Dead Girls

by R. L. Weeks

  I wondered what would come next. I was the second of five witches needed to rise to defeat Lucifer, the vampires, sirens, and wendigos—the creatures of the night. The Supernatural Order was new to me, but it was home for now.

  We were leaving to go back to my new family, the Black Lily Coven. They had been wonderful as I’d grieved, as I still grieved now. They were a foundation under my unsteady feet.

  We reached the gates, and I looked back. So did Tommy. He was almost as heartbroken as I was.

  “Good-bye, Jackie.” I cried.

  A tear rolled down Tommy’s cheek. As it did, a ray of sunshine popped through the thick cloud above, covering us in a warm glow. I felt like it was Jackson’s way of saying she was still with us.

  “Until we meet again,” I whispered, then walked through the gates.

  The Supernatural Order Books

  Dead Girls is a stand-alone novel set in the world of the supernatural order. A coming-of-age paranormal story about two girls and their fights against some of the most powerful creatures in history.

  Other books written in the Supernatural Order World:

  Blood & Magic

  A boy she loved to hate, an unsuspecting romance, and a secret that would tear them apart.

  Kate Bathory has spent the last three months in a state of numbness following her father's death. Her nights are filled with endless nightmares of an abandoned house, a coven of dead witches, and a mysterious boy.

  It's the start of senior year and Kate is forced to deal with reality. She can't ignore her friends forever, but with problems at home and an unyielding magic inside of her, Kate is drawn to the one person she never liked--Nicholas Nightshade--the school's bad boy that everyone loves to hate--who has plenty of secrets of his own.

  There's a Supernatural World and Kate's a part of it. With her trauma bringing out the dark and light magic inside of her, she is forced to choose between two covens. One, practicing white and the other black magic, but nothing in their new-found world is ever straightforward. Kate is enlightened with an impossible truth--She and Nicholas didn't come together by accident and their being together will cause untold destruction.

  With an endless list of loved ones, the only way Kate can protect everyone she loves is to embrace the darkness that will swallow her whole.

  With students dying in freak accidents and two covens playing a tug of war with Nicholas and Kate's souls, nothing in her life will be the same again.

  ... After all, all magic must be paid in blood.

  By R. L. Weeks

  Chapter One

  Blood & Magic Excerpt

  My dreams were like an ocean of layers. They got darker the farther down I went.

  I landed in an empty room, inside the house that had haunted my nightmares for months. Melted black candles sat in the middle of what would have been the kitchen in its prime. A burnt, herbal smell hung in the air, accompanied by mildew and dampness.

  The house was broken, just like the souls hovering inside. My dad had told me stories from when he was young — hauntings in his childhood home. He could always sense them; I had inherited his gift.

  My voice carried through the house. “Is anyone here?”

  I was met with an eerie silence. The walls creaked as I walked from room to room. Flakes of blue paint covered the ground, and the gray light from the sky peeked through the windows, illuminating the blood on the walls.

  A boy stood at the top of the stairs, staring down at me through the darkness. I couldn’t see his face; it was hidden by the shadows. “Don’t come closer,” he ordered. His voice echoed around us.

  A cold breeze slithered down my spine, making me shudder. Curiosity got the better of me. I walked forward to get a better look at his face. He had been in almost every dream I’d had over the summer. As I neared him—before I could see his face—he slipped away.

  When I found the front door, I stepped out into the frostbitten air. Winter had come with a fury, bringing an ice that covered the dead leaves like frosted body bags. Littered in front of the abandoned property were unmarked graves. Something terrible had happened there. I felt it in my bones. Strong energy surrounded the entire area.

  When I turned around, the door behind me slammed shut. I jumped back, snapping a twig under my shoe. Peering through the cracked window was a woman. Her eyes were darker than coal, and her skin sagged below her eyes as if they had lost all contact with the muscle underneath.

