It’s the most anticipated reality television event of the season: three spiritualists gathered together in one house to raise the ghost of Marilyn Monroe. For celebrity medium Jaime Vegas, it is her best shot at the celebrity holy grail: a TV show of her own. Because, unlike her colleagues who are more show than substance, Jaime is the real thing. Yet, reluctant to upstage her fellow spiritualists, Jaime suppresses her talents, as she has always done. But something is lurking in the gardens behind the house: trapped spirits without a voice. And for the first time, Jaime understands what it means to be haunted. When events culminate in a psychic showdown, she must use her darkest power to defeat a shocking enemy—one whose force comes from the last realm she expected….

One drawback to being onstage for most of your life is that eventually you forget how to act when you’re off it. Not that it matters. In such a life, you’re never really offstage. Even walking from your bedroom to the kitchen you can’t lower your guard…at least not if you’re on the set of one of the most anticipated TV specials of the season—one costarring you.

The buzz of a saw drowned out the clicking of my heels on the hardwood. I caught a whiff of sawdust and oil, and shuddered to imagine what alterations the crew was making to the house. From what I’d heard, the homeowners weren’t likely to complain—they desperately needed the money. The “official” rumor was a failed film project, but the one I’d heard involved an unplanned baby project with the nanny. Tabloid stories to be suppressed, a young woman to be paid off, a wife to placate—it could all get very expensive.

As I passed a young man measuring the hall, I nodded and his jaw dropped.

“M—Ms. Vegas? Jaime Vegas?”

I swung around and fixed him with a megawatt smile that I didn’t need to fake. Shallow of me, I know, but there’s no ego boost like the slack-jawed gape of a man half your age.

“Geez, it is you.” He hurried over to shake my hand. “Could I—? I know it’s unprofessional to ask, but is there any chance of getting an autograph?”

“Of course. I’m heading to a meeting right now, but you can grab an autograph from me anytime. Or if you prefer a photo…”

“A photo would be great.”

My smile brightened. “A photo it is, then.”

“Thanks. Grandpa will love it. He’s such a fan of yours. All his buddies in the nursing home think you’re hot.”

Just what I needed on the first day of a big job—the reminder that in Hollywood time, I was already a decade past my best-before date.