She thought she was living her best life, until Death knocked on her door.
Bunny Major has always been a workaholic. After suffering through various illnesses as a child, 52 year-old Bunny throws herself into her job as a triage nurse. She has a knack for healing, and thrives under the pressure of the busy emergency department at Stillwater General Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia.
She’s spent the past 30 years with no one but her 1957 Chevy Bel Air hearse, Morticia, and her goldfish RuPaul for company. It was all working out pretty well for her, too, until her mother died unexpectedly and her whole damn world went to Hell in a handbasket.
When Bunny keeps seeing a tall, dark, and mysterious stranger in the corner of her eye, she starts to think she’s losing it. A frenzied shift at the hospital pushes her right to the edge, and she’s forced into a new job as a night shift nurse in an aged care facility to get a little peace and quiet. But when furniture moves on its own and strange sounds go bump in the night, Bunny starts to think that the man she’s been glimpsing might be more than just a figment of her imagination.
And that’s when things get really interesting.
Turns out her mother left her with an otherworldly legacy that must be fulfilled, along with one burning question: does she want to be responsible for the future of humanity? Burdened with a cosmic side-hustle and thrust into a partnership that might just be the death of her, Bunny must choose between life, death, or the uncertain place in between.
Wanna meet Bunny? Read Chapter 1 of Kiss of Death now 👇🏼
Please note: This series is not cozy and contains adult language, and some sexual situations.
Chapter 1
Earthworms squirmed at the edges of the freshly dug grave, stretching their squishy pink bodies out towards the forest of lilies sitting on top of Connie Major’s coffin. Bunny watched one wriggle, extending itself, her attention completely focused on the imaginary David Attenborough voice-over that was rolling out in her mind. The common earthworm, or lumbrius terrestris, is a large red-colored worm common in Europe but considered an invasive species elsewhere…
That was her. An invasive species. You’d think that strategically limited visits to her hometown over the past thirty-four years would’ve softened the way the place bristled whenever she came near, but you’d be wrong. News of her arrival in Mosswood had spread like butter on a hot day, running ahead of her through town. By the time she’d pulled up outside her parents’ place, her dad had already been waiting for her in the driveway.
The prodigal daughter returned.
The January sky was a pale blue that was almost gray, heavy with clouds that threatened rain. Mosswood Cemetery was behind the only church in town, nestled quaintly among a grove of ancient oak trees that hosted trails of Spanish moss swaying in the cold breeze. A large group of people had turned out to pay their respects, huddling together for warmth, sympathy, and good ol’-fashioned gossip. More than one pair of narrowed eyes had darted in Bunny’s direction.
She shook back her blonde waves and straightened her spine, filling her space with the confidence she usually reserved for work. Folks frowned on the fact she’d wanted more than backwater Georgia could provide. Her going to college had been the first shock. The only other people she even knew from Mosswood who’d thought about college were Veronica—the local vet—and Larry Holt, whose family had been quite without the means. It wasn’t common in the county, that was for sure.
The second shock for everyone had been Bunny moving to Atlanta. Permanently.
The worm overestimated itself. The drying dirt crumbled around it, and it slipped from its pole position to tumble down into the bottom of the grave. Another one bites the dust.
She looked up.
Pastor Bishop was speaking in his smooth, calm baritone. His solemn words were seemingly directed at the congregation, his hands moving every so often for emphasis as though he were conducting an invisible symphony of prayer. But when he glanced at Bunny standing next to the open grave, his kind blue eyes were crinkled at the corners with the weight of heartfelt understanding.
“Mr. Marshall Major would now like to say a few words,” he announced, stepping aside from the temporary pulpit to make room for Bunny’s father.
Marshall was a tall man with wide shoulders, well-suited for his long and industrious career at the local timber mill. Despite his outwardly stoic appearance, he was well-suited to being a husband and father. He took his place behind the pulpit, drawing a crumpled piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. He pinned his gaze to that paper, and Bunny instinctively knew it was so he wouldn’t have to look at the faces in the crowd.
