How to Ditch Dead Guys (The Witch's Handbook Book 2) Read online

  “Thank you, Phoebe,” Mom dismisses her with a bright false smile, never releasing the vice-like grip on my shoulders.

  Mom waits until the three of us are alone in my apartment before she lets me have it. “Emma, you look terrible! Are you on drugs? You said you weren’t at Christmas, but what the Hell’s wrong with you?” She follows me into the kitchen. “We’re so worried. Your father even searched the Internet for clues to your weird behavior.”

  “I did not,” insists Dad.

  “Oh, you did, too,” Mom spits back. “I only helped a little.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m fine.” I limp over to the cupboard, swearing under my breath as I tip over an empty five-hundred-count bottle of ibuprofen. Now what am I going to do?

  “What have you been doing this summer? You never come home anymore.” Mom taps the kitchen counter with her perfectly manicured fingernails.

  “Actually, I’ve been volunteering with the police department,” I say.

  “Well, whatever you’re up to down there-it isn’t good for you.” She says “down there” as if I was doing something dirty. I chuckle at the irony. Too bad she’s not right. Whatever she’s imagining would probably be a lot more fun. And considerably less painful.

  “What are you trying to do… kill yourself?” Mom inches toward me as if trying to sniff out the answer.

  “Cheryl, aren’t you overreacting a little?” Dad wrings his hands.

  “Why are you running in a turtleneck in June?” Mom plucks at my collar. “You’re asking for heat stroke.”

  I recoil from her touch. “Running?”

  “That’s what Phoebe said you were doing.”

  “Oh.” Thanks, Phoebe. I owe you one.

  “Are you trying to lose weight by sweating more?” Finally, an excuse my mom can understand.

  “Yes, that’s it. Are we going out to eat? If so, I need to shower first.” I rush into the bathroom. Nothing seems to be spinning or dripping. No Smiley Face appears on the mirror.

  “I don’t think she needs to lose any more weight,” Dad says as I shut the door.

  I undress, wincing with each movement. Thank goodness no one can see all my bruises and injuries. Dad thinks I’m anorexic. Mom thinks I’m trying to kill myself. If they knew about my dreams and the voices in my head, they’d probably commit me for schizophrenia.

  We sit at an elegant dining table. Mom glares over her frosty drink. I cower behind a wine menu. Not that I’m planning to order anything-me, the only college student on the planet without a fake I.D. Plus, my parents only let me drink at home.

  “Is somebody out there?” Eva Garcia’s familiar voice interrupts the sultry jazz music and sizzling steak aroma of the restaurant.

  I slam back in my chair, scanning the burgundy interior of the restaurant for old lady zombies. So far, the place looks normal.

  It just doesn’t sound normal.

  “I can’t breathe!” Jennifer Pearson gasps, and I spin around to look for her.

  “Enjoy your meal.” The waitress presents our plates and leaves in a hurry.

  “Too bad you ordered shrimp.” Mom frowns. “You look pale. Maybe you need more red meat in your diet.”

  “She will be easy enough to break,” the Master mutters in my ear.

  My eyes widen as I attempt to focus on the food and ignore the inner voices. “So, Mom and Dad, how was your trip?”

  Mom clears her throat. “We’re not here to talk about our trip.”

  Thin trails of smoke from the tapered candles on our table encircle my head. I fake a cough. “I’m sorry. These candles are bothering me. Maybe I’m allergic.” I blow them out as the wine steward pauses at our table.

  Dad waves him away. “So, Emma, how’s summer school going?”

  I swallow another shrimp. “It doesn’t start until next week.”

  Mom stops dissecting her fish and glances at my father. “Classes started this week, Emma.”

  The shrimp turns into a heavy rock in my stomach. I missed school? I don’t even know what day it is? That’s insane!

  The restaurant begins to spin and tip.

  Dad’s eyes narrow. “Emma, you’d better tell us what’s going on, right now.”

  Mom points her knife in my direction. “Starting with: why haven’t you returned our phone calls?”

  “I think there’s something wrong with my machine,” I begin weakly.

