How to Ditch Dead Guys (The Witch's Handbook Book 2) Page 6

  n invisible force pins me down on the bed.

  I flail, kicking the sheets onto the floor.

  Get off me! I can’t breathe!

  The pressure on my neck eases. I clutch my burning throat. Why is this happening? Why’d I ever tell Walker I’d do this?

  I stumble to the bathroom and examine myself in the mirror. I look like a bruised banana. Raised red and purple splotches cover both cheekbones. Two fingernails have ripped off, their ragged edges catching in my hair and on my clothing. My puffy right eye droops half shut. I need something stronger than wimpy ibuprofen, but consulting a doctor in my current state would raise a lot of unwanted questions and send me straight to social services.

  This is getting way too dangerous.

  Mike was right. I should have listened to him and gotten rid of the Book of Shadows ages ago.

  The phone rings. I wince as I grab it with my injured hand, then limp to the nearest chair.

  “Emma, it’s Walker.” His voice calms me, even though he’s nowhere near. “Do you have any news?”

  The second I open my mouth to tell Walker the truth, a wave of nausea hits me. I cover my mouth and gag.

  “Did you have another vision last night?” he presses.

  “Give me a minute.” Now, I want to slap him. After all, it’s his fault I hurt so much, whether he knows it or not. Finally, I regain control. “Yes, I… saw what happened.”

  “Was it the same guy?” He sounds hopeful.

  I’m sweating profusely across my forehead and in the back of my knees. “No. Jennifer was cheating on her husband with the guy that killed her.”

  “What?” he spurts out.

  I detect a hint of doubt in his voice, which really pisses me off. “There was no forced entry.”

  “That’s right.” He sounds impressed. “How did you know that?”

  “He came in through the garage. I heard him.”

  “Okay…. But how did he get the key?”

  How dare he challenge me? I’ve gone through Hell to get him this information. “Maybe she gave it to him,” I growl. “I don’t know. You figure that part out. It’s your job.”

  “You’re telling me that some dude the victim was dating murdered her?”

  “Yes!” I croak, my throat scratched raw. “Why don’t you believe me?”

  “Calm down. What’s wrong with you this morning? I do believe you. I just expected a different answer.”

  I scowl, which hurts so I stop. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  Walker pauses. “What did he look like?”

  “I don’t know…” I search my fuzzy brain. “Dark hair… blue eyes… and I’ll bet he fake bakes.”

  Walker sighs. “Seriously, Emma? I’m supposed to investigate tanning salons?”

  Why can’t I remember more details? I should’ve checked out his car in the parking lot, for starters. “Maybe he went on a cruise or a trip or something. Nobody is naturally that tan in March in Wisconsin. Oh, and this guy had straight teeth.”

  “You sure have a thing about teeth.”

  “What can I say, Walker? I wore braces for years. I always notice people’s teeth. Oh, and one more thing-Jennifer jabbed him super hard in the eye with her keys.”

  “Interesting.”

  I hear tapping in the background. Isn’t he going to say something about the eye injury? “How about checking the hospital ER records for a guy with a bloody eye?”

  “I’ll look into it.” It sounds like a dismissal.

  Anger bubbles up like a volcano inside me. “What? No more questions? Isn’t that what I’m here for? To be your psychic guide?”

  Walker clears his throat before speaking. “I’m not sure what I did to piss you off.”

  “Then you’re not as smart as your mommy thinks you are,” I spit out.

  He exhales. “Nobody’s as smart as their mom thinks they are.”

  The line goes quiet for another long second. I hear the grumbling of spirit voices inside my head, but ignore them, focusing on Walker instead. I wish he’d figure it out. Because something or someone inside of me won’t let me tell him.

  And I’m afraid we’re both gonna get hurt. Or killed.

  He clears his throat. “Will you please come down to the station to look through mug shots?”

  “Uh… I can’t.” I shudder. I can’t go anywhere looking like this.

  “Why not? I promise free food if you come. And I do appreciate your help. You know that, right?”

