How to Date Dead Guys (The Witch's Handbook Book 1)

by Ann M. Noser

  My fork clatters to the floor. This is news to me.

  “I see.” Claire nods. “That would be very noble of you.”

  Gretta fills Claire in on all the neighborhood gossip and ruminates on the daily gastrointestinal habits of her many cats. Some time later, when Gretta finally pauses for breath, Claire pushes back her chair. “Now, who wants pie?”

  Mike’s eyes widen. “What kind of pie?”

  Claire smirks. “Apple.”

  “That’s my favorite!”

  “I thought you might say that.” Claire clears the plates and heads into the kitchen.

  After Claire left the room, I kick Mike under the table.

  “Ouch!” He rubs his shin and scowls. “Who doesn’t love apple pie?”

  After our delicious dessert, we carry our full bellies back into the living room.

  Claire smiles at each of us in turn. “I really want to thank you all for fixing up the house. In one day you finished every job my husband never managed to complete.”

  It almost sounds like Claire is teasing Bernard. How odd.

  “I just wish there was more I could do to thank you,” Claire continues.

  “How about a ride in the Mustang?” Bernard’s question explodes out of Mike.

  “That’s a 1964 Rangoon Red Mustang convertible, young man. It’s still winter outside. That baby won’t come out until spring.” It sounds like Claire is reciting someone else’s words.

  “Maybe spring will come early this year,” Bernard offers, again through Mike.

  Claire laughs. “I wish for that every year, but that never happens this far north in Wisconsin.”

  Gretta giggles. “Why don’t you ask your fairy godmother?”

  o way! I’m not your fairy godmother!” I inform Bernard in the kitchen of our apartment. Maybe I shouldn’t do any more spells. That vision of the enormous dog kind of freaked me out. I certainly don’t want to resurrect it―and all those giant teeth―from the dead!

  “After bringing us all back to life, a little early thaw should be a piece of cake,” Bernard pleads, a carnation from his bouquet stuck in his lapel.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me! And what about Claire? Suddenly, all you care about is some stupid car?”

  “For your information, we’re talking about a 1964 Rangoon Red Mustang convertible. That’s not some stupid car, not to me. And I’m planning to take Claire along for the drive.”

  “But you can’t drive it,” I argue. “Mike will have to do it, so he can talk to her.”

  “You bring on the thaw,” Bernard begs. “I’ll figure out the details.”

  “I don’t know how to do that. Just who do you think I am, anyway?”

  “You’re a witch,” Steve interjects. “Actually, this will be good practice for you. You wouldn’t want to lose your touch.”

  “And what are your plans for me, Mr. Steve?” I stare him down. “You look like you’ve got something fishy up your sleeve. What do you have in mind?”

  He shrugs. “You’ll find out soon enough. Remember, patience is a virtue.”

  “Patience is a waste of time.” Bernard squeezes my hand. “And I don’t have time to waste.”

  His pleading blue eyes melt my reservations. He’s right. He doesn’t have much time here. And this would make him really happy.

  I sigh. “I can’t guarantee the results, but I’m willing to try if you promise to sing ‘Edelweiss’ ten times a cappella to me afterward.”

  Bernard grins. “You got it.”

  While the boys watch TV, I hunt through my Book of Shadows. Unfortunately, both Angie and her grandmother must have loved winter, because the only spell involving snow invites it to come, instead of asking it to leave. Then I scour the Internet and find next to nothing. I flip through some witchcraft books and work together all the little bits of information I can squeeze from my limited resources.

  After gathering supplies, I step outside on my tiny patio to stick delicate ice candles in the thick snow, forming an intertwined pentagram and Magic Circle.

  “I call upon the elements of air…”

  I set Bernard’s carnation in the middle of the Sacred Circle.

  “Earth…”

  With a fluid movement, I sprinkle small rocks around the flower.

  “Water…”

  Using Grandma’s bowl, I scoop up snow, then hold the bowl aloft in one hand.

  “And Fire… Watch over me!”

  With the other hand, I light the ice candles. One by one, they burst into flame.