“My wife, Connie, was a woman beloved by everyone she met.” Her dad’s voice was strong, his characteristic stubbornness a boon at times like these. “She was a warm and loving partner in life, and a nurturing mother to our children, Bernadette and Benjamin. Lord knows that things weren’t always easy, but Connie and I always worked together as a team. Going forward alone is gonna be about the hardest thing I’ll ever do…”
Even steel could bend, and Marshall Major was living proof. His voice wavered, making Bunny’s eyes snap to his proud jaw. A tear had collected there. She made a minuscule movement, as though ready to go to her father’s side, but a steady hand on her right elbow stopped her in her tracks. Ben, her brother. She moved against his grip, and the fingertips holding her in place gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.
Marshall had wiped his face with his handkerchief and gone on while the going was good.
“I’m ready to spend the rest of my life makin’ my time with our children count for the both of us. I wanna thank y’all for bein’ here today to pay your respects,” he said with a wan smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “I know Connie’d be touched to see so many folks. Thank you.” He moved away from the pulpit, coming back to stand next to his daughter.
Bunny felt like she was underwater, floating in a current of ice-cold water that had numbed every nerve in her body. Vaguely aware of the warmth of other people on either side of her, she drifted along through the rest of the service like a log in a river. The huge ultra-dark sunglasses that made leaving the hospital at the ends of her long shifts bearable now allowed her to stare blankly at the grave that cradled her mother’s coffin. But not because she was sad.
Because Bunny knew that something was up.
It had been so sudden. Her parents had the kind of lifestyle that was the envy of retirees the world over. But a comfortable home, healthy diet and twice-yearly vacations hadn’t done Connie one iota of good. She had dropped dead in the kitchen of the family home from a suspected heart attack, leaving her loving family behind and a hummingbird cake in the oven.
One day, maybe, she’d be able to make the joke that at least her mom had died doing something she loved. But it was not this day.
Today was the day when a world she hadn’t realized she missed had imploded. Today, Bunny said goodbye to a mother who had nursed her through childhood illnesses, who had comforted her when all her teenaged friends had been out dating and she’d been home. Who had called just a week ago, larger than life, leaving a voicemail on Bunny’s machine that had gone unanswered in favor of pulling a double shift at the hospital.
In fact, working extra shifts at the hospital had gotten Bunny through the worst of the shock. Her apathy at this point—her inability to cry about it—was one of her natural coping mechanisms. The other was tuning out.
Her dad was standing next to her, talking to Pastor Bishop in a low, measured tone. Bunny wasn’t listening. She could have made an effort, but she knew his words would be full of love and heartache, and she’d had her fill of both in the week and a bit since this whole nightmare had unfolded. Instead, she focused on the moving shadow beneath a large oak on the other side of the cemetery, right behind her dad’s shoulder.
A flicker of movement had caught her eye. The shadows beneath the oak shifted, and a figure emerged, the edges blurry at first but coming into focus like the lens of a camera auto-adjusting. Bunny had felt half-asleep until that moment, trapped in a surreal haze. But now she was on high alert.
If that guy had come to pay his respects to her mom, why was he doing it from across the cemetery?
She frowned as she stared, bridging the space between them with her scrutinizing glare. His eyes were dark in a way that spoke of mystery and moonless nights; there were no coffee-colored flecks of golden highlights to break the intensity of his gaze. His face would have been handsome, had it not been for the stubborn set of his jaw. She thought she saw a flash of recognition in his expression, and she frowned more deeply at the implication before turning to her left.
“Who’s he?” she whispered under her breath, pulling herself out of the numb water as her eyes darted back to the stranger. He hadn’t moved an inch. The biting winter wind ruffled his black hair, the long black coat he wore buttoned up to ward off the chill.
“Who’s who?”
“The guy under the tree.”
Her brother Ben craned his neck to peer past her, his gaze flicking to her face after a couple of moments. There was a note of worry in his look. “Which guy, Bun?”
