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

by Ann M. Noser

  I glance back at the door. “Does Mom know?”

  “No. I never told her that witchery runs in my family. I have no gifts, except in the business world, but my mother had talents like you.” He coughs so hard his face turns red.

  I hand him a glass of water, my hands shaking so that I spill on his bedclothes. I recall old pictures of Grandma wearing long, flowered dresses. She didn’t look like a witch, either. Not everyone is as obvious about it as Phoebe.

  “Thanks.” Dad hands back the glass. “I wish my mother was here to guide you. You need the help. You get yourself into far too much trouble.”

  I smile. “That’s what she said.”

  “I’m glad you got to meet her.” His voice catches.

  “But I’m still confused. You always said that Grandma Bertha was a good German Catholic.” She certainly looked German. Mom always worried that I’d end up built like her, with massive thighs and hips.

  “Somehow, she managed to do both.” He points at the necklace. “Look closer.”

  I study the silver amulet. I run a finger over the cross, formed by rows of miniature pentagrams, each inlaid with rose quartz crystals.

  “Let’s see how it looks on you.” Dad smiles weakly. The pallor of his lips frightens me.

  I hang it around my neck. As soon as the metal touches my skin, a flush of warmth soothes my tense shoulders, like an instant massage. A faint humming noise buzzes in my ears.

  “Can you hear that?” I finger the necklace, searching for the source of the hum.

  He raises a hand to cover another wet cough. “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Then it must just be me. How long have you known I was doing witchcraft?”

  He tenses. “I went to the park where you collapsed.”

  “You mean afterward?” Mom didn’t tell me about this.

  “The smell of candles brought back many memories.” His voice weakens. “I need to rest now. Can you help me?”

  “Of course.” I readjust the bed and pillows the best I can. “Should I call a nurse?”

  “Not yet.” He searches my eyes. “Does the necklace make you feel stronger?”

  “Yes.” My hand flutters against the warm crystals. “Doesn’t rose quartz have healing properties? I read something about that, once.”

  “That’s right.” He coughs so hard it shakes the bed, making the metal bars clink. “Especially for the heart.”

  Realization dawns. I tug at the necklace to take it off. “You should be wearing it instead.”

  “No!” Dad sputters. “It’s from your grandmother. It helped me, and now it will help you.”

  Tears fill my eyes. “But you need it more.”

  He reaches for my hands again. We hold tight to each other.

  “Oh, Emma, I’ve been living on borrowed time for years.” He glances at the closed door, then speaks as fast as his coughing fits allow. “I was born with a weak heart. My mother knew it and made this necklace for me. I would never have lived this long, never have had a wife, or you, without it. But my mother shortened her own life to create it. In using her powers to save me, she gave up part of herself.”

  “So that’s how she cheated Nature.” I finally understand. “But, Dad, what are you saying? That you’re giving up your life for mine? I don’t want that!”

  He clenches my hand even harder. “You need its protection. I won’t have it any other way.”

  “Not if it will save you.” Tears spill out from my eyes, my chest aching. “Take it back! I want you to live!”

  Another vigorous coughing spell silences both of us until Dad recovers enough to speak again. “My time’s up. It’s you who must live, despite your best efforts to do otherwise.”

  “Dad, listen to me.” I want to rip off the necklace and force it back over his head, but his steady gaze keeps me from moving.

  “Call the nurse,” he wheezes.

  “Take it back!”

  “Call the nurse now.” Dad’s eyes roll back in his head. His body jerks, as if he’s seizing. Alarms wail around us. I break our grasp and race for the door.

  “Help me! Somebody! Help me!” My screams echo down the hospital corridor.

  om races down the hall, along with Father Joe and the cardiac crash team.

  “Wait out here, please,” a nurse directs as Dad’s room crowds with hospital personnel.

  Father Joe ushers us into a cluster of seats in the hallway. “Perhaps we should sit here.”

  Minutes tick by, an hour in every second.

  Mom wrings her hands. “Why aren’t they telling us anything?”

