Her Wonderful Wonder Belle (Ghostlight Falls #11)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Delia

“ W elcome to Ghostlight Falls, the home of friendly weirdos, reasonably priced roadside attractions, and the best minor league baseball team in the country. Enjoy your visit!” I tip my well-worn cap to the out-of-town visitors as they exit the stadium.

You can always tell they’re not from around here by the slightly confused look in their eyes.

Visiting a town full of cryptids, shifters, and other oddballs will do that.

I love living here for so many reasons, but the part about baseball is the biggest. The Wonder Balls are the greatest team in the world, and I get to be part of them—as a custodian, I mean.

They don’t let women play, obviously. Doesn’t matter what role I’m playing though.

I’d rather be cleaning after The Wonder Balls than working anywhere else.

Ghostlight Falls Stadium itself has been about the same since it was built almost a hundred years ago, other than technological upgrades and other necessary improvements.

The things that are my responsibility to clean—the dugout, locker room, bullpen—all that stuff’s stayed the same the whole ten years I’ve been working here and well before that.

The job itself is…well, if I didn’t love baseball so much, I’m not sure I’d still be working here. The work is gross, pay is terrible, my boss is super creepy, and a lot of the players are—

“Hey, Dee, you out there?” a man shouts in a half-laugh from inside the locker room.

“No, Brock. Now move your asses. I want to go home!” I yell through the doorway. Brock Ultraman, the star pitcher, is always messing with me. He has ever since we were kids.

“Hold your horses, Delia. We’re packing up. Go do something else. Text your boyfriend or whatever.”

Boyfriend —no, thank you. He knows I stopped trying to date guys way back when we were teens, but with Brock I can never be sure if it’s malice or the fact that he’s a fucking moron.

“Whatever, just hurry. I’m waiting on you so I can finish.” I pull my grimy, yellow mop bucket against the wall and I lean on the cool stone next to it.

“I like to think of you when I finish , Dee,” he taunts.

“Brock, you smell like a dirty, infected belly button piercing.” I rub my aching lower back. “And don’t make me tell the new guys about the time in college when you drank all that pre-workout and shit your pants.”

The guys bust out laughing at that. Got him, ha!

A minute goes by, and the laughs and jokes at Brock’s expense grow closer as the guys exit the locker room.

Just the last few stragglers after their practice tonight.

Brock leads the way, all blonde sunshine with a swagger that says, “ I’ll one day be the example of what not to do in a Human Resources training exercise.

” He rolls his eyes, flipping me off. A couple guys I don’t know that well yet leave next—new to town, they just came on this season—and finally Angelo, currently the only cool guy on the team.

Angelo smiles and pinches his nostrils as he walks out. “Wow, she’s right, Brock. You do stink. You should see someone about that.”

“I’ll see your mama on my dick,” Brock snaps back.

Everyone pauses.

Idiot. Angelo is a scary as fuck shifter who could toss his ass into the next century, easy.

More importantly though, Angelo’s mom is Rosa .

“ My mom?” Angelo asks, hand on his chest and an amused look on his face. His deep brown eyes flash red in the dim hall. “Should I call her and ask her about that? You know, your mom likes to stop by Rosa’s for caramels. Maybe my mom should ask your mom about it.”

Everyone likes the candy at Rosa’s. It’s the best there is anywhere, if you ask me.

Having a Candy Witch in Ghostlight Falls is amazing.

Pissing her off though? Terrible idea. I’m pretty sure that rule number one of living in a town with people who can put curses on you, is don’t do shit that makes them want to put curses on you .

“I was just kidding.” Brock raises his hands, palms forward, and shrugs. “Sorry, man. And, uh, you know I was kidding too, Delia. Right?”

Angelo grins, leans against the wall next to me, and swings his arm around my shoulder. He always smells nice—musky in that “alpha shifter” way—but nice. Being friends with Rosa’s kids is just about as sweet as her candy.

“It’s all good. Right, Dee?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I reply with a wink. I pull away from him and haul my mop bucket toward the now-empty locker room. “Now, get out of here. I need to clean up after your filthy asses so I can get home.”

“Have fun,” Angelo teases as he pulls off my cap to rub his knuckles quickly back and forth over the top of my head.