  “Guard and guide me during these rites.

  Protect me during this night as I call upon the Moon.”

  Sensing movement behind me, I discover Bernard eavesdropping at the patio doors.

  “Now, I’m warning you…if anyone laughs while I read this, I’m going to slap you silly. I’m a witch, remember? Don’t mess with me while I’m working.”

  Bernard backs away, and none of my other roommates speak a word.

  The wind picks up speed as soon as I begin to speak, but the candlewicks burn even stronger.

  “Oh, Wind, about me churn,

  Take these fires and make them burn,

  Strengthen the Sun, fan its flame,

  Make the seasons start to change.

  Make the snow recede from view.

  The days of summer are too few.

  The winter cold waits far too long,

  Before the springtime sings its song.

  Oh, Moon, oh, Stars, upon me glow,

  Tell the winter to let go.”

  I carry the bowl of snow indoors and set it on the kitchen counter. The candles remain outside to burn down overnight. It’s already late, so I hope no one will notice.

  Steve gestures at Grandma’s bowl. “Why are you doing that?”

  “So it melts.”

  “But you don’t need witchcraft to make snow melt indoors,” he informs me.

  “I realize that, oh brilliant one, but the spells I researched told me to do it, so I’m doing it. I only wish there was a full moon tonight. I’d feel a lot more sure of myself. But that’s not for another couple of days, so I’m not sure this will work.”

  “I don’t doubt you,” Bernard says, “even if you doubt yourself.”

  “Sometimes I wish you were my grandpa,” I say. “I don’t have any grandparents. They all died before I was born.”

  Bernard nods. “If your spell works, I’ll adopt you.”

  “I hope it works, mainly so I can hear you sing. But you can adopt me, too, if you like. Right now I’m super tired. I better just go to bed.”

  “Good night, then.”

  I retreat to my room and crawl under the covers. Why am I so exhausted? Did that spell really take this much out of me?

  Halfway through the night, I start sweating. I get up to change into lighter pajamas, then fall back into bed. A little while later I kick off my comforter, moaning, “Why is it so bloody hot in here?”

  The next morning, Mike stares at me as I enter the kitchen.

  I ignore him and get my breakfast together. Spotting Bernard’s jagged script across my whiteboard, I read his quote:

  “The pain I feel now is the happiness I had before.

  That’s the deal.”

  ―C. S. Lewis

  Whoa. I’ve no idea what love is all about, but Bernard does.

  It isn’t until I sit down at the table that I spot something strange outside the window. I march over to get a better look. Pools of water gather in the road and along the sidewalk. The mighty snow mounds at the edge of the parking lot have shrunk to half the size they were last night.

  Students pass by wearing jean jackets. A few are in shorts.

  Holy crap! What have I done now?

  I drift back in a daze to Grandma’s bowl on the kitchen counter. The snow melted into water overnight, as expected. I dump it out in the sink and gently wipe it dry with a soft towel.

  A spring thaw shouldn’t be so easy. This is getting slightly out of
control. Maybe I should stop.

  Mike clears his throat. “I guess Bernard will get that Mustang ride after all.”

  “Then you’re not mad? ‘Cause that would be nice. I’m freaked out enough as it is.”

  A smile brightens his face. “At least I get to drive.”

  t only takes two days of warm weather―and ten rounds of Bernard singing “Edelweiss” a cappella―to clear the streets of ice and snow. The next sunny afternoon, he insists we “all” go for a ride. “All” meaning Claire, Mike, Steve, Bernard, and me.

  When we get there, Bernard slides open the garage door and stands back as if to savor the moment. Then he steps forward and peels the car cover off his Mustang. The way he caresses the metal curves with his hands and eyes makes me uncomfortable. I glance away and spot Claire smirking.

  I have to distract her so Mike can take over. “How come every guy acts like they’re at a strip show when a cool car comes around?”

  “Have you been to many strip joints, Emma?” Claire raises her eyebrows. “You don’t seem the type.”

  “Me? No! I just meant―”

  Bernard’s rolling laughter interrupts my sputtering.