  Father Joe pats her shoulder. “They need to focus on John right now.”

  I clutch Dad’s necklace, which hangs like guilt. It takes everything I have to respect Dad’s wishes and remain seated, and not barrel back into the room to force the charm over his head.

  Mom glances at me. “Why are you wearing that?”

  “Dad gave it to me.”

  She stiffens. “I never understood why his mother gave him a pink necklace.”

  I glance down, my hand fluttering over the necklace. “It’s more purple than pink.”

  “Same difference.” She stares at the necklace for a long moment. “It looks good on you,” she finally decides.

  “No, it doesn’t.” Guilty tears threaten to fall. “I shouldn’t be wearing it.”

  Mom rolls her eyes. “I can’t say anything to you anymore without starting an argument.”

  “I could say the same about you,” I grumble.

  Her lips quiver. “I suppose you think it’s easy for me to sit around and watch my family fall apart.”

  I tense. Why is she so overprotective? “Mom, I’m fine!”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Her face reddens. She grabs my shoulders and shakes me. “Are you so self-absorbed you can’t even see your father is dying?”

  “Don’t say that,” I yell. “Take it back!”

  Father Joe steps in. “This is no time for arguing. You need each other.”

  “I can’t sit here anymore. I’m going back in.” Mom hurries into Dad’s room.

  I stand to follow her, but Father Joe grabs my elbow and pushes me into a chair. “Sit here with me. You aren’t making things any easier.”

  “Get out of my way.”

  He holds me down. “You’re acting rude and insensitive—”

  “So is she,” I snap. “Maybe it’s genetic.”

  “Put yourself in her shoes for once. Have some sympathy for her position.”

  I cross my arms and slouch in the stiff-backed chair.

  “You almost died. Her husband teeters on the edge. Do you have any idea how scared she is right now? Why do you think she wanted to talk to me this morning? She doesn’t feel strong enough to face this alone.”

  “She’s not alone,” I argue. “I’m here, and everyone else is helping her.”

  “She feels alone. And that’s what matters. It’s not like she knows the truth about you— although that might make things even worse, I suspect.” He pauses. “Speaking of that, you really should allow me to assist with your unwelcome guests. Why are you protecting them when they intend to hurt you?”

  I get up and lean against the wall, arms crossed. “I told you—not all of them are bad.”

  “Don’t fool yourself.”

  The door swings open and a nurse steps out. “Emma Roberts?”

  I tense. “How is he?”

  Her stiff smile is not reassuring. “He’s been stabilized for transport to the ICU.”

  The door opens again with doctors and nurses spilling out into the hallway. Their voices sound muffled and far away.

  “Okay, thanks.” I place a shaky hand on the wall to steady myself. “How’s my mom?”

  “She’ll be out soon,” the nurse assures me. “Excuse me. I need to make arrangements in ICU.”

  As she hurries down the hall, Father Joe glances at his watch. “Emma, confessions begin in a half hour, but I can cancel if you
need me to stay.”

  “That’s all right.” I long for Mom to come out and tell me everything is going to be okay, even if it’s a lie. “You can go. We’ll be fine. And thanks for everything.”

  Father Joe pats my shoulder. “Think about what I said. You need my help.”

  A half hour later, Mom and I still wait outside the ICU. We sit in silence, but Steve, unfortunately, does not.

  “You could call Charlie while you’re waiting,” he says.

  Not now, I growl internally.

  “It was just a suggestion to help you pass the time,” he grumbles. “We need to do something about that gang before they hurt anyone else.”

  You don’t fool me, Steve. You only care about yourself.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you.” Then Steve, thankfully, goes silent.

  Finally, a nurse walks toward us. “You can see Mr. Roberts now,” he says, but he’s not smiling.

  “Emma, you go on ahead,” Mom instructs. “I need to talk to the nurse.”

  I enter the unit and approach Dad’s bed. It’s surrounded by more monitors than before. Dad has oxygen tubes in his nostrils and a face the color of cement.