Her fingers had unconsciously sought out the smooth surface of the moonstone pendant her mom had left her. Without even looking, she could imagine the milky-white crystal threaded through with ribbons of clearer minerals and the speckles of black. When moved, it would shine with a subtle rainbow sheen, even in the miserable gray daylight. Bunny couldn’t remember a time when her mom hadn’t worn it. Being able to wear it now brought her comfort, and she liked to think her mom would have approved. It didn’t quite match the last-minute funeral attire she’d dug out of her closet. The cut of the pants was a little too boyish for her tastes, and made her petite form look blocky. Off-duty, Bunny was one for skinny jeans and band tees, and she strictly avoided anything that looked like it might need to be intimate with an iron.
Bunny looked back in the direction of the stranger, but he was gone.
She shrugged, not bothering to answer Ben. She’d always been the zany older sister; the one who was too ambitious, too determined, too ‘out there’. She’d learned a long time ago to roll with the crazy that seemed to follow her around on a daily basis. But she didn’t want Ben seeing the spark of concern in her eyes now.
***
They’d elected to hold the wake in the Hand of God Southern Baptist Church. The chapel itself had been recently been rebuilt by the townsfolk after a devastating fire had burned it almost to the ground. If there was anything Bunny could relate to, it was rising from the ashes. She’d always been different, ever since she could remember. She’d wanted bright lights and excitement—both of which were things the relatively quiet folk of Mosswood seemed to resent.
The well-wishers had started to break off into smaller groups heading for the Church as soon as the final prayers had been said. Bunny politely rejected every tray of canapés brought past her, choosing instead to stand mutely by her father and nod placatingly at anyone who stopped to offer their sympathy, as though they were almost glad to see her in town. Phonies. Bunny had no intention of kissing ass—not at such an occasion as this, where half the gossips in town were rubbernecking to get a good look at her.
Bunny lifted her wrist, consulting the smartwatch that was blinking messages at her. Each of them was a perfect little excuse. She edged closer to her father, who was still talking with Pastor Bishop.
“I gotta go, Dad.” She smiled apologetically before slinging an arm around her father’s neck. She needed to seem okay if she didn’t want him to worry about her. Even though she was fifty-two, it wouldn’t take much for her dad to remind her that she was still his little girl. But it was him she was worried about.
Ben was the owner of a very successful convenience store in town, and any time he didn’t spend there was spent out at the local plantation house doing volunteer work and Civil War reenactments. He had his own life to lead, and though she knew he would never not look out for their dad, Bunny knew all too well that life had a habit of picking up and taking off. Once the genteel Southern hospitality petered off and well-meaning Mosswood housewives ceased delivering casseroles, what would to happen to her dad then?
Marshall’s expression flattened, his lips slanting down into a thin line of disappointment. Bunny felt a pang of guilt, but she shooed it away.
“Alright, Flopsy,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss the top of her smooth blonde locks before she pulled away from him. “You drive safe. Text me when you get back to the big smoke.”
“I’ll do even better than that and call instead,” she promised. “Look after Ben?”
“If he’ll let me.” Her dad shrugged as she started to back away, injecting some of the characteristic Major humor into the situation. He was a shadow of his former self now and it broke Bunny’s heart to see it, but she needed to be back in Atlanta.
Mosswood was okay in small doses, but any longer than a day in town made her start to itch. The easy devil-may-care existences of the general populace just seemed so humdrum—so mind-numbingly boring—that she was scared it was infectious. She’d get in the car, thrash some of her favorite death metal songs to disinfect her mind, and then get back to reality.
Bunny wound her way through the crowd, nodding in acknowledgement to anyone she couldn’t avoid eye contact with. She was almost through the gauntlet when she overheard a slow Southern drawl, dipped in disbelief and sprinkled with scandal for good measure.
“I still can’t hardly believe it,” cooed Prissy Bishop, a tiny blonde woman who was every bit as much rattlesnake as she was former debutante. “I saw her down at the Moon Café about a week back and she looked as healthy as a horse!”
“Only just had a clean bill of health from Doctor Goode,” LeeAnn Coombes confirmed with a sad shake of her head. “And then gone,” she snapped her fingers demonstrably, “just like that!”
