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

by Ann M. Noser

  Walker gives me an odd look. “How can you be cold? It’s blazing hot today.”

  I point at the swinging drapes. “Is that the master bedroom?”

  The instant Walker looks up, the curtains stand still.

  “Yes.” He glances back at me. “How did you know?”

  “Are you sure no one else is here?” The hairs stand up on the back of my neck.

  “Shouldn’t be.” Walker focuses on the set of keys as he strolls toward the front door, leaving me behind to stare at the bedroom window.

  My heart stutters as the shadow of a head passes behind the curtain then disappears.

  I rush after Walker, grabbing his arm as he reaches the front stoop. “Someone’s up there. I swear to God.”

  “No way.” He unlocks the door. “We’re alone. Trust me.”

  A black moth flutters out the open doorway. It lands on my shoulder, and I brush it away. Walker steps inside.

  The second I cross the threshold, a low voice growls in my ear, “Get out.”

  I grab Walker’s shirt. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hey, stop messing up my shirt.” He smoothes the creases as I release my grip. “What’s wrong with you?”

  My heart beats erratically. “That creepy man’s voice… Didn’t you hear it?”

  “No.” He starts up the stairs. “There’s nobody else here, Emma. Don’t act so paranoid.”

  Obediently, I follow him, listening intently to every sound. Once we enter the master suite, I drop my heavy purse on the floor. Still wary, I construct a Magic Ring of candles in the bathroom. I light each candle in succession. The little flames flicker timidly in the brightness pouring through the skylight above. The parchment paper crinkles in my sweaty hands.

  “I’m ready.” I take a deep breath.

  Officer Walker leans against the glossy black and white tiled wall of the bathroom. “Go ahead. I’m watching.”

  My body warms as I read the familiar words:

  “Reveal to me

  The treachery.

  Expose the crime

  From back in time.

  Bring forth, bring down

  Let truth be found.

  Draw back the veil

  That hides the tale.

  Make known the fear

  That once lived here.”

  We wait.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  Walker clears his throat. “Why isn’t anything happening?”

  “I don’t know.” I check that all the candles are still lit.

  “What did you do wrong?”

  I glare at him, then jump at a sudden sing-song voice from below.

  “Hellll-ooo! Is somebody up there?”

  “What the Hell?” Walker storms out of the master suite, leaving me alone.

  The second he disappears, the bathroom door slams shut behind him.

  The temperature inside the room plummets.

  I glance up and watch an oily black film ooze down to cover the skylight.

  The room darkens. It’s like I’m standing in a cave.

  Candles flicker and crackle to life as if startled awake.

  The shower behind me starts to drip. I spin around and squint through the wavy glass. My fingers stick to the frosty handle when I open the shower door. Thick, scarlet blood oozes down the walls and pools on the tiled shower floor.

  A ceramic cup spins counter-clockwise on the sink across the room. It twirls faster and faster, scratching on the enamel. The matching soap dish hovers in the air for a moment, then shoots straight toward my head.

  I duck just in time as the dish smashes into the wall over my head and fractures into pieces.

  A firm pressure chokes my throat, closing off my air supply. I claw at my neck but there’s nothing to grab, nothing to pull away.

  I try to scream for Walker, but my throat has snapped shut. I collapse onto the slippery tiles.

  Black mist surrounds me, pushing in from all sides.

  Gasping for air, I writhe upon the cold tile floor, choking on the smoky air.

  From the shower, a golden snake approaches, undulating across the tiles.

  The mist disperses with a flick of its tail.

  His unblinking black eyes stare into mine.

  The bathroom door swings back open, and Walker bursts into the room. “The stupid realtor is here-can you believe it?”

  The pressure on my throat ceases immediately. I heave, gulping big breaths, then start to choke and cough, my lungs and ribs spasming.

  “What are you doing on the floor?” Walker asks, gawking down at me.

  I struggle to get into a sitting position then collapse against the tile wall, panting as if I’ve been kicked in the stomach. The room is silent, except for my gasps for air. The cup freezes in place and the soap dish sits innocently next to it. The shower walls shine as if scrubbed clean. The skylight is clear again, letting in the summer sunshine.

