Don't trust the living....
Bailey, a simple farmer, has been tasked by a dead man to murder a dangerous warlock. While he follows the guidance of this otherworldly companion, Bailey finds himself in a dark, scary new world.
... and in love.
So is it merely a love out of convenience, or has Abby honestly fallen for the simpleton farmer who talks to the dead? Her own dark designs will collide with those of the man Bailey follows, but the boy's young heart cannot easily be torn from this strange new love.
Love is a pale road, for Death waits at the end.
“Soon he would come. He always came. In between the spaces. Spaces between the sounds in the music. Fa and Ma called them notes, but a note is written on paper. I cannot write on paper. I play music and Fa calls it notes. He—not Fa—comes to me between the notes. His name is Lyn; I don’t think he even has a last name, or if he does, he’s already forgotten it.
Lyn is dead.”
“Do people call you names, Bailey?”
“Men in the inns call me retarded and slow-face. But they are drunk, Fa says.”
“Drunk, yes. Stupid, too. You’re not retarded at all, and that is a nasty word!” She reached out her very white hand and it was very soft on my face.
Abby smelled like a bonfire in the Fall. We burned a lot of leaves and dead weeds. I really liked that smell. “You smell nice, Abigail.”