Ghostly Justice
- Publisher
- Black Opal Books
- Initial publish date
- Apr 2012
- Category
- Paranormal
-
eBook
- ISBN
- 9781937329426
- Publish Date
- Apr 2012
- List Price
- $3.10
Classroom Resources
Where to buy it
Description
Fifteen-year-old Daria Brennan doesn’t want to hear people’s thoughts. She doesn’t want to see ghosts—or talk to dead people. And she definitely doesn’t want to help solve a forty-year old murder.
But Amanda wants revenge, and Daria is the first human contact she’s had since the day she died. Now the killer is after Daria and her friends. Can they solve Amanda’s murder before becoming his next victims?
About the author
Contributor Notes
Award-winning author Bev Irwin lives in London, Ontario with three assorted cats and a collie-cross, named Tiff. Her three children have flown the coup. As a registered nurse, she likes to add a touch of medical to her romance and mystery novels. She also writes YA, children’s and poetry. She prefers spending time in her garden, writing and reading to being in the kitchen. For her romance novels, she writes under the pen name of Kendra James.Irwin's YA paranormal novel GHOSTLY JUSTICE will be released by Black Opal Books in 2012.
Excerpt: Ghostly Justice (by (author) Bev Irwin)
I had just discovered I could talk to dead people, now it looked as if I was going to join them...
I stepped closer to the road. My nervousness intensified with each step. This is nuts. You just have to get on the bus and you’ll be fine. Despite my rationalizing, I had a ridiculous urge to turn and run. But where would I go?
The bus was screeching to a stop. I stepped closer to the road. The group moved with me. I felt the press of bodies, felt the rush of hot breath on my neck, felt knees and hips knocking into me, all in the rush to get ahead. I wanted to stop and scream. We’re just getting on a bus not the last train.
I inched forward. The eerie feeling became overpowering. I could feel my heart racing. The smell of gasoline and sweating bodies surrounded me, suffocating me. Someone was right behind me, pressing into me.
As if played out in slow motion, slide by slide, I felt myself falling, down, down, toppling toward the black asphalt. I saw the canary yellow of the bus’s huge metal fender, the shining stainless steel grille, the two massive black tires, all making a beeline right for me.
My arms flew out spread-eagled in front of me. My legs crumbled. I gasped for air I couldn’t get. My heart raced like a runaway train. I hit hard, hard and fast, landing in a limp jumble of limbs. I heard the screech of tires, smelled the burning rubber, and inhaled the foul scent of exhaust. Dread covered me like a heavy carpet as I waited for the impact, the pain, the blood.
The bus’s shadow loomed over me, blocking out the light. I groped in the darkness, struggling to get away. My heart stopped, my breathing paused—everything on hold while I waited for the crushing impact of the bus.
