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

by Ann M. Noser

  My hands tremble. Steve and I finally agree on something.

  That tattooed guy wasn’t looking for a story.

  He was looking for me.

  told you the Cobras were after you,” Steve warns. “And now they know you’re here. Send Abby and the baby away. Do it now.”

  “Hello, Laura.” Claire swings the door wide open. “Come on in. We’re having pancakes.”

  I tense as Laura enters the kitchen. She has my Book. I can feel it. And despite Steve’s protests, right now it’s the most important thing in the world.

  Just wait, I tell him. I need my Book of Shadows to fight the Cobras.

  “Hello, Laura,” Mom says. “And who’s your friend?”

  My heart flutters as I meet Jake’s meaningful gaze.

  “This is… Mike,” Laura squeaks an introduction, a fabric tote held tight against her hip. A brown sweater drapes her shoulders even though it’s the middle of summer.

  Jake frowns at his sister. Why on earth would she choose that name?

  I stare at Laura’s oversized sweater. She catches my eye and tightens her grip on the tote bag.

  Why is Laura wearing a sweater? I ask internally. What does she have to hide… besides my Book?

  “You should know,” Steve responds. “You’re the one wearing all the turtlenecks lately.”

  I know. That’s exactly what I mean.

  Mom grins. “Laura, you never mentioned you had such a handsome boyfriend.”

  I groan. I’m going to be sick.

  “Oh, no. We’re just… friends.” Laura swallows the last word.

  “I’m Cheryl.” Mom extends her hand to Jake. “Now that I think of it, you look familiar. Have we met before?”

  “Uh, I don’t think so.” Jake can’t help but glance my way. I cringe, remembering the pictures Mom unknowingly took of him last year at her pre-Christmas costume party. Someone needs to change the subject fast.

  “Anyone hungry?” Claire hefts plates of pancake perfection.

  “I am.” Jake grabs one and sits at the kitchen table.

  “Emma, let me take Stevie,” Abby says. “I have to nurse him before I go to work. That way you can eat your pancakes before they grow cold.”

  “Thanks.” I choose a plate and dig in, keeping an eagle eye on Laura who sits across from me. I can almost reach her tote bag under the table.

  “Here you go.” Claire holds a generous serving in front of my mom.

  Mom waves her hand. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry. I need to get to the hospital soon.” She sounds tired even though she just woke up.

  “Nonsense.” Claire shoves the warm dish in her hands. “You need your strength.”

  After everyone’s belly is filled, we meander into the living room as Claire tidies the kitchen. Abby and Mom flank me on the nearest couch, pinning me in. Jake and Laura sit close together on the far loveseat, their heads bent together in whispers.

  Mom gestures at them and coos. “Aren’t they cute together?”

  “Sure, Mom.” If you enjoy incest.

  “Why can’t you get a boyfriend like that?” Mom asks.

  I sigh. You’ve got to be kidding me.

  Steve laughs with utter abandon. Thank goodness only I can hear him.

  “I’d better freshen up before we leave for the hospital.” Mom heads for the bathroom as Bernie strolls into the room, tail erect.

  As soon as Mom exits, I jump up. Bernie hisses at my sudden movement.

  Jake also stands, meeting me halfway across the room. “Emma, we have to talk. This is important.

  I rip my eyes away from his earnest gaze. “Just a minute, Jake. I need to ask your sister a question first.” My eyes narrow. “Laura, where’s my Book of Shadows?”

  She shrinks into the seat, pulling her sweater tight. “I don’t know.”

  “Give it to me,” I order, holding out my empty hand.

  Laura’s grip tightens on the fabric tote bunched in her lap. “I don’t have it.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I growl. “And what are you hiding under that sweater?”

  “I’m cold,” she says through clenched teeth.

  “It’s 78 degrees out.” I step closer. “You’re lying.”

  “Prove it!” she snaps.

  “I’d be glad to.” I grab her sweater and yank it down, exposing her left upper arm for a mere second before she covers it back up again.

  “You have a snake tattoo, too?” Jake yelps.