  Even the snake has disappeared.

  Like magic.

  What the Hell just happened?

  “Emma, you’re shaking!” He grabs my arm to steady me. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

  I open my mouth to explain but a chilling voice interrupts.

  “Don’t say a word. I’m watching you,” a male, but not quite human, voice warns.

  “I’m just cold,” I lie. “Doesn’t it feel chilly in here to you?”

  “No, it feels fine. The rich like to over-air-condition everything. Listen, we better get out of here, or that realtor is going to have my ass on a china plate.”

  “Okay.” Trembling from head to foot, I stumble around the room extinguishing the filthy black smoke rising from the candles. “Where am I going to put these? They’re still hot.”

  Walker watches me work without comment.

  “Why aren’t you helping?” I ask, shivering uncontrollably. “You said we had to hurry.”

  “The smoke is following you.” His dark eyes scan the room. “Did you turn on a fan or something?”

  “No, but that’s a good idea.” I flip on the bathroom ventilation and the lingering smoke trails vanish. “What are you going to tell the realtor?”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet.” He hurries through Eva’s bedroom.

  I follow, warm candles soothing my cold hands. As we cross the bedroom, a large empty spot on the wall catches my eye. It doesn’t look right. Something’s out of place. Or perhaps missing is the better word.

  I stop and point. “What used to be there?”

  Walker pauses. “I don’t know. Why?”

  “Hold on. Give me a minute to focus.” I glance around the rest of the room, which seems normal. Then I turn back to the open wall. For a moment, a black shiny surface covers the space. Then it disappears again. “Eva died because somebody wanted whatever used to hang there.”

  Walker steps closer, staring at the empty spot on the wall. “I don’t remember any paintings or artwork listed as missing, but I’ll look into it.” He turns back to me. “Okay. Now we better go.”

  We descend the stairs as I hide the warm candles behind my back. An over-accessorized woman tenses as we approach. She forces a smile, showing far too many teeth.

  “May I speak with the two of you privately for a moment?” she asks, fake-sugar-sweet and grips both our arms to escort us out of her clients’ earshot. Her metal bracelets clank together as she hurries us into the next room.

  “What are you doing here?” she demands. “I’ll never be able to sell this house if you police-folk keep sniffing around. I thought you were done here. It’s been months already.”

  I look to Walker for help, but he avoids my gaze. I guess it’s up to me.

  I clear my throat and shake off the fact that I’m still freezing to death. “I have an idea.” Before the realtor can protest, I stride back toward the lofty foyer. With my costly bag and buttery-soft athletic attire, I know I can pull this off.

  “Isn’t it lovely here?” I grin with perfect teeth at th
e potential customers, thankful for my years of braces. “I always adored this house. Such a spacious kitchen.”

  They eye me suspiciously. Perhaps they’ve spotted the candles behind my back.

  “I’ll intrude no longer,” I continue airily. “Just wanted to check on my favorite cousin’s house. Be sure to take in the wonderful view from the breakfast nook.” I head for the front door, walking backward so they can’t see what’s hidden in my hands.

  Walker chuckles as we head for the car.

  “What’s so funny?” I dig in my purse for the keys.

  “Didn’t you notice the family photos? Eva Garcia was a Brazilian supermodel.”

  “So?”

  “You claimed she was your cousin, and as my momma would say ‘Honey, you’re as white as a ghost.’“

  I make a face. “Maybe I’m adopted.”

  “I would believe that. You don’t look much like your mom.” He smirks. “She’s hot. You look like your dad with a ponytail stuck on the back of your head like a hippie.”

  “Very funny. The only reason I’m not kicking you right now is because the realtor is still watching us through the window.”

  He turns to give her a half-wave. She doesn’t smile back, which makes him laugh even harder. “Just kidding, Emma. Sorry I made you drive all the way out here for nothing.”

  Why didn’t Walker see the bloody shower and the spinning cup? Now that we’re outside the spooky house maybe I can explain…

  “Hey, Walker—” I begin, and my internal organs turns to ice.