  He smiles weakly and speaks in winded bursts. “I… gave you a scare. I’m… sorry.”

  I grab his hand, tears rolling down my face. My words get stuck in a painful lump in my throat.

  “I need… to tell… you something,” he wheezes.

  “You don’t have to say anything.” I don’t even bother to wipe the tears away.

  “Let me… say this.”

  I shut my mouth and force a smile. I wish Jake was here. He’d be so much better at this, but he doesn’t know I need him right now. He doesn’t know anything.

  Dad struggles to speak. “Every minute with you… has been a miracle… for me. I love you… Emma.”

  “I love you too, Dad.” I choke out the words that need to be said.

  Dad drops my hand as Mom and two nurses approach the bedside. “Now… go… away.”

  “What?” I balk. “No! I want to stay here with you.”

  Mom puts her hand on my shoulder. “You can come back tomorrow, honey.”

  I back out of her reach. “You mean you get to stay?”

  Dad coughs. “Emma, please…”

  “You’re upsetting him.” Mom’s eyes water. She’s trying so hard to not lose it. “Just go. You can come back later.”

  She’s lying, even to herself. There is no “later.”

  “Emma, maybe he doesn’t want you to see him like this,” Steve says.

  My legs tremble, knowing he’s right.

  Mom whips out her phone. “I’ll call that nice Phoebe. She’ll give you a ride.”

  “I’m sorry,” Steve says. “Really, I am.”

  I stare into Dad’s blue eyes as Mom makes arrangements.

  Mom hangs up. “Phoebe’s on the way. Meet her out front in fifteen minutes.”

  “Fine. I’ll go.” I hoist the bag on my shoulder and squeeze Dad’s hand for what I know will be the last time. In my other hand, I clasp the necklace, which hangs over my heart. “I’ll wear it forever.”

  Dad nods silently.

  I bolt out of ICU like an Olympic sprinter, the fabric bag banging against my hip, my vision blinded with tears.

  wait in the parking lot. Hot tears race down my cheeks as I stare out at the oily summer sky. Insects sing, filling the air with their scratchy violins. I never thought I’d lose Dad. I can’t bring him back from this. I can’t fix this.

  I can’t do anything but cry this time. So, for once, I let myself go.

  Ten minutes later, after my emotional storm has subsided to the occasional uncontrolled sniffle, Phoebe’s Volkswagen van pulls up. She has somewhat unwelcome company. Jake and Laura both ride in the backseat.

  Neither looks particularly happy to see me.

  “I thought he liked you,” Steve says.

  He must like his sister more. My heart sinks.

  “I call shot gun,” I mutter as I open the door and sit down.

  Phoebe forces a nervous laugh and pulls away from the curb. No one speaks, and I don’t mind.

  After a few blocks pass, Phoebe clears her throat. “I suppose you’re wondering why Jake and Laura are with me.”

  “Not really.” I stare out the window. “I have more important things to think about right now.”

  “Like your obsession with witchcraft?” Jake grumbles. Great, now he sounds like Mike.

  I spin around to glare at him. “My father’s dying of heart failure and he won’t let me stay with him. That makes me not care why you and your thieving sister are here.”

  Jake’s mouth falls open. Laura has the decency to look away.

  Phoebe recovers first. “I’m sorry, Emma.”

  “Thanks.” I turn back to the window.

  “Did you know this was coming?” Jake asks.

  “What kind of question is that?” I retort.

  “I meant… well… you never mentioned he had heart disease and he looked fine at that Christmas party.”

  “No. I didn’t know. And he was fine back then.” I clutch at the necklace, which begins to quiver.

  “Maybe this wasn’t the best time to bring Laura around to apologize,” mumbles Phoebe.

  I barely hear her, because the necklace has taken over. It demands and I obey.

  “Turn here,” I direct Phoebe.

  “Why?” she asks, but obliges.

  I pause. “Something tells me we need to—okay, now turn left. Then go straight for a while.”