  “I’ll have to take a rain check. I have the flu.” I hurry to the bathroom and flush the toilet as evidence.

  “Oh.” Walker sounds disgusted. “Do you think it’s the twenty-four hour kind?”

  “Um… probably more of the one-hundred-twenty-four hour kind.” I groan and run water in the sink.

  “Okay, then, call me when you’re feeling better… and use my cell number. I don’t want Mom to answer. She’s on my case enough as it is.”

  “Okay. Cell phone. Got it.” I glance at my beat up reflection. “And one more thing, Walker. I can’t work with you on these murder cases anymore.”

  “Why not? You’ve been a big help already.”

  I stare at my extensive bruises, up and down my arms and legs. What can I tell him? What am I “allowed” to tell him, I wonder. Gotta try something. “I’m getting too freaked out by all these visions.”

  “Okay, then, we’ll focus on reworking the spell for Steve. I think you’re right about that. I probably missed something important.”

  My stomach lurches. Oh, no. Not that. “I don’t know if I can even do that.”

  “Why not? You’ve already seen it once. You already know what’s going to happen.”

  “Well…” Seeing it I can handle. Living through that crow bar smashing down on my head is another thing altogether.

  “This was your idea, remember?” he reminds me.

  “Yeah, I know.” Damn it. What am I going to do?

  “We both owe it to Steve, don’t you think?” he wheedles.

  Crap. Now I feel guilty, on top of everything else. But then again, I’m Catholic. I pretty much feel guilty about everything, anyway. I try to drum up my courage. When I worked this spell for Steve last spring, no one entered my mind or attacked my body, so maybe I’ll be safe this time.

  “Okay. I’ll do it. But only under the moon.” I whisper, my fingers tenderly probing my black eyes.

  “Good! We’ll figure this out together.”

  I doubt it. So far Walker hasn’t figured out diddly-squat.

  voice calls out my name. “Emma? Are you in there?”

  “Walker? Is that you?” My words squeak like a mouse. I blink and glance around the room. Is it day or night?

  “Emma? Are you okay in there?” His muffled words float in from the hallway.

  “No. I’m not okay. I think I’ve gone insane.” Oh, wait. He can’t hear me.

  “Emma-let me in!” The door shakes with his pounding fists, or else he’s kicking it. I can’t tell.

  Shuddering with sudden chill, I shuffle to the apartment door and lean against it, panting in effort. Just walking the length of the apartment winds me.

  I whisper through the thick wooden door, “What do you want?”

  “So you are in there.”

  “Where do you think I’d go, feeling like this?” I blink hard, trying not to collapse to the floor. My legs are so weak.

  “To be honest, I wasn’t sure you were telling me the truth.”

  “Really?” Maybe he is finally catching on. I peer at him through the peephole.

  He taps on the doorframe. “I brought you some stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?” Presents always excite me, even if the rest of my life has turned to crap.

  “Uh… Mom said that if you had the flu, I should bring you some 7UP, applesauce, saltines, bread, and butter.”

  “That was nice of her.” And unexpected.

  “Then she asked if I’d gotten you pregnant.” Walker fidgets in
the hallway. He can’t stand still. He paces back and forth in the hallway, leans on the doorframe a moment, then back to pacing. I’ve never seen him this uncomfortable before.

  All because his mother thinks he got me pregnant. How far from the truth can she be? “You’ve got to be kidding me. She asked you that?”

  “More like an accusation. A series of accusations, actually, accompanied by a baseball bat.” Walker wipes a hand across his face.

  “A bat? Is she crazy? Maybe it runs in the family.” I’m starting to like Walker’s mother. She’s much better at torturing him than I am. I should ask for pointers.

  He shrugs. “Mom said I’d pay closer attention if she was holding a weapon.”

  I lean against the doorframe, my feet tingling like they fell asleep. “That’s probably true.”

  “So, can I come in?”

  I will my hand to reach for the doorknob, but it hangs limply down by my side.

  A cold voice inside my head warns, Don’t let him in.