  She raises a doubtful eyebrow. “What about your cell phone? I called that as well.”

  “That phone’s been acting up, too,” I mumble.

  The room still twists around me.

  Only I stand still.

  My parents whirl past like a carousel, with me as the center.

  Dad rubs his arm and breathes hard, sweat on his brow. “If you decided against taking summer classes, you should just say so.”

  “I am sort of tired,” I admit, trying to keep my voice calm and my hands steady.

  “Then come home and rest for a while!” Mom pleads.

  “I’ll consider it.” I envision Mom tying me to the sofa and forcing me watch shirtless Patrick Swayze movies until I make a full recovery. Hey, maybe that’s not such a bad idea. But I can’t leave town until after I get back to Father Joe.

  After an hour of chewing in chilly silence and forced conversation, the room finally sits still, so I can walk in a straight line out to the car. My parents drive me to the apartment. Thank goodness they always stay at the Marriott when they visit, or things might get tricky.

  When Mom hugs me good night, I almost cry out in pain, but manage to hold back. Dad hugs me, which isn’t typical for him.

  “I’m worried about you,” he whispers into my ear before standing back and tucking his large cross necklace under his shirt.

  “I’ll be fine,” I lie to my parents, and perhaps even myself.

  fter they drive away, I limp to my own car. Things can’t go on like this anymore. I need help. It’s time to tell Walker the truth. He’s the only one who knows enough to understand, and he doesn’t even know the half of it. I drive to his house at a senior’s pace in case the brakes die on me again. I park on the street because a fancy red sports car occupies the extra spot in front of his double garage.

  A low-rider rolls by as I exit my car. Its booming stereo vibrates in my gut. I glance over, and recognize the familiar green snake tattoo on a muscular arm hanging out the window on the passenger side.

  My own tattoo begins to throb under my turtleneck. My gaze drifts up from the tattooed arm to Shadow’s crooked tooth grin.

  He sneers, leaning out the window to point a finger at me, gun-style.

  “I’ll be back for you. Don’t bother trying to escape.” Shadow’s threat floats back to me on the wind as the King Cobras’ car disappears into a thick mist.

  My legs collapse. I lean against the Lexus to steady myself. Did I just imagine that? Real or hallucination―it’s getting hard to tell. I stumble up the driveway to the front steps. Every light in Walker’s house appears to be on. I ring the doorbell repeatedly until the door swings wide open.

  “Stop it already!” Walker opens the door and removes my hand from the ringer button. “What the heck do you want?”

  “I have to talk to you!” I blurt out. “And I don’t care if your mom is still here. This is important.”

  “Now isn’t a good time.” Walker tugs at his shirt collar. I’ve never seen him this dressed up before. A shirt he had to iron. Pants with creases. Shiny, black shoes instead of cowboy boots. What’s all this?

  I shake my head. “I don’t care. I need your help. Right now. Your mom will just have to deal.”

  “Mom went home. I told you this already.” His eyes bulge. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow? Please?”

  I glance at the extra car in the driveway. “Who’s here, then?”

  A Victoria’s Secret model saunters to the door, a drink poised in her elegant hand.

  Damn it! Walker’s on his hot date. He’s not going to help me now.
I back away from the door and flee to my car.

  “Who’s that?” Model Chick asks Walker.

  “Someone from work,” he tells her. “Give me a minute. Okay?”

  “Of course.” She sounds annoyed.

  Walker’s dress shoes clatter after me. “Emma, wait!”

  I struggle through tears to unlock the car.

  He places his palm on the door to stop me from opening it. “What’s going on? Why are you crying? I know you’re hiding something from me again, but I can’t figure out what. You’re going to have to tell me the truth. Right here. Right now.”

  I start coughing but force my voice through it. “I need your help. Why do you have to be on a date right now?”

  He sighs, but never looks away from my tear-streaked face. “I didn’t realize I had to check your schedule first.”

  “Is somebody out there?” Eva asks, a tremor in her voice.

  I slump against the car as a wave of nausea hits me. “I can hear them, Walker.” I try not to vomit as a force clamps down on my throat.