  An invisible hand crushes my throat as the inhuman voice warns: “Keep quiet or he’ll get hurt. You’ll watch it happen. And it will be all your fault.”

  Gulping air, I crumple against the door of the Lexus.

  “Emma, are you okay?” He whacks me a good one across my back.

  “Ouch!” I choke and cough on hands and knees. “Was that really necessary?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one acting bizarre.” Walker stands up. “What happened to you in there? You look awful.”

  “Nothing,” I say. I thought lying to Walker was over, but here I go again.

  “Are you sure?” he asks, leaning in like a protective mother hen.

  “Yes.” I wave him away. “Just give me some breathing room already.”

  “Fine.” He reaches out a hand. “Then give me the keys. I’m driving.”

  “Good idea.” I pass over the keys, which jangle together noisily in my trembling hand.

  “Seriously. What’s wrong with you?” He throws me a you’re-one-strange-chick look. “Did you choke on your gum or something?”

  “No.” I stand, bracing my hand on the Lexus. “I wasn’t chewing gum, but that doesn’t matter. I trip when there’s no bump in the sidewalk, too.” The automatic excuse flies out of my mouth.

  “Uh-huh.” Walker watches me a moment, apparently not convinced. “Let’s get you home.”

  “Yes. Please.” Take me home where I’ll be safe.

  Back in my apartment, I pace like a caged animal. I decide a jog might clear my head (that’s what Jake would do, anyway) and head outside. Naturally unathletic, I run in short spurts and pant-walk the rest of the way to the bridge over the Chippewa River. Gripping the railing, I peer down as if one of the dead souls I resurrected might climb up and explain why my magic didn’t work today.

  Every spell I performed last year worked perfectly. Well, maybe not perfectly, but close enough. In trying to bring Mike back from the dead, I brought four other spirits along with him. But my early spring thaw and the séance at Steve’s murder site had both been quite effective.

  Have I lost control of my powers?

  As the sun sinks toward the horizon, I trudge home. Back in the apartment, I strip off my running clothes, yank out my ponytail, and drop the elastic into my Grandma’s bowl on my dresser.

  “Oh, crap!” I hit my head with my hand. “No wonder the spell didn’t work. I forgot to bring Grandma’s bowl along. Man, I’m an idiot.”

  I jump into the shower, relieved to have figured out what went wrong. Toweling off after, I notice a strange smell, like a pan burning. Black smoke pours into the bathroom. An unseen force knocks me over, slamming my head onto the tiled floor.

  A golden snake with dark shining eyes slithers out of the shower to slide across my wet skin and enfold me in its embrace. My legs jerk uncontrollably, feet slipping and sliding on the tile floor.

  I whimper as the snake twists around my arm, scales cold as ice. His black eyes stare into mine, like the first time, but only for a moment before the scaled head dives down to impale my wrist with icy teeth. I try to scream, but the snake wraps tight around my neck, choking off my breath.

  I fight to breathe, coughing on the putrid air.

  The snake releases his hold, and I claw at the blackness. Desperate for water, I drag myself to the sink. An inhuman screech fills the room and bounces off the walls. A shrieking face with crooked front teeth appears in the steam-coated mirror, then morphs into the Smiley Face spray-painted at the site of Steve’s murder.

  I back away, choking on what feels like ash stuck in my throat.

  The bite wound burns. Above the pierced skin, a metal snake-shaped bracelet encircles my wrist. I shiver at the golden image of a snake consuming its own tail.

  What the Hell is this, a hallucination?

  The smoke and the bracelet vanish, but two bite marks remain on the tender flesh of my inner wrist. I raise a hand to my tender, already bruising throat.

  The truth becomes clear.

  This time around, I won’t just watch what happened.

  I’ll live it.

  stagger to the kitchen, brush off a dark moth resting on the phone, and dial Walker’s number. When he picks up, I don’t even bother saying hello. “I saw who killed Eva.”

  “Wha…?” His voice is muffled, like I interrupted him mid-sandwich.

  “I… had a vision,” I explain. What else would you call it? I swat at the same moth, now fluttering over my head. How did it get in here?