  She was watching me with such intensity, it made me shudder. She slid her long fingernail down the glass, bringing with it a spine-tingling screech, like someone dragging a fork across a plate. The front door creaked open again. I braced myself when I realized I was walking back inside. I couldn’t stop myself from moving anywhere but forward. My heart hammered in my chest, and blood pounded in my ears.

  The seasons changed outside. People came and went, quickly, as if someone were turning back the clocks of time. I looked up. A white chandelier materialized above, and the blue walls restored themselves. There were no signs of age or decay. The property looked Victorian but pristine; perfectly preserved, frozen in time.

  I looked at where the woman from the window would have been standing. There was no one there, but I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being watched.

  Darkness covered the top few steps of the staircase. I gazed into the blackness, and in my peripheral vision, I saw figures standing close to my side. The figures watched me intensely. Their throats were slit open, smeared with old blood. When I turned to look at them, they fizzled away into nothing.

  A creak sounded at the top of the staircase, and footsteps pattered above. My intuition begged me to run. I turned and ran, kicked the front door open, and fell out onto the ground.

  It was summer now. The meadow ahead sparkled with dewy wildflowers, peppering into the woods, which somehow flourished beneath a canopy of trees. Behind me, I heard chanting. It was coming from inside the house.

  I could swear I had been there before, in my waking life. A crow landed in front of me and squawked, forcing me out of the dream and back into my body.

  I woke up. I couldn’t move at first. Sleep paralysis had taken me once again. I focused on moving a finger or toe, something which would wake my body. I tried to scream, but everything moved in slow motion, including my voice. My body was too heavy for my soul.

  Finally, relief. I moved my foot, and as quick as the paralysis had come, it went away. I opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling. To double-check I was awake, I pinched my arm and hissed.

  I attempted to catch my breath. I wiped the sweat off my forehead and sat up. “Another nightmare.”

  I eyed the pills on my computer desk that I’d only used a few times. No medication worked on me. My trusty laptop leaned up against my bed, covered with stickers that peeled at the edges. I wiped yesterday’s lipstick off my lips with my sleeve and peered at the book lying on my nightstand.

  I had been up late reading again. My books were the only relief I got from the nightly attacks on my mind. The only time I had left the house during the summer was to visit the old bookstore in town. Last week, they had an author signing there. Not many people showed up. It seemed not many people in town appreciated the fine art of literature.

  “Katherine?” my mother shouted up the stairs. Only she called me by my full name. Everyone else called me Kate.

  I rubbed my eyes and groggily climbed out of bed. The tiredness was overwhelming. The dreams, I was sure, prevented me from ever going into a deep sleep. I wanted to get back into bed and catch an extra ten minutes, but it was my senior year, so I couldn’t be late. I pulled my knotted curls into a bun and trudged downstairs.

  Mom was standing in the kitchen, tapping her fingernails on the counter. “Are you excited for your first day back at school?”

  “I can hardly contain myself.”

  She wagged her finger at me. “Attitude.”

  I grabbed the carafe from the coffee machine and breathed in the rich, nutt
y smell. I poured some into my favorite mug. It was white with ‘I love coffee’ written all around it in a pretty, calligraphic font. I had loads of them. They were my family’s go-to presents for me. I looked up and caught Mom’s gaze. She searched mine. “Sorry. I had a bad night’s sleep.” I explained.

  “Again?” She sighed. “You need to go back to the doctor.”

  “I’ve tried everything!” I snapped, being my grumpier self that morning. I softened my tone when I saw the corner of her lip twitch. “I just mean they can’t do anything for bad dreams and sleepless nights. I’ve already tried so many pills.”

  She tutted. “It’s all those vampire and ghost shows you watch. I’m telling you. They rot your brain. I saw a documentary on it.”

  “Oh yes, Mother, they are the reason for all of this,” I replied in a deadpan tone. I grabbed the creamer and poured some into my mug. I needed caffeine today and lots of it. “I’m not looking forward to going back to school, even if it is senior year.”

