(Excerpt)

One look around and her mood instantly improved. Everything was alive with wind and color. The air smelled of trees—damp but fresh. A falling leaf settled on her shoulder and worries fled. She paused long enough to wrap her scarf around her neck and made her way across St. Cat’s wooded lawn.

Windfall was surrounded by forest on three sides, with the ocean on the fourth, and it wasn’t hard to see how the town had gotten its name. She turned onto Windfall Boulevard to find leaves falling as thick as snow on a winter’s day. The oaks that lined the street were hundreds of years old. Rather than reaching for sunlight, lower branches grew earthward. Selfless limbs braced ancient giants against toppling under their own weight.

At one end of the Boulevard was the School District, where both St. Cat and St. X could be found, and not too far off, Windfall High. The boulevard led to Library Square—the heart of the town. Several streets fed off the square. Maple Avenue ran north and through a couple of middle-class neighborhoods. The home Bara sometimes shared with her mother was at the end of the avenue in the Garden District. Anything but middle-class, the Garden District had some of the largest homes in North America.

Just past Library Square and along the east end of Windfall Boulevard was a heavily wooded park, a forest really, and then finally the Grande Oaks District. This was where her father and his new wife, Courtney, lived. South of the square was the Business District and further south a rundown area known as the Tracks. Amy’s family lived there. She attended St. Cat on scholarship and so roomed with Bara in the dorms.

Before reaching Library Square, Bara veered off the boulevard and cut across a small park with a fountain—a shortcut. A chestnut fell from the sky and collided with her foot. She watched it skid to a stop at the base of its parent tree. Just then her coat pocket vibrated. She paused under the shade of the tree and took out her phone. Colin had sent a text.

Help! They’re either trying to poison or starve us. Save me! Send food. Colin was forever complaining about the meals at St. X. Day-old cat food, he called it, spiced with kitty litter. Bara often brought him treats from St. Cat’s dining hall. I’ll see what I can do, she texted back and continued on her way. She left the park and crossed Main Mall, a street of banks and a market. A rounded corner found the south entrance to Windfall Way. It was one of the town’s original streets and wasn’t much wider than a lane of traffic. Four hundred years ago this worked just fine for horse and carriage, but today’s large SUV’s would have taken out the potted plants and store signs hanging out into the way. Now it was pedestrians only.

Antique and curio shops dominated the lane. There were also two restaurants, French and Italian; a flower shop; a bakery; and the Tragic Sip Café, where without a doubt, they served the best coffee and croissants on the planet.

Windfall stopped way passed too-much when decorating for seasons and holidays. Strings of fall leaves and pumpkins filled every window. There were even a few black cats, skeletons, and other left-over Halloween ornaments. Bara smiled at the festive air and made her way down the cobbles and to the Tragic Sip. The Goths were already at the café. They occupied two patio tables. For these girls, Halloween never ended. Under the bright fall sunlight, their pale faces glowed a healthy—if chalky—pink. They were quivering with excitement, not the usual state of being for this gloomy group. Bara listened in as she passed.

“He’s so gorgeous,” Drusilla, not the name her mother gave her, Barnaby drawled.

Vixen Rose, born Vivian Rothby, challenged back, “I saw him first.”

“Vinally a guy wert even tinking about in tis tupid town,” lisped a purple-haired girl through a false set of vampire teeth.

They were obviously not elocution class approved. Bara fought back a giggle.

“And his accent.” Drusilla chimed in her clear and fangless alto. “One thing for sure. We’re all going to need a lot more coffee.”

“I want a little more than coffee from him,” Vixen countered.

What kind of guy could get the Goths all a flutter? Images of tattoos and rings hanging from each and every orifice came to mind. Bara would see Mr. Dreadfully Wonderful for herself. She headed for the café door but then stopped in her tracks. Ragman, the strangest resident of Windfall, sat at the table closest to the door. He stared with a smirk, a way-too-familiar smirk. They’d never spoken. Yet he always managed to irk her. He gave her the strangest feeling. The way he dressed didn’t help. His wardrobe consisted of torn pieces of cloth tied together to form a mesh. A little more skin than was decent peaked through. He wore sandals, even in cold weather. A dingy bandana covered his bald head. And it wasn’t just his head that was hairless. Except for his eyebrows, which were exceedingly bushy, he was as smooth as a porpoise. He had to wax. Swallowing her ill-ease, Bara passed Ragman—who never broke his glare—and entered the café.