  “Okay.” He swallows and his voice clears. “I’ll be right there.”

  I glance around my apartment and tremble. “Please hurry.”

  “I’ll bring you to the station to sort through mug shots.”

  “Okay.” I nod, even though he can’t see me. Right now, I’d do just about anything to get out of my apartment. I don’t want to be alone. Shaking, I force myself back into the bathroom, slip on my glasses, and face the mirror. The attacker’s image and the Smiley Face have disappeared. A filmy shadow hovers near my reflection in the mirror, faint as cobwebs. I narrow my eyes to focus, and the ghostly image disappears.

  Only the bruises remain. Ugly maroon blossoms cover my shoulders, upper chest, and neck. I hurry into the bedroom, dig out a turtleneck from last winter, and flinch in pain while pulling it over my head.

  Time for a disguise.

  Once we reach the police station, it doesn’t take me long to identify the murderer. The slight parting of his slim lips reveals the tell-tale crooked teeth. His computer image swirls with smoke.

  “That’s him!” I exclaim, suppressing a cough.

  Walker leans over my shoulder. The smoke dissipates the second he glances at the screen.

  He lets out a low whistle. “That’s strange.”

  “What’s strange?” I hack and sputter all over the place. How unhygienic. How come only I can see and choke on the smoke?

  “He’s got the same snake tattoo as the gang I went to investigate. Looks like he likes to go by the name of ‘Shadow.’ What the heck’s he doing all the way up here?”

  “Well… I haven’t told you everything yet…” I pause, waiting for the creepy voice to interrupt with a warning, but it doesn’t. “I think this creep killed both Eva and Steve.”

  Walker’s eyes widen. “Too bad this guy’s blood wasn’t in the van. I’ll need evidence to prove their murders are connected.”

  “Trust me. They are. I saw
a Smiley Face in the vision—just like the one they painted on the tree after they threw Steve in the river.”

  Walker scratches his head. “Okay. I’ll keep pushing the gang theory for Steve. As far as Eva’s death is concerned, this rules out the ex-husband. He’s been the prime suspect until now.”

  I shake my head. “He didn’t have anything to do with it. It was this guy with the crooked teeth.”

  “Okay, I believe you, but I gotta find this guy before I can do anything about it. And that won’t be easy. He probably disappeared along with the others.” Walker scribbles on a scrap of paper and slips it into his pocket. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle it. Come on, I owe you dinner.”

  I stand up too quickly, then stifle a flinch of pain. “Let’s go. I’m hungry. You know how we college students love free food.” I smile, trying to keep the mood and my voice light. I have to keep Walker from asking too many questions.

  Walker frowns as we drive off in his truck. “I don’t understand why I couldn’t see the vision this time. It wasn’t that way with Steve.”

  I stare at him. Wait. Doesn’t he believe me? Maybe I should try again to tell him the whole truth.

  When I open my mouth to explain, something sticks tight in my throat, like a cork in a bottle. My mouth opens and shuts like a fish while I struggle to speak. Walker’s too deep in thought to notice. After a few more futile attempts, I slouch back in the car seat, defeated.

  At the restaurant, I can barely keep my eyes open. My words begin to slur.

  “I better get you home,” Walker says. “You look beat.”

  I nod and wince. I’m beat all right, in more ways than one.

  Walker drives in silence. As we approach my apartment, I hesitate. Will the horrors return, or am I safe now that the killer has been identified? The cops can take over now, right? I almost ask Walker to come inside, but chicken out. After all, I don’t want to give him the wrong idea.

  After a thorough search of my apartment, I dress for bed. I get under the covers, then fling them off. Crossing the room to my witchcraft supplies, I grab my Book of Shadows. Maybe this will protect me. I slip my book under my pillow, drop into bed, and close my eyes, resting a hand on the soft cover.

  After tossing and turning all night, I wake up exhausted. I swear every dead person I ever saw in the past visited my crazy dreams last night. Except for the five I raised. I’d love to see them again and maybe Elsie, the Laura Ingalls lookalike from my childhood. But I guess no one chooses their own dreams, which is a shame.