  “Talk to me, sweetheart,” she begged.

  “I’m okay,” I said for the thousandth time that month. “Really. I just haven’t seen my friends in a while—if I have any friends to go back to that is.” I drank my coffee in four gulps and went back for a second one. It burned my throat, but I didn’t care.

  My mom’s eyes were creased at the corners. Deep lines formed on her forehead. Back in her day, she was a beauty. She’d had wild, long brown hair and soft skin without a blemish on it. I had gone through our family photo albums a ton. Now, Mom was aging more and more with each day. Her job as a journalist kept her stressed. Looming deadlines and endless cups of coffee filled her days. I got it from her, my coffee habit and my hair and blue eyes. I had my dad’s nose though, long and straight. It’s all I really had left of him since he died.

  Mom hadn’t coped well since the accident. I had just curled up to watched movies and read books all summer, but summer was over now, and I had to face reality. I worried everyone at school would treat me differently. After all, my dad’s death had made the news. He was mauled to death by a bear in the woods. They never caught it, but everyone was talking about what happened.

  That’s what you got when you lived in Crimson Leaf, a small town in Connecticut. No one had anything better to do than stand around and gossip all day. They loved drama. So did my mom, until she became the center of it.

  I drank my second cup and placed my mug in the sink. I kissed my mom on the cheek. “I’m going to shower.” I never knew what else to say to her. She searched my gaze for something. I knew she needed words of love, affirmation, but it was difficult for me to find the right thing to say. She’d gone through so much. Everyone felt bad for her; losing her husband in the prime of her life. “Have a good day at work.”

  Her expression softened, and I saw a rare smile. “I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart. If you need anything, you call me, okay?”

  I nodded and walked out of the kitchen. She called out behind me.

  “Don’t forget to eat something!”

  I applied my favorite shade of red from my Kissing lipstick collection and grabbed my purple satchel before heading out the door. I pulled my sleeves down over my hands and buried my chin and nose in my thin, orange scarf patterned with black and white triangular shapes. My mom’s sister, Tina, had gotten it for me last year for my birthday.

  On hearing familiar voices and giggling, I stopped walking. Jayde Meriwether was sitting on the wall at the corner, smoking a cigarette. She threw the rest of it on the ground and stood. Her long blonde hair whipped behind her as she walked three steps in front of her friends, like a pack leader.

  Holding my breath, I watched as they reached the end of the road and continued. Jayde hated me. I never knew why; she just found an annoyance for everything me since fourth grade.

  As I turned the corner, I spotted Jerimiah across the road. He went to my school. He was quiet and nerdy but handsome underneath his glasses and old-timey clothes. He looked at me, then diverted his gaze to his feet.

  He wore a cloak—an actual cloak in our century. He was crazy, but at least he was his own person. His enchanting hazel eyes were almost lost behind his thick, black, tangled eyebrows.

  When we were in tenth grade, he was popular, but after the incident, he had changed. Everyone thought he was unstable, to put it politely. There was no proof, but the accusations drove him into introversion. Rumors were nasty things, especially when they were about murder.

  Jerimiah looked down the road. I cocked my head to get a better look. Nicholas was walking his way. The school’s bad boy. He wore his signature leather jacket and dark pants, accompanied by a self-assured grin. His bone structure was perfectly symmetrical and made more prominent by his Roman nose. His teeth were pearly white and straight, which flashed when he smiled. He didn’t look like he belonged in our small town. His olive skin, dark hair, and deep-brown eyes made him look exotic. Spanish heritage, I guessed. You couldn’t help but stop and stare when you saw him. I had seen so many girls stop in their tracks at the sight of him. There was something about him – a charisma that pulled you in. I was only human. I may not have liked his personality, but there was no denying his magnetic pull.

  He walked with arrogant confidence. He didn’t care what anyone thought about him. He never had since moving to Crimson Leaf two years ago. Since his arrival, he had become the talk of the school. There was an air of mystery about him which couldn’t be cracked, but many girls tried regardless. Each one thought they could fix him. It was laughable.