  I flip down the make-up mirror so I can see Laura and Jake. Laura glances up and gawks at my double image. Maybe she can see the others, too. I don’t know or care. Narrowing my eyes, I hold the bag containing the Book of Shadows closer to my chest.

  Jake sighs. “Laura didn’t mean to take your Book. She just found it in the fire pit after they tried to bring you back.”

  “That would have been fine if she had returned it when I asked,” I growl.

  “Jake, why do you even like her?” Laura reaches for Jake’s hand. “She’s horrible to me.”

  Another surge of bright green envy shoots through my veins. She wants to take everything from me!

  “It’s never easy getting along with the in-laws,” Steve jokes in my head.

  Jake frowns, his face pained. “I can’t understand why you two hate each other. It doesn’t make any sense. Normally, neither one of you acts like this.”

  But I’m not listening to him.

  I’m listening to the necklace, which brought me where I need to be-Walker’s truck is parked at the gas station on the other side of the road.

  Steve whoops. “You’ve found him! There he is! Let’s go!”

  Once again, I agree with him.

  “Stop the car!” I shove open my door and barrel toward the station.

  “Get back here! You’re acting crazy!” screams Phoebe as I race across the busy street, dodging cars.

  Horns honk and tires squeal. Somehow I manage not to get hit. Finally I reach the gas station, my heart galloping faster than a winning racehorse. The bell chimes as I push open the glass door and step inside. Breathlessly, I scan the aisles of milk, bananas, and candy.

  “He’s got to be here!” Steve mutters. “Where is he?”

  Shut up, Steve! I’m looking, I’m looking.

  I spot Walker trying on sunglasses near the ice cream novelty freezer. I come up behind him as he checks out his reflection in the mirror.

  He groans. “Emma, don’t you know when to leave a guy alone?”

  “I guess not.”

  He removes the sunglasses from his bruised face. “I need some shades to cover this shiner I got because of you.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. He looks awful. And, like everything else, it’s my fault.

  He shakes his head. “The weird thing is that it was the cleaning crew who beat me up. Of course, they deny ever touching me. It’s like they were posses
sed or something. They claim they never even saw me.”

  “Possessed?” I shudder as the door rings again. “Then I guess I’m not the only one.”

  “You’ve got that problem, too?” He tries on another pair of sunglasses. “Why am I not surprised? Hey, is that what you were trying to tell me that night?”

  I clear my throat. “Yeah. That was it.”

  Walker chuckles. “Mom told me to stay away from you. She thinks you’re trouble.”

  “I’m afraid she’s right.” I press further. “But I’m so glad you’re speaking to me again. I have to give you something.” I dig in my fabric bag. “It’s important.”

  He waves his hands at my bag. “It better not be something creepy, dead, or have anything at all to do with witchcraft. I’ve had enough of your freakiness.”

  “That’s not fair,” I argue. “You asked me to work those spells. You knew it was witchcraft.”

  “You should have told me what was happening to you. I would have stopped if I’d known.” Charlie checks out my double reflection that quivers behind his in the shiny mirror. “Steve’s here, too? Now you’re the host body? This is getting all too weird for me.”

  The front door bell jangles again. Phoebe, Jake, and Laura spill in, and head in our direction.

  I yank out Steve’s letter. “Here’s the information Steve dug up about Dominic, the gang member who killed him. Dominic’s life was sacrificed by the Cobras a few days later. I know this sounds crazy, but somehow in the Afterlife, Steve beat enough info out of Dominic that you should be able to put the Cobras away for good.”

  I stuff the letter back in the envelope as the front door slams open, ringing the bell repeatedly, like a fake Santa at Christmas time.

  The gas station turns ice cold.

  The necklace sings a warning and my tattoo itches. I don’t even need to turn around. I know who’s here.

  The Cobras. They found me.

  I didn’t run fast enough.

  My heart sinks.

  “The Cobras are here,” I whisper. My hands tremble, and my body shudders.

  Walker’s sunglasses drop to the floor as he orders, “Emma, you get the Hell out of here.”