  I glance back into the apartment, but no one is there watching. At least no one I can see. “No, I think I’m still contagious.” I fake a cough.

  “I doubt that. You’ve been sick for days. I called at least ten times, but you never answered.”

  “Really? I never even heard the phone.” I’ve been unconscious for days? This is worse than I thought.

  “That’s what got Mom suspicious. I kept checking my phone for messages.”

  I need to stall him while I figure out what to do. “How long is she staying?”

  Walker clears his throat. “She originally planned to leave two days ago, but now she’s staying a bit longer. My sisters are on summer vacation, anyway.”

  Through the peephole, I watch him shift from side to side. I wish he’d break down the door and get me out of here. But even then I wouldn’t be safe. I know that now. These voices will stay with me, wherever I go.

  They’re getting stronger.

  And I’m getting weaker.

  Walker clears his throat. “If there’s nothing more I can do, I’ll head out. Your ‘care package’ is right by the door.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” My already weakened shoulders slump further. “And thank your mother for me, too.”

  “I’ll be sure to.” His steps retreat down the hallway.

  Careful to remain hidden from view, I creep into the living room and peer out the window to watch him leave.

  A door slams downstairs, followed by a voice yelling, “Wait!”

  Phoebe rushes out of her apartment, grabs Walker’s arm in the parking lot, and points toward my window.

  I growl and back away.

  “Get away from me, witch.” The words fly out of my mouth, but the deep voice isn’t mine.

  I’m not in control anymore.

  Maybe I never was.

  I turn away from the window, then sneak into the hallway to nab Mother Walker’s presumed pregnancy supplies before Phoebe comes upstairs to force her inept Wicca spells on me.

  My phone rings. Who is it now? I explore the package and let the machine get it. After all, I haven’t eaten for days.

  “Emma, pick up. I know you’re there,” Walker speaks through my answering machine. “I just got done talking to you.”

  I snatch up the phone. “What do you want?”

  “Your weird neighbor, Phoebe, practically assaulted me. Why is she so suspicious of you?”

  My eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

  “She said you freaked out on her last week, and now you’re holed up in your apartment like a conspiracy theorist.”

  What do I say? “Did you tell her that I’m sick?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “But what?”

  “She claims she can hear you screaming.” I can sense Walker squirming through the phone. “She even considered calling the police.”

  Thank goodness she didn’t. Anyone but Walker would’ve slapped me into an insane asylum. “Are you sure she didn’t confuse retching for screaming?”

  He sighs. “They don’t sound anywhere near the same, Emma, and you know it. What’s going on? I’m starting to worry.”

  My mind races for something intelligent to say. The voices argue and grumble inside me. Somebody is crying. Someone else is praying, I think, but I can’t be sure. None of the voices make any sense. Nothing is clear. I can only make out half the words—unless they’re talking to me.

  Then it’s clear. And terrifying.

  “Are the visions giving you nightmares?” Walker’s voice is gentle, for a change. “Or have you always been this crazy?”

  I approach the window again, so I can see his face. “Yes.” The worst nightmares I’ve ever had.

  Walker stares back up at me. “Which one are you saying ‘yes’ to? The nightmares or the crazy?”

  “I don’t know.” I place a hand on the glass. “Maybe both.”

  He sighs. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I won’t ask you to do this any more… that is, after we resolve Steve’s case. I didn’t realize it affected you this much. Uh… does Phoebe know you’re a witch?”

  I flinch. “No, and I’d like to keep it that way. At least, I hope she doesn’t know. Why?”

  Walker covers his mouth over the phone, as if for privacy. “Well, when I told her I brought you a get-well-soon package, she said she’s gonna gather some candles and other crap to fix your current illness.”

  That’s all I need—more witchcraft. Wait a minute… maybe Phoebe’s right. Maybe I could reverse this…

  “Goodbye, Walker, and thanks for the warning.” I slam down the phone, filled with a sense of relief. Phoebe’s a genius! Why didn’t I think of a Healing Ceremony before? I’m such an idiot. All I have to do is work some spells to dispel bad spirits, and I’ll be safe again!