  “Can I talk to you for a moment?” I grab his arm and yank him around the corner out of Claire’s view.

  “You promised you’d let Mike drive,” I remind him. “And if you don’t want her to find out, you can’t laugh or talk or do anything else that will make her recognize you.”

  Bernard sighs. “Fine!” He flickers, and Mike comes to the forefront.

  I immediately let go of his arm. “Okay. Now behave yourselves!”

  “Emma, don’t worry,” Mike says. “Just get in back and let Claire ride shotgun.”

  “Are you sure you can do this?” I whisper, not sure whether Claire can hear me or not.

  “Just be quiet and let me handle it.” Mike pushes me toward the Mustang and then opens the passenger door for Claire. He turns the key and the engine roars to life. Don Henley’s “Boys of Summer”, a song which always haunts me with its desperate longing, plays on the radio.

  I stare at Mike’s profile as he drives. Even from the backseat, I can tell Bernard is too antsy to endure this for long. He forces Mike to point toward a beautiful old house. When Claire turns her head to look, Bernard takes control and gives no sign he’s willing to give the body back.

  Claire smiles. “I’ve always loved that house. But, of course, you knew that already.”

  Already? I tense in the backseat.

  Bernard remains silent in the front. He has to.

  But Claire doesn’t. “Bernard. I know you’re in there somewhere and that I’m sitting next to a gathering of angels. You came back to answer my prayers. I want you to know I’m going to be all right now because of what you’ve done for me.”

  “Holy crap!” I yelp.

  Bernard’s jaw drops. “But how did you know?”

  “We were married for forty years. How stupid do you think I am?” Claire retorts. “Maple frosting long johns and a silverware divider? I mean, really, it was better than a written note. I knew it was you.”

  “I always said you were a smart woman.” Bernard grins and clasps her hand.

  Claire bursts out in laughter. “I can’t believe you’ve taken your hatred of my sister to the grave. Carnations? I mean really! Won’t you rack up bad karma or something, acting like that?”

  “It got her out of the house within twenty-four hours, so I’d say any bad karma it brings me is well worth it.”

  The two of them chatter away as we drive past houses and open fields. I begin to feel like an intruder and wonder if Mike and Steve think the same.

  My fingers tingle as the sun dips toward the horizon, which can only mean one thing. “Isn’t there supposed to be a full moon tonight?”

  All four tires squeal as Bernard makes a beeline for his home. He parks the car and stumbles into the house where he falls, panting, upon the kitchen floor. Bernard, Mike, and Steve cry out in pain as they rip apart and the extra body falls limply to the side.

  “Are you all right?” I ask.

  Steve gasps. “These separations hurt more each time they happen.”

  I pick up the limp, discarded body and turn to Claire. “I know it looks scary, but don’t worry. It will be fine.”

  She scoffs. “Scared? I saw much worse being a nurse for thirty years.”

  Guess I don’t want to be a nurse, then.

  Claire kneels in front of her husband. “Bernard, are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Bernard wheezes as she yanks him into her arms. “Oh, Claire. It feels so good to hold you―except now I really can’t breathe.”

  “Oh dear. I’m sorry.” She releases him, stands up, and brushes imaginary crumbs off her skirt. “So, are you boys hungry?”

  “Hungry?” Bernard asks. “At a time like this, that’s the first question you’re going to ask me?”

  Claire smirks. “Actually, I was talking to the other two boys.”

  “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starved,” says Mike.

  Claire reheats us a quick meal. Bernard fidgets while Claire asks the rest of us questions. As the plates clear, he grows even more restless.

  “Are you done yet? It looks like you’re done.” Bernard snatches up Mike’s half-empty plate.

  “I guess so,” Mike replies.

  Bernard raises his eyebrows. “Good. Then get out.”

  “You’re kicking us out?” I ask.

  “Yes, I am.” Bernard shoves the borrowed body in a brown grocery bag. “Go home. I’ll be back to the apartment before dawn.”

  I take the sack, and the door slams shut behind us.

