The Only Purple House in Town

by Ann Aguirre

Genres: Witches; Contemporary Fantasy; Paranormal; Romantic Fantasy

Synopsis

Iris Collins is the messy one in her family—the chaos bunny. Her sisters are all wildly successful while she can't balance her budget for a single month. It's no wonder she's in debt to her roommates. When she unexpectedly inherits a house from her great aunt, her plan to turn it into a B&B fails—as most of her plans do. She winds up renting rooms like a Victorian spinster, collecting other lost souls...and not all of them are human. Eli Reese grew up as the nerdy outcast in school, but he got rich designing apps. Now he's successful by any standards. But he's never had the same luck in finding a real community or people who understand him. Over the years, he's never forgotten his first crush, so when he spots her at a café, he takes it as a sign. Except then he gets sucked into the Iris-verse and somehow ends up renting one of her B&B rooms. As the days pass, Eli grows enchanted by the misfit boarders staying in the house…and even more so by Iris. Could Eli have finally found a person and a place to call home?

Release date: July 11, 2023

Publisher: Sourcebooks Casablanca

Print pages: 362

Sample

CHAPTER ONE

Whoever said it was always darkest before the dawn clearly had never lived like Iris Collins.

Sometimes she felt like a cave creature that never saw sunlight; it was dark at sunrise, sunset, and all the hours in between. She stared at her account balance on her phone with anxiety chewing away at her insides, a behavior she mirrored by gnawing on her cuticle until it bled. Her roommates would be home soon, and she didn’t look forward to that conversation. They’d covered her for the last two months, but she doubted they would be willing to triple down.

I can’t even leave until I pay them back, and I can’t find a new place either.

She had no clue how to earn her back rent or come up with what she needed for this month. Her sisters had money, but Rose would lecture if she bailed Iris out; Lily would refuse to help while talking about how Iris should live within her means; and Olive didn’t have reliable internet since she was currently doctoring without borders. Her three sisters were a how-to guide for success, while Iris was the cautionary tale. Her mother had made life hell the last time she lent financial assistance, so that was out of the question.

Should I sell my car?

In the movies, vampires were essentially immortal and had been accruing wealth for centuries. Unfortunately for Iris, she came from a different line entirely. Her type didn’t feed on blood but human emotions, and Iris had come up shy in that department as well. Unlike the rest of her family, she had no special abilities that sprang from her vampiric nature. At least, nothing had ever manifested. Olive could feed on her patients’ pain and improve their lives as she did so. Lily feasted on grief, and Rose thrived on anger, whereas Iris was basically human. Or so her mother had said more than once; her tone made it clear that wasn’t a compliment. But then, even among the paranormal community, psychic vampires weren’t well liked. They were known as “takers” for obvious reasons. Five years ago—when the witches made their big announcement—others had followed suit.

Now, Iris didn’t have to hide who she was, and there were dating apps devoted to various types of supernatural folk. Iris had been on Shifted for a while, but she kept meeting lone wolf types who just wanted to hit and quit. In this case, they happened to be able to turn into actual wolves. Then she tried Bindr, but witches could be touchy about lineage, apparently. The skeptics and conspiracy theorists amused her the most. There were forums devoted to debunking magic, calling it “the greatest hoax since the moon landing,” and sometimes Iris did a deep dive through the most ridiculous suggestions to distract herself from the reality of how screwed she was.

In fact, she was doing that now. She scrolled on her phone, snickering. “Sure, lizard people have replaced all our nation’s leaders—that’s real. And there are mole people living underneath Capitol Hill.”

Enough of that.

From there, she clicked through to a site offering various magical charms. I could really use one for prosperity, but they’re so expensive. And what if it doesn’t work? Shaking her head, she resisted the urge to max out her card with an impulse purchase. But damn, it was tough. She really wanted to find out if the magical lipstick was permanently kiss-proof. In the news, Congress was trying to pass a new law requiring all paranormal individuals to self-identify and register in some kind of national database. Yeah, that won’t end well. And some douchebag senator in Iowa wanted even sterner sanctions, special housing projects, and tracking devices. Someone else had proposed a tax on supernaturals. How does that even make sense? And good luck enforcing it. She shook her head and went back to window-shopping. So many cool magic items she’d love to get her hands on…

For Iris, life hadn’t changed that much. The paranormal communities were still close-knit, and most didn’t reveal themselves readily, even if a few people had identified themselves for clout and were giving interviews about what it was like growing up “other” among humans. Some were pursuing a fortune or building social media empires, capitalizing on the interest focused their way.