  “Wait a minute,” Claire begins. “That’s the same tattoo as the guy who came to the door earlier…”

  I pull down the shoulder of my own shirt for comparison. “And it’s the same tattoo that I have on my arm. Claire, you’d better not answer that door anymore-unless you’ve got a loaded gun with you. And that might not even help. Maybe all of you should relocate for a while.”

  “I could stay with my sister, or my neighbor, Gertie, down the street,” Claire turns to Abby. “We need to get your baby out of here.”

  Abby’s grip tightens on little Stevie, causing him to squirm.

  “I know how I got my tattoo.” I tower over Laura’s cowering form. “What I’d like to know is how you got yours.”

  Jake grabs my arm. “Hey, what’s going on here?”

  “This is between me and your sister.” I slap his hand away. “It doesn’t involve you.”

  “Anything that involves either of you involves me, too.”

  “Then tell her to give me back my Book,” I demand. “And make her explain the tattoo.”

  Bernie hisses and spits, his eyes dilated and wild.

  “Fine.” Jake turns to his sister. “Laura, do you have it?”

  She hangs her head. “No. I don’t.”

  “Well, there you go.” Jake turns to me. “She doesn’t have it. Stop acting hostile. You’re pissing off the cat.”

  “That cat has issues.” I point my finger at Laura. “And I know that you’re lying.” I try to use mind-control on her, but my heart’s racing and my hands tremble so much I can’t focus.

  Laura bolts up. “Let’s go, Jake. We’re not wanted here.”

  He throws up his hands. “What the Hell’s going on? Sit down and let’s talk things through.”

  “I’m not staying here.” Laura brushes past him and bolts for the door.

  Jake lingers. “Emma, why are you acting like this?”

  Ignoring him, I stalk after his sister. At the doorstep, I focus on my target. Laura trips and falls down the three steps leading to the driveway. Her fabric tote soars over the pavement. My Book of Shadows flies out in an arc, landing on the driveway with a heavy thud.

  My head fills with memories. The first time I saw my Book was on Angie’s shelf at her home, surrounded by colored candles and pictures of her grandmother. After a nightmare-soaked sleep, I spotted my Book, deserted and dusty, tucked in the far corner under my bed. Lit candles trailed along the bridge over the Chippewa River as I cast my spell into the night, calling the water to crash down upon me.

  Back in the present, I dash out to grab my Book of Shadows off the driveway and hug it close. The tightness in my chest recedes.

  I can finally breathe.

  The Book of Shadows is, and will always be, mine.

  hat’s this?” Father Joe sets down a briefcase in the driveway and offers Laura a hand. “Are you all right? You took quite a fall.”

  Her face blanches. “I’m fine.” As soon as she’s back on her feet, she ducks out of his grip and flees for her car. “Jake, let’s go.”

  Jake pauses a moment in the driveway before he follows in his sister’s footsteps with a bewildered expression. A stab of pain jolts my heart until the Book of Shadows begins to hum in my arms, warm under my cold fingers. My shoulders tense and relax. I break my gaze away from Jake as he backs out of the drive.

  “They’re leaving already?” Mom asks, appearing in the doorway. “That’s too bad. Oh, Father Joe, how good of you to visit. Come inside.”

  Father Joe t
rails her into the kitchen. I squeeze into the corner farthest away from the stove, the Book vibrating in my hands as I hide it behind my back.

  “Now we’re back in action,” Steve says.

  “Are you hungry, Father Joe?” Claire gestures toward the stack of remaining pancakes.

  Bernie scampers up to the priest, purring loudly.

  “I’m sorry to say I’ve already eaten.” He bends down to pet the cat. “I just came to check on the Roberts family.”

  “That’s kind of you,” Mom says, ducking into the living room. “Could I speak with you for a moment in private?”

  “Of course.” The priest follows, taking the briefcase and the cat with him. He throws me a knowing look as he slides shut the pocket doors.

  Fifteen minutes later, the doors open, but only my mother exits the room.

  “Thank you, Father. I feel much better now.” Mom eyes me. “Emma, he wants to see you now. In private.”

  “He does?” My breath catches in my throat.