  Steve gives me a knowing look. “Well, Emma, they are married and probably want some ‘alone time’.”

  “Thanks for the explanation, Steve. I’m not five, you know.”

  He smirks. “Any time.”

  We pile into the car and head home on a road that follows the river. A couple miles south of the apartment, Steve calls out from the backseat. “Hey, could you drop me off here?”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask. “Don’t forget what happened the last time there was a full moon.”

  “You know I have no choice.” Steve stares out the back window. “I have to do this. I have to find out what happened to me.”

  “Oh, fine!” I pull over to the side of the road. “Just be careful... and be back before dawn.”

  “I will. Thanks.” Steve leaves the car.

  I frown. “I don’t like it when he goes down to the river.”

  When Mike and I return to the apartment, it seems far too empty with just the two of us.

  I clear my throat. “So, Mike, what do you want to do tonight?”

  “We could just sit around and watch TV if you want. You look kind of tired.”

  The fact that Mike offers to hang out with me on one of his rare nights of freedom is not lost on me.

  He shrugs. “Unless you’ve got homework, of course.”

  “No, not tonight.” Actually, I do have some homework. I just don’t want to do it right now.

  “I’ll even let you have the remote.” Mike hands it over as we settle on the couch.

  “Thanks.” I set the remote between us on the couch unused. “Listen, Mike, I know you probably don’t want to talk about this, but have you thought any more about speaking to Kevin?”

  He groans. “Please don’t start up with me, Emma. Let’s just watch TV, okay?”

  “I can’t understand―”

  “No, you can’t. You can’t understand how it feels to know that you’ve ruined the lives of all the people you loved most. First Dad died, and then Mom went through so much with her cancer, and then I had to go and drown like an idiot.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself!”

  “Why not? This crazy situation is all my fault. It’s not your fault, like Kevin says. It’s not Kevin’s fault, like Steve likes to say when you’re not around. I
t’s all mine. I’m the one who drank too much. I’m the one who decided to go swimming. I’m the one who drowned. And, because of me, you turned all witchy, and that can’t be good, either, no matter how cool you may think it is.”

  “I don’t think I’m cool!”

  “But you’re not worried about the consequences, are you? I mean, it can’t be this easy. There’s got to be a price for all this power. Do you ever think about that? What if you’re not able to pay that price?”

  “I’m sorry you feel this way.” I cross my arms. “But it’s not like I’ve done that many spells.”

  “You’ve done at least two,” he argues.

  “Three―I mean four. But the fourth spell was only a little one.”

  He frowns. “You’re not going to quit, are you? Steve may not agree with me, but I think you should stop before you get hurt.”

  My face flushes. “And I think you should talk to your brother.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but I just can’t. I’m not like Steve or Bernard. I can’t help my family. So, please, don’t ask me to. What could I possibly say to Kevin that would make things better for him? I can’t take back what I’ve done. I can’t change the past. Do you really think that if I showed up and told him it was all my fault, that he’d feel better somehow? No, he would just think he was hallucinating or something. It’s pointless. There’s nothing I can do. He needs to move on.”

  Mike grabs the remote and flips on the TV. “And so do I.”

  I sigh. “Okay. I won’t bother you about it again.”

  “You promise?”

  “No. I’m not so sure I’m real good at keeping my promises anymore.”

  Mike flips channels.

  “Oh, look! Gilmore Girls,” I squeak, then pause, feeling guilty. “Listen, Mike, I really like this show, but I know it’s kind of a girly.”

  “That’s all right. I don’t mind.”

  “Okay… Just tell me if you get bored.”

  Mike doesn’t stay awake long enough to get bored.

  Neither do I.

  A painful crick in my neck rouses me up from a deep sleep. The Gilmore Girls rerun is long over, but the full moon still hangs low in the sky. I’ve fallen asleep with my head on Mike’s shoulder, which surprises me. I ease myself off the couch and head for the kitchen. Passing the counter, I pick up my cell phone and see I have eleven messages. Whoops! I must have accidentally muted my phone. Who would’ve called me so many times?