I can’t even do that. Too bad—it would help the shop.

Sighing, she trudged to her room, currently crammed with supplies for her jewelry-making business, but nobody was buying the finished products. She’d invested in the idea, but she hadn’t earned more than twenty bucks on her pieces. She supposed she could register as a driver, but she was scared of letting strangers get in her car. Iris lowered her head. It was ridiculous that she was afraid of…so many things. Pacing back to the dining room, she feverishly tried to think of a solution.

Do I have anything left to sell besides my car?

“You owe me six hundred bucks,” Frederic said.

Iris let out a cry, juggled her phone, and then dropped it. Screen down, because of course. That was how her luck ran. When she picked it up, there was a tiny nick on the corner, exactly what she didn’t need today. I didn’t even hear him come in.

Stifling a squeak, she spun to face Frederic.

She’d been dodging the others—Regina, Frederic, and Candace—for the last week, even though she had nowhere to go. The diner staff was sick of her ordering a cup of coffee and staying for hours, while the dollar cinema didn’t seem to care if she stayed all day. But now, it was too late.

Frederic tapped her shoulder briskly. “Did you hear me? Where’s my money?”

He owned the house and had rented three of the four bedrooms. It was a decent place, decorated in bachelor style, and everyone was nice enough. But like everywhere else Iris had lived, she didn’t quite fit. Frederic hadn’t even wanted to rent to her in the first place since she didn’t have a day job, but Iris had gone to high school with Regina, and she vouched for Iris. Now Regina was mad because Iris was making her look bad, and Candace was tired of the tension.

Everyone quietly wanted Iris gone, but she had to pay them first. She raised her gaze from the polished-oak dining table, trying to figure out what to say. Sorry, I’m broke was only three words, but she couldn’t make herself say them, mainly because she’d said them so often, and she’d burned through any good will the others felt for her.

But before Regina and Candace arrived to exacerbate the situation, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she said swiftly.

Iris raced past Frederic to the front door where a postman in a blue uniform asked her to sign for a certified letter. That’s never good news. I hope it’s not another bill that I let slide until it went to collections. The way her luck ran, it probably was, and the return address stamp on the envelope only reinforced that impression. Digby, Davis, and Moore sounded like a law firm.

I hope I’m not being sued.

She didn’t want to read it, but the alternative was facing Frederic, so she closed the door with a quiet snick, blocking the early-autumn breeze. Through the window, she watched the leaves skitter on the sidewalk, caught by that same wind. She tore open the packet and found a wealth of legal documents.

IN THE ESTATE OF GERTRUDE VAN DOREN, DECEASED…

Poor Aunt Gertie. I wish I’d gone to her funeral.

Iris skimmed the pages with growing disbelief. Her great-aunt Gertrude had left the bulk of her estate to Iris: a small amount of cash, her collection of ceramic angels, and a house in St. Claire, Illinois, including all contents within. Iris had no clue why Great-Aunt Gertie had done this, but the bequest burned like a spark of hope. Her great-aunt—her paternal grandfather’s sister—had been reckoned rather odd, something of a misanthrope just because she never married.

Maybe she thought I’m the weirdest, the most like her. Or the one who needs the most help? Either way, true enough.

Iris hadn’t seen Great-Aunt Gertie since the summer after graduation, when her parents had dragged her to St. Claire for a courtesy visit. Iris had sent yearly Christmas cards, however, mostly because she enjoyed the ritual of writing them out and mailing them, and occasionally, her great-aunt sent snail mail in return. Maybe that haphazard correspondence meant something to her? Whatever the reason, this inheritance couldn’t come at a better time.

Quickly she read the letter telling her how to proceed, and when she folded up the packet of papers, she had a response for Frederic at least, who was standing behind her with his arms folded. “Well?” he prompted.