  Panting hard, I shove all the furniture in my living room against the walls to clear space for a Sacred Circle. I close every shade tight against the sunlight. I dump my purse on the floor and grab red, turquoise, and black candles. Placing them along the perimeter of my Sacred Circle, I alternate the colors. I knock over everything in my spice cabinet in pursuit of the salt and sage. Carefully, I pour a trail around the candles.

  I light each candle, repeating the words over and over:

  “Black candle of death, banish those who haunt me.

  Red candle of fire, protect me from your flame.

  Turquoise candle of healing, restore me to health.”

  I hunch cross-legged in the middle of the ring. For a moment, the air feels peaceful—until the smoke twirling off a red candle floats straight toward me. I cough as more trails of thin, gray smoke dance around me, clouding my view. The cup squeaks in the bathroom, spinning faster and faster. There’s an ominous thick drip from the shower.

  A hissing noise spits from under the couch. Two oval yellow eyes glow there in the shadows. I tremble as a huge golden snake approaches, the great length of its body waving in serpentine fashion. It pauses at the edge of my Sacred Circle, its long pink tongue flickering in and out.

  My heart hammers in my ears as black smoke pours from the bathroom into the living room. Choking on the smell and my fear, I jump to my feet and flee the Circle, lunge for the front door, and ram right into someone standing in the hallway.

  “Help me, please!”

  re you insane?” Walker storms through the apartment, blowing out all the candles. “You’re gonna burn down the whole building!”

  “No… I…” I tremble outside the Circle, trying my best not to hyperventilate.

  “And your shower’s running full blast!” He ducks into the bathroom and turns it off. “Ever heard of water conservation?”

  I hesitate before following him into the smokeless bathroom. No dripping blood. No spinning objects. Everything has returned to normal. We both look into the mirror at the same time. The formidable dark circles beneath my eyes hide the residual bruises.

  “What’s going on?” Walker gestures at the living room. “It looks like
you’re performing an Exorcism out there.”

  My eyes widen.

  Exorcism-that’s an even better idea.

  Walker grabs my arm and yanks me toward the door. “You’re coming with me. I know how secretive you are, and this is getting way too weird, even for you. What you need is fresh air and real food.”

  “That sounds good.” I let him lead me to his truck. “What made you come back?”

  “Your voice didn’t sound right. Of course, I drove all the way home before I decided to come back, and freaked out my mom all over again.” Walker moans. “She’s never going to leave now.”

  I sink into the passenger seat, safe for the moment. At least I hope so.

  “Where do you want to eat?” he asks.

  “Anywhere your momma isn’t. I don’t think she should see me like this.”

  “Agreed.” Walker pulls out of the parking lot. “You do look awful.”

  “Yes. Thanks for that.” I stare out the window as tidy houses flash past. All those people living their quiet lives, never wondering if something in the night will creep up and kill them. Why can’t I be like them? I have to fix this mess I made. But how?

  I turn to face Walker. “After we eat, I’d like to look at those mug shots again.”

  He pauses. “Are you sure? We could do it tomorrow.”

  “No. I want to get this guy.” One way or another.

  Two hours, two burgers with fries, and several cups of coffee later (for Walker, not me-gross, I hate coffee), I give up.

  I slap my hands on the table. “The murderer’s not in here, and no matter how many times you slip a different picture of this guy in the mix, I’m still gonna say no.”

  Walker chuckles. “You caught that, hey?”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes. I’m not stupid. Who is he, anyway?”

  “Jennifer’s husband, and the prime suspect… until you came along.” Walker taps his foot.

  “I told you already—she was cheating on her husband with the guy who killed her. Try to believe me, okay, Walker?”

  “I know that, but like you said, there was no forced entry, and only her husband had the key.” Walker closes his laptop and gathers his things. “Unless she left it unlocked.”

  “But she didn’t.” I shake my head. “Somebody else had a key.”