  “Yes.” Mom glances at her watch.

  “I can drive Emma over to meet you at the hospital later, if you’re worried about the time,” Claire offers.

  “That would be great. Thank you.” Mom grabs her purse and leaves.

  Bracing myself, I approach the exorcist, the Book of Shadows still clenched in my hands. Clouds cover the sun outside, and the living room is shrouded in shadows. The bright glow of the TV illuminates Father Joe’s face as he waits on the couch. He clicks past PBS kid shows, old ladies exercising in chairs, and stops on the local news.

  “Emma, you need to see this.” He gestures with the remote toward the TV.

  There’s a thrill in the newscaster’s voice. “In local news, Officer Charlie Walker was released from prison yesterday after numerous charges against him—including battery, arson, and attempted murder—were dismissed.”

  Walker’s mug shot glares at me from the screen as the announcer prattles on. “There are still numerous unanswered questions regarding the severe injuries sustained by twenty-year-old Emma Roberts, daughter of the millionaire founder of the Roberts Lumber and Hardware store chain.”

  I groan. “Why do they have to bring that up?”

  “Just wait. It gets worse,” Father Joe warns. “I watched the earlier newscast.”

  The reporter narrows her eyes. “Was this a love affair gone wrong?”

  “Seriously?” I gawk. “Me and Walker?”

  The newscaster continues with glee, “How did Emma Roberts sustain multiple life-threatening injuries? Who is Officer Walker’s anonymous source for information used to solve local cold case murders?” Dramatic pause. “So far, Officer Walker has refused to answer any of these questions.”

  When the news moves on to the weather, Father Joe clicks off the TV.

  I pace the room. “This is awful. They don’t want the truth. They want scandal. Walker’s already been cleared of all charges. Why isn’t that enough for them?”

  “They’re reporters. It’s their job to spread gossip.” Father Joe sets down the remote. “But I didn’t come here just to show you the news.”

  “You didn’t?” Oh, dear. He sounds serious.

  “I’m an exorcist.” He raises a cross, gripped in his hand. “You’re still possessed. I’ve come to finish the job.”

  “How did you know?” I back away. “The spirits have been so quiet.”

  Father Joe pulls a floral blouse out from his briefcase. “Do you know who this belongs to?”

  A flashback of the living, festering dead fills my mind. “It’s from one of those zombie-ladies who chased me out of the church when I went to you for help.”

  “What?” His jaw drops. “You saw zombies in my church? Are you sure?”

  “Didn’t you wonder why I wasn’t around when you came back?”

  “Of course, but—”

  I spot a red shirt poking out of his briefcase and rush forward to grab it. “This was Mike’s.” My hands scatter the remaining items, holding each one up in turn. “This skirt got ripped when Jennifer Pearson was attacked. This is Jake’s jacket. And this plaid shirt looks like something Dominic wore.”

  Father Joe’s eyes widen. “Are you telling me these are all dead people’s clothes?”

  “Yeah.” I pause. “Where’d you get them?”

  “This probably sounds strange, but I found them in my clothes dryer this morning. As you might expect,” Father Joe tugs at his traditional black attire, “I’m used to a more monochromatic wardrobe.”

  I raise the flowered blouse. “This isn’t your color, anyway.”

  Father Joe’s face relaxes into a smile. “But there was more than clothes in the dryer. I heard a rustling, and when I opened the dryer door, a black crow flew out and scared me half to death before it disappeared into a cloud of dust.”

  “I’ve seen crows before, too. But not in my laundry. They were in my apartment. And then with God, which sounds wrong, of course.”

  Bernie rubs on Father Joe’s ankles, purring.

  “Emma, we need to exorcise your demons.” Father Joe removes other things from the briefcase: holy water, a cross, and a prayer book.

  “Don’t let him!” Steve demands. “He’ll cast me out along with the others. We’ve still got things to do.”

  “No!” I yell, the volume of my own voice startling me. “They’re not all bad. And the worst one is already gone. If God didn’t get rid of the others, then I don’t think you should, either.”

  The priest frowns. “If I have to round up the others again to help me, I will. This is for your own good.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” I raise the Book of Shadows. “Please don’t make me.”