Iris handed him the will. “It’ll take a little while, but I’ll pay you soon. You can start looking for someone to take over my room.”

“You’re moving out?” Though he tried to sound neutral, she read relief in the flicker of his eyes, in the faint upward tilt of his mouth.

Over the years, she’d gotten good at gauging people’s moods, actively looking for the disappointment and impatience her mother tried to mask, usually without success. Her face silently said, Why aren’t you more like your sisters? Why are you so exhausting? Why can’t you get yourself together?

“Not right away, but yeah.”

You’re running away again, her mother’s voice whispered.

Some people would see it that way, but Iris viewed it as a fresh start. While she didn’t have a plan per se—when did she ever?—she’d figure it out when she saw the house. At the least, it was a place she could live rent free. Her expenses would be lower, and she wouldn’t have witnesses when she failed. People in St. Claire didn’t really know her either, so maybe she could shake off her reputation as well.

“I can be patient,” Frederic said with a magnanimous air.

Now that he’s seen proof that I have money incoming.

When Iris had gotten word about Great-Aunt Gertie’s passing, she’d scraped up enough to send flowers, living on ramen that week. If I’d known she meant to leave me everything, I would’ve sold something for gas money to show my face at her service. That was a crappy feeling, one that she couldn’t shake even as Regina

 and Candace got home.

She heard Frederic in the kitchen, explaining the situation in a low voice. Then Regina headed into the living room, where Iris was curled up on the couch. “I’m so glad you figured out your next move,” she said in an overly cheerful tone.

Regina wasn’t really a friend, more of an acquaintance who’d vouched for Iris. She tried not to take the comment the wrong way. “Yeah, it’s a minor miracle.”

Candace came to the doorway, folding her arms. “You realize you’re praising her for having a dead relative.”

When you put it that way…

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be hurtful,” Regina said.

“When are you going to see about your inheritance?” Frederic asked.

Though he’d said he could be patient, he wanted his money. Iris headed for her room to pack a weekend bag. According to the navigation app on her phone, it was six hours in the car from here to St. Claire. If I go now, I could be there by midnight. She knew where Great-Aunt Gertrude used to keep the spare key too.

It was impulsive and absurd, the kind of behavior that made Iris an odd duck in a family of swans. Thankfully, none of her relatives knew about this yet, and her roommates didn’t care enough to stop her. Her mind made up, Iris crammed socks and underwear into her backpack, along with a few clean shirts, plus one pair of pants and something to sleep in. She dropped toiletries into her purse and snagged her keys.

“I’ll see you later,” she said. “I don’t know how long it will take to square things away, but I’ll be back to pay my back rent and to collect my stuff.”

“Drive safely,” Regina said, seeming relieved that she wouldn’t wind up pissing off everyone in the house.

Frederic waved and Candace watched from the doorway as Iris drove into the night, away from the house where she was a square peg in a round hole.

---

Eli Reese wasn’t the kid everyone made fun of anymore.

He owned a condo in Cleveland and a vacation cottage in Myrtle Beach, by virtue of two successful apps steadily feeding his bank account—one to gamify household management, including to-do lists and budgeting, and another social platform that focused on sharing recipes. The second had taken off in a modest way; users were collaborating on dishes, doing recipe challenges, and sending food pics to each other, and he’d just patched in an update supporting video clips. The revenue was decent on both, and he was already getting offers. A German tech company wanted Task Wizard, which let users create an avatar and level up based on the amount of real-world work accomplished, while a Chinese communications conglomerate had made an offer for What’s Cooking?

If he sold one, it would give him enough capital to fund his next project. He just hadn’t decided what that should be yet. Eli never imagined he’d be in a position where he didn’t need to work, but there was no urgency fueling his productivity

 anymore. It was strange being free to do what he wanted with his life; the problem being—he didn’t know what that was.

His favorite thing was flying; it was magical stepping out onto the balcony of his condo, leaving his clothes and cares behind. Transforming into a hawk and soaring over the city and then far beyond—over the whorls of trees and the scurries of small mammals in the underbrush, hidden colors in a spectrum his human eyes couldn’t glimpse. Red-tailed hawks were common enough that he didn’t attract unwanted attention from ornithologists, although he was larger than usual in his shifted form. Those nightly flights were the closest Eli came to pure freedom, but multiple people would disapprove of him withdrawing from personhood in favor of joining bird-dom.