Both women looked up as Bunny passed them by, taking in her raised brows and pursed lips. LeeAnn had the decency to look embarrassed at Bunny overhearing the bluntness of her comment, but Prissy dropped a shoulder and tilted her head to one side.
“So sorry for your loss, Bernadette. Your mother was a Mosswood matriarch.” Her lips twitched with amusement. “Maybe you could take her place at the Bridge Club? You’re about the right age, aren’t you?”
“Thanks, Priscilla,” Bunny sniped back, proving she was just as good at throwing down a Christian name or two. But Bunny wasn’t bound by small-town etiquette. When she bit back, it would be harder than she’d been bitten. “I was sorry to hear about your loss, too.” Bunny glanced in the direction of the handsome young pastor, who was now Prissy’s ex-husband. “Though I suppose you have the alimony to cushion the blow. Excuse me.”
Bunny pushed roughly past the two women, steam about ready to burst out of her ears. Good. She focused on the anger, letting it bubble up inside of her. As long as she could hold on to that, she didn’t have to worry about the grief seeping slowly and steadily into her bones like a chill creeping across a field. With no intended direction other than away, she felt relieved to see her brother just finishing a conversation.
She increased her pace, a tired smile slanted on her face as she approached him.
“Where’s the fire?” he asked, glancing over Bunny’s shoulder to jokingly check if she was trying to outrun the law.
Bunny followed his gaze. “Under Prissy’s backside, hopefully,” she muttered, turning back to Ben with pursed lips.
“Wondered how long it’d take for you two to lock horns,” he mused, offering her his plate stuffed full of canapes. “You never did have any patience for the woman.”
Bunny shook her head at the food, countering Ben’s jibe. “You always had too much.”
“May-be,” Ben drawled with a casual shrug. “But life’s too short to hold grudges. You goin’ somewhere?” He stuffed a deviled egg into his mouth.
His question reignited the flare of guilt she had fended off when speaking to their dad. “Sorry.” She glanced down at her smartwatch, shrugged a shoulder and shook her head in defeat. “My shift starts at six. No rest for the wicked, apparently.”
“That’s crazy,” Ben said, his tone smoothed into an empathetic drawl. “Couldn’t they even give you the day off to attend your own mother’s funeral?”
“They probably would have, if I’d asked them,” she admitted, earning herself an exasperated glare, “but it’s hard to get someone to cover for me, and it’s not fair to my colleagues or the patients when they’re down a nurse on the floor.”
“You know,” Ben counseled, using a tone that had often been adopted by their mom, “responsibility can be both a blessing and a curse, especially when you use it as a crutch.”
“Wise words from my baby brother.” Bunny smiled sadly. She stepped into a hug, squeezing him tight.
“Common sense,” he countered, squeezing her right back, “from someone who cares about you running yourself ragged.” They pulled out of the hug, and he dipped his head to look into her eyes. His face was serious, his green eyes clouded with concern. The streaks of silver in his light brown hair were a stark reminder they weren’t getting any younger. Thank God she took after their mom in the hair color department. Blonde was way better at disguising grays.
Ben wasn’t done lecturing her. “Promise me you won’t take any more extra shifts this week, okay? You need some rest, and some time to grieve.”
Bunny gently shook him off. “I’ve grieved plenty.”
He didn’t seem convinced but backed off anyway, knowing when he was beat. The Major stubbornness was legendary, and generations of it had all come home to roost in Bunny. “Just… take care of yourself. Okay?”
“Yes sir,” she promised, pressing a light kiss to his stubbled cheek. “Charge your cell. I’ll call you.”
“See you do,” Ben teased, watching her walk away. “Else I’ll have to come down to Atlanta and put myself in the ER just so you have to see me.”
She smiled at his joke, letting his love wash over her for a second before she waved. “Bye, baby brother.”
“Bye, Bun.”
As soon as she had turned her back on the funeral, the numbness returned. She felt it flood back in as she walked, tearing down the sandcastle of snark and self-preservation she had built around her. The more she felt her composure crumble, the faster she walked.
