I was cursed.

It wasn’t an exaggeration. It wasn’t even dramatics—though I was prone to those.

It was a fact.

And a sucky one at that.

After inheriting my grandmother’s home, I thought my luck had turned around. A fresh start in the one place I’d found solace from my cruel father.

But I was cursed, remember? So rather than a quiet life, I faced mysteries. Con artists. Disastrous dates. Stoned witches, magicks, and evil organizations out to do evil things.

And a house that was haunted.

Only my ghost wasn’t a creepy specter with rattling chains. Nor was it a murderous Victorian child. It wasn’t even a comedic ghoul trying to scare me out of the house with a possessed singalong.

That would be too easy.

My invisible squatter was snarky. Pop culture obsessed. Disconcertingly charming with a voice that was otherworldly hot.

And not actually a ghost.

He wasn’t completely human, either.

But that was okay. Apparently, neither was I…