Witch of Wild Things by Raquel Vasquez Gilliland EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Raquel Vasquez Gilliland
- Language: English
- Genre: Multicultural & Interracial Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
MY GREAT-AUNT NADIA SAYS IT’S A BAD IDEA TO REJECT A
gift from a ghost.
It’s ’cause ghosts like to slide inside all kinds of worlds. They don’t just
roam the land of the living or the dead. They can show up in our dream
worlds to meddle. They can touch the world of shadows and eat the light
from your own home, just sucking up the long, thick gold of nightlights and
fixtures like dead black holes. “Just ask your prima Cleotilde,” Nadia
always says, her wine-red acrylic nail in my face as she points. “She once
offended the ghost of her abuelo, and boom. Lamps didn’t work around her
for years.”
The scariest world that ghosts can touch is the world of gods. The old
gods. The ancient gods. The gods we’ve heard of and the even more
numerous gods we haven’t. Nadia pours one cup of espresso to these gods
every single morning. This woman would rather light St. Theresa’s on fire
than skip this daily offering.
And if you’ve got a ghost haunting you, there’s no way to tell if one of
these gods favors that ghost. So you offend a ghost? You reject her gift?
You might be offending a god.
Apparently, it’s a really bad idea to offend gods. That’s how you end up
with the women in our family and our gifts.
This means that when I climb in my janky-ass minivan and see the cup
of coffee in the console? Yes, that cup of coffee—the mug, a gift from one
of my former students, hand thrown and glazed the color of lilacs against a
lightning storm. The one steaming with notes of raspberry and a hint of
chocolate. The one that I most certainly did not place there. The second I
smell it—because yeah, I smell it first—I throw myself into my seat and
press my face into the steering wheel. “Shit,” I say in a long exhale.
I hate gifts from ghosts.
In order to distract myself from the sweet steam swirling around me, I
grab my phone, hitting buttons as fast as my fingers can go.
Laurel picks up even before the first ring ends. “Hey! You on your way
yet?”
I glance at the back of my van. Every seat is pushed down to make way
for half a dozen boxes, triple that in plants, and an antique reading chair.
Most of the boxes contain books—I can see a sliver of Joy Harjo’s She Had
Some Horses peeking through cardboard I hadn’t bothered to tape shut. It’s
my favorite of her collections, because it reminds me of the stories Nadia
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