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

by Ann M. Noser

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  © 2016 Ann M. Noser

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  Cover Art by Eugene Teplitsky

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  ISBN 978-1-62007-169-4 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-1-62007-177-9 (paperback)

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  About the Author

  More Books from Curiosity Quills Press

  Full Table of Contents

  This book is dedicated to Colleen (Schofield) Chmelik, who harassed me so much I had to write this sequel just to shut her up.

  Thanks, buddy.

  Emma Roberts, 20, overeager college student and amateur witch

  Objective: I’ve used witchcraft to raise the dead. I want to use it to solve Steve’s murder, too.

  Education:

  Biology Major/Math Minor

  3.87 GPA at University of Wisconsin Eau Claire (72 credits completed)

  Self-tutored, slightly over-confident Wiccan

  Work Experience:

  Campus Math Tutor

  Conflict Resolution Manager (unpaid position) for five people I personally resurrected from the dead:

  Sam Metzger, 23, UW-Eau Claire pre-med student

  cause of death: suicidal drowning

  survived by: diabetic mother

  Jake Cunningham, 22, UW-LaCrosse frat boy

  cause of death: accidental drowning secondary to traumatic head injury

  survived by: parents and dialysis-dependent sister (Jake signed on to give her a kidney in life, but ended up giving both in death)

  Mike Carlson, 21, UW-Eau Claire sophomore

  cause of death: accidental drowning while inebriated

  survived by: an angry mother and bitter brother (who blame me for his death)

  Bernard Mundahl, 68, retired hospital manager

  cause of death: drowning secondary to heart attack

  survived by: Claire, the sweetest wife in the world and my good friend (who knows and keeps all of my secrets, even if she doesn’t approve)

  Steven Lawrence, 22, UW-Eau Claire history major

  cause of death: drowning, foul play suspected, under police investigation

  survived by: parents; his girlfriend, Abby; and infant son, Stevie (Abby is such a good friend. I hate that, under Steve’s direct orders, I’ve lied to her at least a million times)

  ’ve never met anyone quite like you,” Officer Walker mutters at my side, his facial expression hidden in the dark. “Disaster really does follow in your wake.”

  I view my parking job. The front half of the Lexus is buried in shrubbery. Maybe jumping the curb and off-roading down to the river wasn’t such a good idea, but I had to get Mike back into the Chippewa River before he ran out of air. Now, I’m the one who can hardly breathe.

  I’m left alone. Again. With all my secrets and a Book of Shadows.

  I turn to Walker. “Yes, my life is a mess. Thanks very much for reminding me. However, I can admit that it took me three times to pass my driver’s license test.”

  He chuckles, easing around my car to examine the mess I’ve made. “Remind me to never give you the keys to my truck.”

  “Whatever. Are you going to help me get my car out of here, or not? Please don’t say we need to call a tow truck. I can’t handle a whole bunch of questions right now. I just need to be left alone.” I wring my hands. Thank God Walker is here—did I really just think that? Maybe I don’t want to be left alone right now.

  Walker snorts. “What’s all this ‘we’ business? Why don’t you just conjure up a witchy spell and fly it back to the parking lot?”

  “Very funny.” But not a bad idea.

  After a great deal of effort, grunting, and swearing on his part, Officer Walker eases my car back up the hill and into the parking lot with the help of his truck and some heavy-duty chains. There are some things in life that witchcraft can’t fix. Sometimes, witchcraft makes everything worse.

  I sigh in relief. “You’re a lifesaver. My dad would kill me if he knew about this.” As if I care about a car. Over the past year, I’ve first resurrected—then lost—almost every friend I had. Except Walker, I guess. But is he really my friend? My ears buzz, as if I’m floating outside my own head. I can’t believe I’m hanging out in an empty campus parking lot with a police officer in the middle of the night.

  “Yeah. I’m a real hero.” He hands me my keys. “Don’t panic or anything, but you won’t hear from me for a few days. Tomorrow I’m heading to Chicago to check out a hunch about Steve’s murder. I’ll call you when I get back.”

  “Okay.” I clench the keys until the sharp edges threaten to cut my fingers. I need to feel something, even if it’s pain. Otherwise, I’ll go numb like always, and be half awake, half alive.

  He grabs my shoulder, giving me a little shake. “You’re going to be fine, Emma. Don’t worry. You’re stronger than you think.”

  I straighten my back, faking confidence I don’t feel. “Of course. Get going already. What do I need you for?” Please don’t leave me alone. I don’t trust myself.

  “Okay, then. Now, go home and get some sleep. You can call me if you need anything.” He opens the door to his truck. “And pray for good news on my return.”

  “Good luck.” I wave as he exits the lot. Guess he’s not a mind reader. And I’m still no good at telling people when I need their help.

  His truck disappears around the corner. The temporary calm I felt in Walker’s presence deserts me. Although I spent a good portion of the last year running away from him, things have improved since he discovered my secrets-except for the fact that he eats all the food in my apartment every time he comes over. But Walker also has his good points-like showing up when I need him most.