  “If you think that’s going to protect you, you’re wrong.” Father Joe approaches, a cross clasped in his outstretched fist. “It can’t save you, but I can.”

  “Stay away from me!” I warn. My hands tremble then calm.

  A strong wind whips through the living room.

  Curtains swirl.

  Sheets of piano music fly across the room.

  My heart pounds and my legs shake so hard I can barely remain standing.

  “This is for your own good,” Father Joe pleads. “Please let me help you.”

  “Stay back.” I hold out the Book. “Just leave us alone.”

  “I can’t.” Father Joe raises his arms and chants above the din. “I cast you out, unclean spirit, along with every Satanic power of the enemy, every specter from Hell-“

  “RREEOOORROOWW!” Bernie flies through the air, yowling. He knocks the Book of Shadows out of my arms. His sharp claws rip my shirt and dig into my chest before he races away, his tail whipping madly.

  The wind and noise disappear. Wincing, I bend down to retrieve my Book.

  Father Joe gasps for breath. “Let me help you.”

  “I can’t let you do this. I know you mean well, but not everyone in here is all bad. One of them is a friend—was a friend of mine.”

  He collapses into the nearest chair. “Why would you want to stay this way?”

  “I have to, at least for now. Just let me talk to Walker-“

  “He doesn’t want to see you,” Father Joe reminds me, still breathing heavily.

  “That’s okay. I’ll wait until he changes his mind. I need to visit Dad first, anyway. If you really want to help, give me a ride to the hospital and keep Mom busy. I have to ask Dad about a family matter.”

  ad is sleeping when I enter his hospital room. There’s a hint of pink in his cheeks. I hover near his bed, standing watch over him, examining his every breath. I keep my Book of Shadows close in the fabric bag hanging off my shoulder.

  “Don’t bother him,” whispers Mom.

  At the sound of her voice, Dad’s eyelids flutter. It takes him a few seconds to wake up.

  “Emma,” he breathes my name. A weak smile flickers on his lips. “You’re okay.”

  “I’m here, Dad.” I take his hand, trying not to panic at the lack of stre
ngth in his grip.

  True to his word, Father Joe invites Mom to the hospital cafeteria for coffee. This time, she seems grateful for the excuse to get away. As soon as Mom leaves the room, Dad adjusts the bed controls. He struggles to get into a sitting position, coughing as he fusses with his necklace.

  “Dad, please lie back down.” I press ever so gently on his thin shoulders. “You should rest.”

  He chuckles. “You’re one to talk.” With a final effort, he unlatches the metal chain. The necklace falls, clinking into a silver puddle in his lap. Breathing hard, he scoops it up and holds it out to me. He pours the chain into my open palm, then closes my fingers over it.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Put it on before your mother comes back.” He pats his chest. “Hide it under your shirt.”

  “But it’s your necklace,” I argue. “You always wear it.”

  “It’s time to pass it on,” Dad insists. “Take it.”

  “I don’t know, Dad.” I study the heavy cross-shaped charm encrusted with pink gemstones. “This looks like old lady jewelry to me.”

  “Are you calling me old?” He gasps out the words. “And gender-confused?”

  I watch his mouth as he breathes. I sense we’re both drowning now. And we’re running out of time. “No. But I did see an old lady wearing this exact necklace. Maybe it’s time you told me about your mother.”

  Dad grabs my hand. “You saw my mom?”

  “Yes.” I squeeze his hand. “How come you never told me she was a witch? All you ever said was that she made the best fried chicken in the world and had a house full of African violets.”

  Sweat beads on his brow. “She did. But you’re right-I never told you the truth.”

  “Do you know anything about a special book Grandma had?” I ask.

  He nods, panting hard. “I should’ve guessed what you were up to earlier. I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying close enough attention.”

  “Don’t work yourself up, Dad. I never told you the truth, either.”

  He laughs, but sounds so sad. “The funny thing is that you hated witches as a little girl, do you remember? You’d never dress up as one for Halloween. Cheryl even bought you a witch costume once, but you refused to wear it.”