  His hand shoots out to steady me. “What do you mean? Who can you hear?”

  The world fades. Sparkling lights swarm in my peripheral vision. I turn to face Walker. He has to know the truth so he can help me. Sweat trickles down my cheeks and my stomach flips over. “I can see them, too. And I feel everything that happened.”

  His face is blank. “I don’t understand.”

  “They’re inside me, and they won’t leave.” Toppling forward, I grab the front of his dress shirt. “You’ve got to help me get rid of them. They’re after me.”

  “Who?” His eyes darken into something dangerous.

  “The King Cobras… they’re coming for me and my Book. They already got Eva Garcia’s obsidian mirror and whatever else they need to prepare their lair.”

  His mouth falls open. “What lair? Where?”

  “Excuse me.” Little (and I do mean little) Black Dress preens in the driveway. She crosses her perfectly toned arms and swings out her hip seductively. “Should I go now?”

  “Emma, Give me a minute. I’ll be right back. Don’t leave.” Walker disengages my hands from his now crinkled shirt and hurries over like an obedient dog to his date.

  I open the driver-side door and dig in the car for tissues. Instead, I find my Book of Shadows. Exhausted, I sit down and caress the soft, fabric-covered book with my hands.

  The Book rises into the air.

  Pages flip back and forth.

  My tattoo burns as the King Cobras chant in my head: “Use the book. Be the channel.”

  “That’s it!” I growl. They can’t have me and they can’t have my Book. I’ll destroy it before I let them have it, and I don’t need Walker for that.

  Let the Victoria’s Secret model have him.

  I rev the engine and peel away.

  Never thought I’d end up a book burner.

  I’m not even that religious.

  y tires squeal to a stop at the nearest gas station. I rush inside and grab three cans of lighter fluid, a large box of matches, and a thick pile of newspapers. The cashier’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t comment on my purchases. Through the darkness of night, I drive to Carson Park where Jennifer Pearson was attacked.

  I glance over at the Book of Shadows in the passenger seat, regret in my heart.

  “I’m going to miss you.” Great. Now I’m talking to a book. Just lock me away.

  A sob catches in my throat as I pull into the empty parking lot. I jump out of the car and haul everything over to a stone fire pit. Metal swings creak, rocking back and forth in the warm summer night breeze. I stare at them for a moment, wishing to be a child again.

  Then I crumple up the newspapers, throw them in a fire pit, and douse them with lighter fluid. I toss lit matches into the pile, watching the fire climb higher and higher, until it rages blue, white, and orange.

  Candles spill from my purse as I step back from the flames. I brace myself for what I must do here tonight. The King Cobras will leave me alone if I can’t do magic. I toss the candles into the flames. The wax melts and transforms.

  My hands pause on Grandmother’s bowl. No. I can’t destroy it. This bowl is the only thing I have left of her. I slip it back in my purse and gaze into the white heat of the fire. The flames leap and dance around the pile of colorful candles, melting together.

  For the last time, I hold the Book of Shadows.

  It trembles in my hands.

  Why do I feel guilty destroying this? In a moment of doubt, I flip the book open. The pages glow with light; symbols flicker and spin in circles.

  The Book is possessed, too.

  Contaminated.

  Just like me.

  I grit my teeth and pitch it into the hungry mouth of the fire.

  A tower of flame shoots into the sky, three stories high.

  Like a volcano, it builds and grows. The heat radiates onto my skin.

  With a powerful whistling noise, the fire collapses on itself, taking with it the glow of every streetlight in the parking lot.

  Total darkness envelopes the park.

  A twig snaps nearby.

  “Who’s there?” My throat scrapes out the words. I freeze in place.

  Someone else is in the park.

  I can hear their breath. Which means they’re close.

  Really close.

  Almost right next to me.

  “Hello?” a male voice calls out. “I can’t see. Is somebody there?”

  I know that voice! But it can’t be. “Mike? Is that you?”

  “Emma? Where are you? What’s going on?”

  Finally! Someone’s here to help me deal with the demons. Tears of relief fall, and I gulp in breath, my chest shuddering.

