. She’s witnessed my

mishaps with readers and has the tendency to get secondhand

social pariah.

Come back, Marietta. It’s so much more fun when I’m not the only one

getting embarrassed. The first reader approaches me, my book The Wanderer, in her hands

with a beaming smile on her freckled face.

“Oh my god, it’s so awesome to meet you!” she exclaims, nearly shoving

the book in my face. Totally a me move.

I smile wide and gently take the book.

“It’s awesome to meet you, too,” I return. “And hey, Team Freckles,” I

tack on, waving my forefinger between her face and mine. She gives a bit of an awkward laugh, her fingers drifting over her cheeks. “What’s your

name?” I rush out, before we get stuck on a weird conversation about skin

conditions.

Geez, Addie, what if she hates her freckles? Dumbass.

trembles as I carefully write out her name and a quick appreciation note.

“Megan,” she replies, and then spells the name out for me. My hand

My signature is sloppy, but that pretty much represents the entirety of my

existence.

I hand the book back and thank her with a genuine smile.

As the next reader approaches, pressure settles on my face. Someone is

staring at me. But that’s a fucking stupid thought because everyone is

staring at me.

I try to ignore it, and give the next reader a big ass smile, but the feeling

only intensifies until it feels like bees are buzzing beneath the surface of my

skin while a torch is being held to my flesh. It’s… it’s unlike anything I’ve felt before. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I feel the apples of my

cheeks heating to a bright red.

Half of my attention is on the book I'm signing and the gushing reader, while the other half is on the crowd. My eyes subtly sweep the expanse of

the bookstore, attempting to scope out the source of my discomfort

without making it obvious. My gaze hooks on a lone person standing in the very back. A man. The

crowd shrouds the majority of his body, only bits of his face peeking

through the gaps between people’s heads. But what I do see has my hand

stilling, mid-write.

His eyes. One so dark and bottomless, it feels like staring into a well. And

The other, an ice blue so light, it’s nearly white, reminding me of a husky’s

eyes. A scar slashes straight down through the discolored eye, as if it didn’t

already demand attention.

When at throat clears, I jump, snatching my eyes away and looking back