  He would be their dream guy if it wasn’t for the darkness buried below, something powerful which dared not be messed with. He encouraged fights at school and got into plenty himself. He was dismissive of anyone not in his inner circle, and what was worse? Everything he did, he did for his own entertainment.

  He and Jerimiah had a short, hurried conversation. I continued walking, sneaking the occasional glance. He was a couple of inches taller than Jerimiah, who was around five foot eight. Nicholas pulled out his phone. It looked as if they were exchanging numbers. I’d have never guessed they were friends.

  Nicholas spotted me, flashed a grin, then turned and walked away. I could count the number of times we had conversed on one hand.

  Seeing them made me nervous. Not because of who they were, but because they were a reminder of school. Going back was a must, and I was dreading it. I buried my hand in my bag to make sure I had packed the latest Witches from Hunger book which had just come out. I’d preordered it so I had it as soon as it released. It would be my escape if things were too weird at school. I loved reading. Sometimes I got so wrapped up in the characters’ lives, I forgot to have a life of my own. It didn’t bother me; my life wasn’t exactly anything to look forward to coming back to. With the sleepless nights, the dread every time I stepped out of the door—although people would never guess it if they met me—and my dissociation with my dad’s death, I didn’t need any more reality.

  I needed a break from the grief self-help books my mom had given me after Dad’s death. I couldn’t feel anything after the accident, only this empty, numb feeling. At the funeral, I had to run into the restroom and splash water in my eyes just to make it look like I had been crying. People were staring and sharing hushed whispers. Mom was concerned about me. I felt it with each penetrating stare every morning and her push toward the doctor’s office every chance she got. I had become the center of her universe since Dad’s passing. Her entire focus was on me, which was unsettling. I was never good with displays of affection.

  I thought back to Dad. I hated knowing I couldn’t cry. I wanted to. I really did miss him, and he was nothing but a wonderful parent to me, but I just couldn’t feel anything no matter how much I tried to force myself to.

  Then there was school. I had friends, but I hadn’t spoken to them all summer and was anxious I wouldn’t have any to go back to. Vanessa was my best friend, but even she had given up messaging me after two months of radio silence. I mi
ssed her, her parents too. They were bohemian—at least I think that was the word—and the nicest people I’d ever met. Like her parents, Vanessa was a kind soul.

  Then there was Maria, who was a totally different person than either of us. She was uptight and intelligent but strict. She was the mother of the group, so to speak, and her parents always made sure she was studying and getting straight A’s. She craved to get into Yale, so I got it, but we worried she was giving up her best years to do so. Not that I could say much. I was giving up mine in a different way. I couldn’t remember the last time I let loose. I hadn’t gone to one party since before the start of summer.

  I reached the gates of Crimson Leaf High. It looked like any ordinary school, but it was far from it. The building was old, built in the nineteen twenties. Since attending, there had been four deaths and eight missing girls. You wouldn’t think it for a small town, but Crimson Leaf wasn’t any ordinary small town. It was built on something dark. I was sure of it. Nothing there was straightforward, and an air of mystery surrounded everything.

  “Kate,” a voice I’d recognize anywhere called from behind me.

  “Maria,” I said with a forced smile.

  She stood looking me up and down, hand on her hip. She flicked her jet-black curls over her shoulder. “Not one word all summer?”

  Here we go, I thought but didn’t speak. I gave her an apologetic look and prayed to a divine force to whisk me away. Instead, I was given Nicholas. God definitely wasn’t on my side.

  “Good to see you back.” He walked past us and winked at me.

  “Hi,” Maria said with a small wave, but he ignored her. Once he was out of earshot, she turned back toward me, looking flustered. “Since when were you and Nicholas friends?”

  “We’re not.”

  She huffed. “So you have nothing to say to me? Look, I get your dad died, but come on. Not. One. Word.”