I could make twenty dollars for a bottle of shampoo, and I wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of primping for an unwanted date.

Hurriedly, I clean up, and get on something semi-decent to wear that matches my favorite choker. Then I walk all the way to the bowling alley, ignoring the stench of sweaty bodies and smelly feet.

My date for the evening smiles at me from behind the counter.

“Is January Carmine really standing in front of me, in a public place meant for fun right now?” he drawls, propping up in front of me, as his grin stays fixed to his pretty face.

“I’ll take those shoes you offered,” I tell him, watching as his smile only spreads.

“You’ve got good timing. I’m just finishing up my shift,” he says as he glances at my feet over the counter.

Then he grabs me some rental shoes without asking my size. “Let’s have some fun. It looks like you could use it,” he adds with way too much enthusiasm, while spraying my shoes with disinfectant stuff.

I was having fun until I had to go on a date. However, at least he seems…nice.

***

“…then I could turn my shampoo into a legitimate business line for my mom’s store. It’s just really hard to get the specifics of the ingredients right without risking some lost eyebrows and stuff,” I tell him on a sigh. “So far, toothpaste has been the only thing I’ve managed to nail down with perfection.”

He stares off at some other girl, who is lining up her shot, and his attention remains there.

“Why are you spending so much time talking about shampoo and toothpaste?” he finally asks when his eyes lazily return to meet mine.

“Because you asked what was on my mind. And I’m not talking about it; I’m talking about all the work that goes into producing those things,” I clarify.

“But why?” he asks again, no longer seeming as nice as he did forty-five minutes ago when I walked in.

“Because I find it interesting,” I say, wondering why I have to explain this at all. “And you asked.”

His lips purse before me makes them pop, and he stands, stretches, and glances down his nose at me.

“Right, well…I find bowling more interesting than shampoo, so I’m going to go talk to that girl who is here bowling all alone. At least we tried, right?” he asks me, smiling to cushion the blow of rejection.

It’s so sudden that I’m stunned into momentary silence with no reaction at the ready.

I’m being rejected? By the guy who has pestered the hell out of me to the point of bribing me with free rental shoes? After my mother forced me to come?

This is why shampoo is more fun than boys.

Shampoo leaves me with more dignity.

“Yeah. She seems cute,” I say before I can stop myself, feeling too idiotic for words.

He grins and turns to go, while I sit here wondering why in the hell I couldn’t have said something a little snider and much less encouraging.

I glance around, noticing the bowling alley has filled up with people. Feeling embarrassed, I stand, suffering some really pointless dejection, since I didn’t want to be here to begin with. Now I can tell my mother how awful this was, and she will feel guilty for ever making me endure this.

Winning all around. Silver lining, see?

It’s not like monsters need to risk dating guys who like something as normal as bowling.

I glance back over my shoulder at the pretty girl, who is already clearly more engaging to him than I was. She smiles and blushes, batting her lashes as though today is her lucky day. She appreciates his company far more than I did.

Good for them.

Good. For. Them.

I don’t understand why anyone at all would want to date. This sort of sucks.

Shoving through the doors, I stalk back home. Literally, the whole way, I’m doing some mega heavy stalking, because I’m gonna let Mom have it.

That was humiliating.

And mortifying.

I was chased until I opened my mouth, and then I was rejected.

I’m a monster, so I have no idea why Mom thinks dating normal guys is even an option for me. Normal guys would shit themselves if I had a panic attack. Or I could kill them.

Rejecting me was likely the smartest thing he’s ever done. It feels more life-saving and less embarrassing when I think of it that way.

And I’m going to find a way to force her to call me Violet. January was the child. Violet is the adult I am now. It really does suit me better.

I stop midway down the road when I hear Mom’s soft singing voice carrying gently over the winds, like she’s singing just for herself. It’s weirdly that old double-dutch song.

“The tea leaves warned of blood and death. Four gypsy first-borns breathed the last breath…”

CHAPTER 1

Now…

VIOLET

“What are you doing?” Mom asks as she walks into the kitchen where I’ve got four pots on.

“They’re going to need everything, so I’m working with what I have to give them all the things they need to make them feel clean, after being disassembled and buried for over a thousand years,” I tell her absently, testing the thickness of the shampoo batch. “I had to work with the fruit extracts Damien gathered for me from town, but when I get home, I’ll use my stockpiled apple products that no one else seems to want. The orange stuff is flying off the shelves, though. Including my toothpaste.”