Tess Matheson was one of the few people on campus who didn’t think that the Jessop English Library was haunted.
This wasn’t because of a lack of belief in the paranormal. Tess, who’d grown up under the watchful presence of a host of ghosts that haunted her family’s central Pennsylvania farmhouse, considered herself to have a particularly keen sixth sense. The Jessop Library never gave her any hair-raising or spine-tingling sensations beyond the regular chills from the abnormally forceful air conditioner.
I am NOT a superhero.
This was the only thought I could muster when a cupcake with fangs launched itself at my head.
“Evie, duck!” The voice rang out through the sugar-laced air. “And whatever you do, don’t stop filming!”
“I’m on it, boss!” I yelped. I bobbed out of the cupcake’s path and flung myself behind a counter, my tailbone colliding with the floor of previously pristine bakery Cake My Day. That floor had been a spotless expanse of ivory up ’til about fifteen minutes ago, when a posse of demons leapt through their portal of choice, assumed pastry form, and started acting like a bunch of assholes.