Her car was on the other side of a copse of oak trees, parked just outside the cemetery gates. Bunny had bought Morticia seventeen years ago from a funeral director who used to service the hospital before he’d sold his business to move out west. The immaculate black paintwork would have been miraculous enough, but the white accent on the tail fins and white-walled tires really added to Morticia’s appeal. Bunny loved Morticia.
Only a hundred more steps until she reached the inner sanctum and could shut the experience of the funeral out of her life for good. Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight. Ninety—wait.
Bunny tried to walk quietly on the gravel walkway of the cemetery, straining her ears to pick up the sound she’d thought she heard.
She spun to glance over her shoulder on instinct, expecting to see Ben coming to give her one last piece of cheek before she escaped. But it wasn’t her brother following her.
The man in black who had been standing under the tree came out of nowhere, his long legs propelling him along in her wake. He was staring at her, and he moved with a kind of intense purpose that reminded her of the way a black panther stalked its prey. The thought sent a chill down her spine, and she picked up the pace, her heart skipping a beat when she heard him start to move more quickly, too.
Holy shit.
She didn’t care about logic or pride. The rest of the funeral-goers were too far away for her to call out to, and the man in black was between her and the gravesite anyway. Without a care for anything else now other than her safety, Bunny broke into a run, praying as she did so that he was a figment of her imagination; that the man would continue walking along at his oddly brisk pace and frown at her strange behavior.
But he didn’t. She heard him start to run, too, gravel crunching under his heavy boots as he pursued her. She gulped deep, panicked breaths as she ran, trying to keep herself from tiring and give herself the best chance of reaching the safety of her car. Her tiny ornamental purse—just large enough to house her keys, cell phone and credit card—swung from side to side like a medieval mace as she ran, making it impossible to retrieve her phone to call her dad or Ben.
A crow’s loud, brassy shriek tore the air, echoing across the barren space between the last of the tombstones and the wrought-iron gates of the cemetery. It sounded so close and so furious that Bunny gasped harshly, then coughed, before looking around to see where the sound had come from.
The man in black was ducking as he ran, arms shielding his head as he was dive-bombed by an impossibly large crow. It flew directly at his face, wings flapping and talons flashing in a full-on attack. He yelled something and began to beat the air with his arms, hoping to drive it away, but it evaded him and dived again.
She wasn’t about to look a gift crow in the beak. Bunny focused on the path to her car and doubled her effort, using the opportunity as wisely as she could. She fumbled in her purse for her keys as she ran, trying to keep a cool head. She couldn’t hear the crow anymore, but that didn’t mean the man in black wasn’t still fighting the creature off. Drawing in ragged breaths, she reached Morticia and tried to stop her hand shaking long enough to get her key into the door.
And then she saw the man in black running through the gates. He almost skidded to a stop on the sidewalk, saw her standing at the driver’s side door of her car, and then lurched forward again.
A thrill of panic jolted through her as she ripped open the door and threw herself behind the wheel, turning over the ignition and taking off in first gear before she’d bothered to put down her purse or put her seat belt on. She peeled out of the parking space and down the street just as the man reached her, flattening the gas pedal to speed away from the mysterious and obviously dangerous man who had absolutely just chased her out of her mother’s funeral.
She chanced a glance in the rearview mirror as she floored it down Lee Street. The man—who had just been standing in the middle of the road—was now gone. Bunny tried to see if he had stepped back up on to the sidewalk, straining her eyes as she got farther and farther away.
Crack!
The crow hit the driver’s side window with its beak, making her scream as it swooped away again. She swerved, her head spinning, before she somehow managed to correct the car and stay on the straight and narrow. Rattled to her core, Bunny reasoned that a speeding ticket was the least of her troubles. She turned Morticia left onto Mosswood’s Main Street and floored it all the way out to the highway.
Her heart raced ahead of her as she nudged Morticia faster and harder. What the hell was that guy doing, chasing after her like that? And more importantly, why?