  Like right now, after Mike sank into the river for the second time. From the deserted parking lot, I stare down at the flowing waters sparkling in the moonlight and wonder what happens next. I shiver then wrap my arms around myself.

  The first time Mike Carlson disappeared into the Chippewa River, I had been swimming beside him. He drowned under my watch on his twenty-first birthday. Although I was the only one who made it out alive, a part of me died that night and sank into the depths alongside him. Wishing I’d died instead, I resorted to witchcraft to resurrect him and inadvertently raised Sam, Jake, Bernard, and Steve as well.

  Would I really never see any of them again?

  An image of Steve’s beaten and broken body being dumped into the rolling waters floods my mind. Earlier this spring, I performed a séance at the site of his murder. It’s hard to believe only a month has gone by since then-so much has happened. Walker has to find the murderers. We need to finish the job Steve started. Otherwise nothing was worth it and nothing makes sense.

  Snippets of Steve’s murder scene flash through my mind as I get in the car, unsure I should even be driving. My hands shake the entire drive home. Once I get inside my apartment, I wander the quiet rooms. The place feels so empty without the souls I raised from the river. How can I live without them?

  Although the beauty of the Chippewa River drew me to study at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire, now we are enemies. I’ll never forgive the raging waters for
stealing away almost everyone I care about.

  My vacant apartment is too lonely to bear. I’m drawn to their room, longing for evidence that they once lived here. The book Bernard never finished rests on the bedside table, along with Steve’s work schedule, and a few of Mike’s candy bars. My legs tremble. There’s got to be more than this empty silence. It can’t end like this.

  I open their bedroom closet, my chest aching. Empty hangers crash to the floor as I grab their shirts, jeans, and socks, and shove them into cardboard boxes. Mike, Bernard, and Steve won’t need them anymore. I blink back tears and tape the seams shut. Then I back away and retreat to my room, head spinning.

  Jake’s Doors shirt sits folded in the center of my bed, but I didn’t put it there.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  The Book of Shadows is taunting me again. This time about the one I miss most—Jake. Everything about that annoying frat boy haunts me. His teasing laugh. His cocky smile. The truth about his dying sister, which he didn’t tell me until the last day we spent together.

  Let go! You’re not coming with me! Jake screamed while being dragged feet first across the snow-encrusted yard.

  I lost my grip on his jacket a moment before he disappeared from my life into a gaping whirlpool of ice.

  Gone forever.

  I press his favorite shirt to my face and inhale deeply. The lingering scent of Jake’s sporty aftershave hits me. For a moment, I can almost feel his kiss.

  But then the scent fades.

  I sink to my knees.

  Jake is gone. They are all gone.

  I fought so hard, but the river won after all.

  I only hope I get a fair chance to fight back.

  he next day, the apartment seems as barren as my empty heart. I drive over to Claire’s house for company. Since she also lost her husband, Bernard, twice to the waters, I’m sure she’ll know what to say to make me feel better. Or at least I’ll have company feeling worse.

  Claire answers the door, not one white hair of her chin-length bob out of place. “Emma, what a nice surprise. Abby’s still at work, but you’re welcome to come in. I’m warming up a bottle for the baby.”

  I step inside, glancing around. “Maybe it’s a good thing Abby’s not here yet. We need to talk. Mike’s gone.” My voice cracks on the last word.

  “What?” Claire’s eyes widen. “I thought he’d be here until the next full moon.”

  “Yeah. I did, too, because that’s when they separated from the host body.” I hide my shaking hands in my pockets. “But last night he couldn’t breathe. He begged me to take him back to the river. Then he left. For good.”

  “I’m so sorry, Emma.” She tries to pull me into a hug.

  I step back, blinking against the tears and mentally forcing my stomach to settle. “Please don’t. If I break down now, I won’t be able to hold myself together around Abby. There’s so much I’ve never told her.”

  Claire sighs. “I wish Steve would’ve told her the truth. I hate lying to her all the time.”

  “I know. And how are we going to explain Mike’s disappearance?” My shoulders slump. No matter how much I trust my friend Abby, Steve insisted on keeping his identity secret, even after his son was born.

  Claire tests the bottled milk on her wrist. “Even though I love the company, I think Steve’s master plan was a tad unfair. At least I got to spend a night with Bernard before the river took him away again.” She picks Abby’s infant son out of his bouncy seat, and cuddles him in her lap. “Did Mike ever talk to Kevin?”

  “No. He wanted to, at the end. But it was too late.” I cringe. I’d forgotten about Kevin. Now, Mike would never get a chance to fix things with his older brother.

  “That’s a shame.” Claire wipes a trail of milk off baby Stevie’s chin.

  I nod, trying to remain calm. I hate crying in front of people, and I’ve no intention of blubbering in Claire’s sparkling clean kitchen.

  Claire continues, “Steve fixed everything else. He got Bernard and me back together and gave me a second chance at raising a child. I owe him a lot for what he did for me for all of us. I want his murderer to pay for what happened.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say, possibly trying to assure myself. “Walker will find him. With my help.” I resist the urge to check my phone. Walker couldn’t have called yet.

  Claire raises an eyebrow. “What have you got up your sleeve now?”