Mostly Liz and Gamma, to be honest.

Music played in the truck, soft classical that didn’t distract him from his thoughts. Currently, his most pressing concern was his grandmother. He’d come to St. Claire to help her relocate, as she was selling her house in the Midwest and moving to New Mexico. Gamma had looked at Florida and Arizona as well, but she’d bought a condo in a retirement community in a suburb outside Albuquerque and was looking forward to all the activities and built-in social life.

Eli had offered to assist with cleaning her basement, attic, and garage, getting the stuff she didn’t want hauled away, and prepping the house to be put on the market, which involved painting and staging to make buyers picture themselves living there, undistracted by the current owner’s clutter. He could’ve contracted the work out—hired someone to do this. But Gamma hated strangers touching her belongings, and unlike the other grandkids, he didn’t have a day job or a limit to his vacation time. Plus, some of them agreed with Gamma’s ex-wife or had been conditioned to do so, so there was a certain distance between them. And Eli appreciated the chance to spend time with Gamma and help her out.

She wasn’t the kind of grandparent who said stuff like You’ll regret not visiting me when I’m gone, but since Gamma had held Eli’s hand as they buried his dad and then helped raise him, he understood that it was important to see people while he still could. Words like orphan were really Oliver Twist, but his mom had died when he was six, and his dad had passed away when he was thirteen.

Friends took turns inviting him for the holidays, which was awkward as hell. Usually, he said he had plans, and sometimes he did hang out with people, but even then, he felt…extraneous. In every space he occupied, while he might be welcome, he wasn’t necessary. Nobody needed him. If he made his excuses and stayed home, wallowing in solitude, no one followed up. He didn’t have the sort of friends who barged in with pizza and beer, determined to keep him company.

Hell, Eli didn’t even know if he wanted that anyway. He did know something was missing, though.

He focused on reaching his destination, turning down the narrow street. Gamma’s house sat on the right side of a cul-de-sac, a three-bedroom Cape Cod house with white siding where he’d spent his teen years. In this neighborhood, the houses were mostly homogenous, built around the same time with similar designs—Cape Cod, bungalow, and ranch. He pulled into the driveway, seeing the minute signs of neglect that had crept up.

The hedges had to be trimmed, and the yard was a bit tall and weedy, while the gutters needed to be cleaned, and he might need to get on the roof to have a closer look at that soggy patch. Those were issues prospective buyers would notice right away. As ever, the porch was welcoming with a profusion of potted plants and blooming flowers. Two Adirondack chairs painted forest green framed the front door with the single step leading inside. Gamma opened the screen door and popped her head out.

“Come in! I made your favorite.”

Eli smiled, wiping his feet on the mat. He took his shoes off on the uncarpeted tile just inside and padded across the improbably pink carpet, through the living room and into the kitchen. He breathed in deep, savoring the smell of barbecued chicken. There was also macaroni and cheese and garden salad with a bottle of ranch dressing on standby.

She put the platter of drumsticks on the table and hugged him, smelling faintly of Poison perfume. For as long as Eli could remember, she’d been using that brand. He’d been so proud of saving up to buy her some the year after he moved in.

“You didn’t have to go to any trouble,” he said, as his stomach growled.

Gamma waved dismissively. “It’s the least I can do. Besides, it was nothing. I used the air fryer for the drumsticks and finished them in the broiler with barbecue sauce. The macaroni and cheese is blue box, and the salad came from a bag.”

He grinned. “When you put it that way…”

“Let’s eat. After dinner, we can talk more about the projects you’ve volunteered for.”

“Why do I feel like you should’ve made me steak instead of chicken legs?”

She smirked right back. “It’s not my fault your taste buds are cheap.”

As Eli sat, he reflected that she was nothing like most other grandmothers. She didn’t own a set of pearls, preferring feather earrings, leopard print, and spandex. Honestly, he was a bit concerned about the havoc she’d wreak on the local populace when she moved.