  I just have to find Mike in the darkness. Then everything will be all right.

  I light my last match with shaking hands. Its small flare illuminates only the fire pit in front of me.

  More twigs snap. I swing around and the match blows out.

  Behind me, the fire pit whines and crackles as the fire takes hold and grows.

  A thin, high pitch escalates into an inhuman scream. A cat is howling, or maybe a bird of prey.

  I spin back to watch the Book of Shadows writhe amongst the flames.

  Oh, no. Not that.

  What have I done? My heart slams in my throat.

  I need it. I need it. I must have it.

  My fingers itch to feel the soft, fabric cover of my Book.

  Drawn against my will, I reach into the smoldering fire pit.

  hurch bells ring. Is it Sunday already?

  Sand. Tiny pebbles on my jeans.

  The campus bridge towers overhead. I kneel in the cool shadows underneath.

  Ahead flows the river. Always the river.

  The gentle current. Soothing. Inviting me to come in.

  Glaring sun. Too bright.

  An orange sun streaks across the sky. Then nightfall.

  Moonlight dances upon the water. Someone swims the Chippewa River.

  He’s wearing a red shirt. I need to follow him. Protect him.

  Cool water climbs my ankles, my thighs, my chest.

  My hand catches on a lost sock. I struggle to remember.

  What is it? Have I been here before?

  The trees hide in shadows and whisper the answer.

  The river swallows me whole. I can’t breathe, but it doesn’t matter.

  Not anymore.

  I sink, uncaring. Giving up the fight. Giving in to the river.

  Light glitters in the distance.

  I hear voices. I flow toward the sound.

  The water lightens to turquoise.

  Fuzzy figures dance in the distance, underwater.

  I resurface, blinded by overhead lights and a bright yellow sign hanging on the far wall. Blurry blue letters proclaim, NOT Sweating to the Oldies.

  I rub my eyes. Something brushes across my left side. I spin around to find a vibrant senior citizen, pumping wat
er weights to the beat of Big Boss Man by Elvis. Beautiful old biddies wearing colorful flowered swimming caps swarm around me, like bees at the hive.

  Everywhere I turn I’m in somebody’s way. The ladies’ faces radiate joy, but they aren’t smiling at me. They’re focused on the workout. These exercise enthusiasts are at the very least pushing seventy, and yet they’re all in much better shape than I am.

  I escape into a corner of the pool, but the ladies dogpaddle after me, migrating to the sides for flutter kicks. Seeking refuge from their synchronized swimming, I flail back into the middle of the turquoise pool.

  Through my noisy thrashing, I hear laughter.

  “Good grief, Emma. Why are you always so awkward?”

  Wait-I recognize that voice! Turning to the instructor, I blink in amazement. For a second, I’m too stunned to speak. A giant smile breaks across my face.

  It’s Jake! My heart leaps. I missed him so much. What’s he doing here? Where am I? Is this real or a dream? A million questions race through my head as I splash toward him. One stunning senior citizen after another crashes into me.

  “Jake! What happened-“ I sink below the surface, my mouth filling with water. I come up sputtering, “Get me out of here!” Emma Roberts, graceful to the core.

  He yanks me out of the pool, suppressing a laugh. Water pours from my clothes, forming a small lake across the tiles.

  “Nice shirt.” He smirks.

  I glance down at the Doors shirt he left behind, layered over a turtleneck. “Oh, I…” I flush, raising my eyes to meet his.

  “It doesn’t matter. You’re here.” He pulls me close and kisses me hard, much to the delight of the old ladies, who clap and cheer their approval.

  After we break apart, I collapse exhausted into his arms. Jake hugs me tight. It feels so right. This is where I’m supposed to be. But where am I?

  After a pleasant moment, Jake tenses. “Wait a minute… Emma, why are you here? What happened to you?”

  My memories blur. “I don’t know. I mean… I’m not sure. The last thing I remember is Mike going back into the river and now I’m here,” I mumble into his chest, breathing in his familiar smell. I never want to let go. I’m safe here. Safe from what, I can’t remember.