  I avoid her gaze, glancing out the kitchen window at the flowers in the back yard. “Not sure yet. I guess I’ll find out.” Good question. What did Walker have planned for me?

  She exhales loudly. “I don’t like the sound of this. Steve warned me you have ‘an inadequate sense of self-preservation.’ Don’t do anything crazy.”

  Before I launch into more promises I can’t keep, a familiar car pulls into the driveway.

  “We can’t talk about this now, because Abby’s here.” I cross the kitchen to peer out the side door, relieved to have an excuse to change the subject.

  Abby exits the car and pulls a cell phone out of her pocket. She paces back and forth in the driveway, the phone pressed to her ear. Soon the back screen door opens and she enters.

  “Good.” Claire grabs the milk out of the fridge. “You’re just in time for dinner, and little Stevie’s done with his bottle, so you can actually eat a meal when it’s warm, for a change.”

  Abby scowls at me, gesturing with her phone. “Our jerk landlord won’t let me out of my contract. Now, I have to sublet. This sucks.”

  “Bummer.” I feel responsible since I encouraged her to take the apartment below mine last semester. “Do you want me to put up signs on campus?” That’s me. Always helpful, trying to fix everything, even though some things can’t be fixed.

  “Would you? That would be great.” She hurries to the sink to wash her hands. “Now I need a big hug from a little boy.”

  Claire hands over Stevie. “I haven’t burped him yet.”

  Abby positions him over her shoulder, gently patting his back. “I better sublet fast. I need the money.”

  A wave of guilt washes over me for lying to her about so many things. “I could post the notice on campus tomorrow if you write it up tonight.”

  Claire sets plates and silverware on the table. “Emma, I bet you can’t wait until the school year is over.”

  I shrug. “Yeah. Sort of, but I’m taking six credits this summer, too.”

  “You’re crazy.” Abby shakes her head. “Why don’t you get a part-time job instead and have fun this summer? Why be so hard core?”

  “No. I need to keep up with my studies. I can’t sit around doing nothing.” Or I’ll go crazy for sure. My foot taps the floor. I can’t look Abby in the eye because I’m afraid she’ll ask about Mike, and I’ve no idea how to explain his sudden disappearance.

  “Go ahead and slave away if you want to, but it’s a waste of good weather.” Abby shifts side to side, cradling her son in her arms. “Once you become a doctor or lawyer or whatever your big brain decides to do, you’ll wish you’d listened to me, because you’ll never get summer vacation again.”

  “You’re probably right.” I smile at my friend, wishing I could tell her the truth. But I promised Steve I wouldn’t. It takes a lot for me to break my promises, no matter how much they suffocate me.

  Bernie, Claire’s big orange cat named after her dead husband, struts into the kitchen. His purr fills the room. I give him three pats on the head, which is all he ever wants. Besides food. Lots and lots of food.

  “I can put my name and number on the ad,” I offer, figuring that doing favors makes up for the lies. “That way you won’t have to drive all the way over to show the place.”

  Abby grins. “That would be awesome! You’re the best. And, don’t worry, I’m sure whoever moves in there won’t be as much trouble for you as I was.”

  The next morning I head to the Student Center to post Abby’s sublet notice. Halfway across the bridge, I check my phone mes
sages. Nothing from Walker yet. It’s too soon, of course, but I want to hear about Chicago. I call his number and it goes straight to voice mail. I sigh and hang up.

  In the Student Center, the hallway in front of the want-ads board is crowded with students. I drop my backpack on the floor with a thud and dig for the flier Abby wrote up the night before. Five seconds after I post the advertisement, a young Asian woman with stylish choppy hair jabs a black fingernail at the price on the ad.

  “There’s a rent I can afford.” Bright green letters scream from her black T-shirt: Smile! You just met a pagan. “You’re looking to sublet?”

  “Yes. I mean my friend is.” I try not to stare at her shirt.

  She snaps her gum. “Is it far from campus?”

  “No. It’s only a ten minute walk.” I can’t help but gawk at the word “pagan.” Why does she have to be so obvious?

  “Which side of the river is it on?” She stuffs a handful of other phone number slips into her pocket.

  My vision clouds and I have to place a hand against the wall to keep me upright. Instead of the student center, I see Pagan Girl standing on the bridge, surrounded by flaming candles. After all, she looks a lot more like a witch than I do. I blink enough times to dispel the image, then glance down the hallway, heart racing and ready to run.

  “Oh, I see the address right here.” She points again. “It’s just off Water Street.”

  “Yup.” Why won’t she go away?

  “Okay. I’m interested.” She rips off a phone number slip. “Your friend’s name is Emma?”

  “No, that’s me.” Why did I offer to do this?

  “Well, Emma. Nice to meet ya.” She thrusts out her hand, her wrist tinkling with crystal jewelry. “My name’s Phoebe.”

  I shake her hand, again staring at the word “pagan” on her shirt. Why does this word make me so uncomfortable? I don’t have any right to disapprove. Phoebe obviously wants people to know she’s a witch. I don’t. And somehow it feels like her shirt exposes my secret.