“I won’t be a cliché, so I refuse to ask if you’re seeing anyone,” Gamma said.

“And I greatly appreciate your forbearance.”

“But at the same time, I worry. You were uprooted from your friends, and you never settled in here properly.”

“Oh no. You played the worry card. Seriously, I’m fine. I have friends. And you’ll be the first to know if I find someone special.”

“I’d better be!”

He pretended to be stern. “But I expect the same courtesy. You’re a catch, and you’re better at socializing. I’ll probably get a wedding invitation by Christmas.”

“That fast?” Gamma pretended to wipe sweat from her brow. “I can see I have my work cut out

for me, but I suspect I’m up to the challenge.”

By the time they finished, it was getting dark. He helped her rinse the plates, put the food away, and load the dishwasher. “Thanks for dinner,” he said.

“You don’t need to thank me.” Gamma donned a determined look. “It’s too late to start today, but you should see what we’re working with. I apologize in advance for the state of my hidden assets.”

Assets? I’m sure she means junk.

Nevertheless, he followed her into the basement, which was piled ridiculously high with unmarked boxes. He stared. “What’s in here anyway?”

“I have no idea,” she said airily. “To be honest, some of this stuff was your father’s, and I didn’t have the heart to go through it. I still don’t. The rest has been in here since I moved, and that was…” She paused, apparently trying to count back the years.

“1988?” he suggested, based on the amount of dust on the cartons.

“Could be.”

“Is the attic like this?”

Gamma bit her lip. “Possibly, it’s worse. I haven’t been up there in forever. Those drop-down stairs are terrifying. I’m not turning into a cautionary tale for Life Alert. I’m not old. I refuse to be old.”

“You’re immortal,” Eli said, wishing that were true.

He had a lump in his throat when he imagined going through his father’s belongings, but it had been twelve years. It’s beyond time. Maybe I’ll find something that makes me feel closer to him. But the melancholy truth was, he’d lived longer without his dad. And that gap would only grow because that was how time worked. To reward himself for facing down these bad memories, he’d go for a long flight later.

“Watch your step, okay? I’ll get you a flashlight.”

“There’s one on my phone.”

She cocked her head. “Have you ever watched a horror movie? You’ll drop your phone after being startled by a cat. Or maybe a raccoon. Anyway, I’ll be right back.”

When she returned, he said, “Tell me you’re kidding. There are raccoons?”

Gamma put the sturdy flashlight in his hands, patted them, and made no promises. “Be careful. I’ll send help if you’re not back in an hour.”

 

CHAPTER TWO

Iris pulled into the driveway beside the ramshackle Victorian house she was set to inherit, if the correspondence from Digby, Davis, and Moore could be believed.

It was past one in the morning, and her body ached from the long drive. She’d paused once to fuel up, stretch her legs, and use the restroom. It was impossible not to think about her sisters in this situation. Any of them would have energy to burn, siphoning from humans they encountered along the way. That aptitude had given them an unfair advantage in pursuing higher education too.

Shrugging, she grabbed her backpack, locked the doors of her crappy Sentra, and headed toward the rickety front porch. Even in the faint glow of the streetlights, she could see the ravages of time, peeling paint and weedy front lawn. The plants were all dead, dry leaves spilling listlessly over the stone lip of the pot. She levered the one on the left up and found a rusty key.

Yes. Still here.

Thankfully, nobody had meddled with the property or Iris would be sleeping in the car. There was no money for a motel, barely enough for her gas tank. With a little coaxing, she got the door open and stepped inside. The first breath smelled of…loneliness—liniment that carried faint eddies of camphor and menthol—dusty books and stale air.

She flipped the light switch, but there was no power. Looks like I’ll be charging my phone in the car. Better than nothing. Using the light on her phone, she crept through the dark house to the kitchen and tested the tap. At least the water is still on. She could take a quick cold shower in the morning and arrive at the law office looking presentable.

Bless Great-Aunt Gertie, she had a whole cupboard full of emergency candles, along with books of matches from the oddest of places. Iris examined them one at a time: Minden’s Wax Doll Workshop, The Murder Room, Noise Factory (a club in Germany), and a host of other places that made Iris believe that Gertie had led a fascinating life. ...