“Hey!” I smooth my hair back and fit my cap into place as they all walk out of the building.

I’ve had the same brown, chin-length hairstyle, with the same bleach-blonde chunks in the front, since I was fourteen.

The same year I got this Wonder Balls cap, two years before I started working here.

The stadium and I have that in common—we don’t change much.

I mean, a little change would be nice. Like, maybe a new girlfriend.

It’s hard to find another chick around here who’s as into baseball as I am though—and she does need to be into it.

I’ve tried dating people who didn’t like the sport.

It didn’t go well. They could only listen to me ramble on about stats and player trades so much before they got bored.

Ah, well. Someday. Right now, I need to be thinking less about pretty gals, and more cleaning out garbage pails. Time to get to work.

“Rogers!” a deep, gravely voice echoes from the far end of the hall. My boss . Garbage pails will have to wait a second.

“Yes, Mr. Brigley?” I shout as I drop my mop, jogging toward him. He doesn’t like slow movers.

His massive silhouette darkens the light of the arch at the end of the hallway tunnel.

Brigley has to be close to seven feet tall.

He’s pure muscle, but not in the bodybuilding way.

Those bodybuilders look tough, but it’s mostly for show.

They’re just the muscle head version of beauty pageant contestants.

Guys like Brigley—the ones that have massive barrel chests with hair that pokes out of the collars of their shirts, and hands the size of catcher’s mitts—those are the real strong men. You don’t wanna mess with them.

“You got overtime Wednesday,” he barks when I get close enough to make out his features.

Ashes from his cigar drop to the floor. This hall isn’t my area to clean, but it’s still annoying to watch. Janitor solidarity.

“Oh, I took that day off because my—”

“Did I ask you a question, Rogers?”

The shadows in the archway start to close in around me. The edges of them twist in unnatural ways that make my stomach twist just as much. I swallow the last of the saliva I have as I my mouth goes dry.

“No, Sir.”

“I didn’t think so.” His walrus-like mustache twitches as he gives me a long, silent look.

He drops his cigar and stamps it out. I force myself not to look away as he takes a piece of gum from his pocket, opens it, throws the wrapper on the floor, and puts the gum in his mouth.

“Be here at six.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The shadows retreat as he lumbers away to his office—far the fuck away from me, thank goodness. I shiver as the blood returns to my body and my system starts functioning properly again. Most days I don’t have to deal with Brigley, but when I do… ugh.

Anyway, back to work.

They left the locker room surprisingly tidy today. Not even a single jockstrap flung into the sink, and no one shaved their pubes on the floor. What a win.

I make progress fast tonight, shaking my behind while I scrub the showers to my choice of music.

I try not to let anyone see me dance. I have limbs like an antelope, the posture of a croissant, and a complete lack of rhythm.

My whole dance routine gives “ostrich mating ritual.” Might be another reason I’m single.

When I’m done in the locker room, I take the mop bucket back to the janitor’s area and dump it. That’s it for the night. I wash my hands and grab my backpack from the employee lockers .

Finally, I can go home, eat some food, power up the PC and play Ultra Baseball MVP VII.

My bad back might keep me from playing ball (when an accident gave me a spine that looks like a depressed shrimp it put a dent in things), but video games?

Hell yeah. Gamers and terrible postures are built for each other.

Hmm. The staying in the house and playing games all the time could also be part of the reason I’m single .

I’m most of the way out of the building, nearly free to hit pixel balls, when I stumble in the hall.

Pain races up my bones as I hit the floor, elbows first. Oof.

Eyes shut tight, I grimace until the initial shock of the fall passes.

When I open them, I spot a loose brick under me.

Why we still have brick floors in the hallway, no clue, but they’re annoying.

Pretty sure it’s just because they’re old like the rest of the building.

They’re a bitch to clean, and apparently a tripping hazard too.

I’m about to stand up when I notice something out of place—and shiny—underneath the brick. After moving it aside, I take my keys out of my bag and use one as a little shovel to dig the metal thing out.

It takes a bit, but soon enough I pull out a small box.

Once it’s free, I fit the brick back into place as best as I can, slip the box into my backpack, and head out the door. I have no clue what this is, but there’s no way I’m turning it in to my boss.