Chapter One
A bowl of cereal is balanced on the steel table in front of me, along with a copy of The Proper Way to do a Magic Lobotomy, my magic wand, and the Mystic Willow Bay Daily newspaper. The top headline: “Another body missing from morgue! Cops say decaying spell went awry, but town members concerned we have a rapid vampire problem!”
I have exactly fifty minutes to read through the newspaper and a chapter of my textbook, finish my breakfast, and get dressed for the one morning class I have today. Like usual, I’m running way behind schedule and should’ve probably skipped having breakfast in the basement with my older sister, but I’m the only person she has to talk to at the moment.
“Another dead body’s gone missing,” I mutter as I skim through the article. “I need to put some more charms up.”
“Charms aren’t going to stop anyone from stealing me,” my sister says through a dreary sigh. “Or from a decaying spell.”
“It’ll keep you better hidden, though.”
No suspects have been arrested. No sign of suspicious foul play. I roll my eyes. Only in Mystic Willow Bay would missing bodies be considered nothing to be alarmed about.
I wouldn’t normally concern myself with bodies poofing into thin air, but now that I have a dead body to worry about, I want to find the culprit. It won’t be the first time I went out searching to solve a mystery.
Back in middle school, a lot of lockers were robbed, including mine. When I found out the person had not only stolen my new leather jacket and the Fog Inducing Ring from my grandma for my birthday, I went ballistic and set out on a mission to find the perpetrator. After spending over a week interrogating every single person I went to school with, I discovered that the lockers were robbed because of a hazing going on in the popular crowd. While I didn’t out any of the participants, I accidentally left a trail of clues on my blog that the principal found, which led to some suspensions and a few expulsions.
Needless to say, my already sucky popularity status went down to an eating-by-the-dumpsters-at-lunchtime level. I thought my social life—and any hope of ever having friends—was over at that point. However, it turned out not to be as sucky of a year as I thought, because that was the year I met Hunter.
Le sigh. Hunter. Hunter. Hunter. The only guy who’s ever unknowingly broke my heart over and over again.
“If you don’t put the newspaper away, you’re going to end up not having time to do your homework,” my sister’s tired voice yanks me out of memory lane.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I try to shove thoughts aside of body thieves, memories of living in Loserville, and hopeless, will-never-progress-to-anything-more-than-a-friendship crushes, and concentrate on reading through yesterday’s assigned reading. But books about magical lobotomy aren’t the most entertaining, and I quickly find myself looking more at the photos and less at the scientific words filling up the pages.
“Some of the photos in here are super disgusting.” I crinkle my nose at a photo of a guy getting his head cut open. “I seriously think my professor might be twisted in the mind for making us look at these.” I slant closer to get a better look at the picture while shoveling a spoonful of cereal into my mouth. Milk dribbles onto my sister’s leg, and I quickly wipe it up, hoping she doesn’t notice. “Ew, I can see his brain.”
“I don’t know what’s worse,” she murmurs. “The fact that you’re eating while looking at that book, or that you’re looking at that book while I’m stuck lying on this damn table.”
I pat her cold, bluish foot. “Relax, big sis. I won’t make you look at the photos.”
“That’s not why I’m worried.” Her purplish-blue lips move like a marionette puppet. “I’m worried you’ll turn me into your test dummy.”
I recline in my chair with my fingers pressed to my mouth in mock offense. “I’d never do that to you.” I lower my hand and turn the page, smiling to myself. “Not while you are still coherent, anyway.”
“Wow, Evalee. I’m glad you find amusement in my pain.” Her voice cracks, making me feel like the biggest asshole ever.
While she’s been a bit temperamental lately, she does have a reason to be, considering her circumstances.
“Ry, I’m so sorry.” I stand up and lean over the table to meet her gaze. “I was just trying to lighten the mood.” I gesture around the damp, murky basement, lined with a few shelves, boxes, and a washer and dryer that look straight out of the eighties. “This place is so depressing. I hate that you’re down here twenty-four seven.”
“God, so do I.” Her open eyes focus on the florescent light above the table, making her look like a possessed doll.
Even dead, she still resembles the gorgeous older sister I grew up idolizing. The only difference now is her long, blonde hair is lily white; her big, blue eyes are a tiny bit bloodshot; and her golden tanned skin is pale. Still, she could definitely pull off the whole hot zombie look. That is, if I can figure out how to complete the spell to bring her back to life. Until I do, she’s stuck on this table every day of every hour, waiting for me to visit, since I’m the only person who was graced with the lovely gift of being able to talk to the dead. Insert sarcasm on the lovely part.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful to be able to talk to my sister, even after she died, yet my gift definitely has down sides. Like every time I go to a funeral and have to pretend the deceased body in the coffin isn’t begging me to save them from being buried alive.
I used to try to carry out their wishes, and even attempted to help my grandpa flee. Let’s just say mourning families don’t take too well to some stranger passing along a pleading, “save me” message from their dead loved ones. And my parents weren’t very thrilled about me trying to drag my grandpa out of his coffin. Afterward, they took me to a bunch of specialists to try to find out what was wrong with me.
Each specialist had their own theories and treatments; some of which included cutting open my head. Fortunately, my parents weren’t total nutjobs and told them no freaking way. I stopped seeing specialists after that and was allowed to live a normal life. Well, normal except for the rare occasion when I’m near a dead body. I also get the occasional warning to be on my best behavior whenever I attend a funeral.
“The lights are so dim down here,” my sister gripes, yanking me out of my thou
ghts.
I rest my elbows beside her head. “I’m sorry. If I could keep you someplace else, I would. But this is the only place that’s both safe and has the right temperature to …” I press my lips together, worried finishing that sentence will only upset her more.
“Keep my rotting stench under control.” She heaves a heavy sigh, her bloodshot eyes drifting in my direction. “Look, I’m sorry I’m getting upset. I don’t know why I’m being so moody. I was never this bitchy and whiney when I was alive.”
“No, you weren’t.” I place my hand over her clammy one and offer a smile. “But that’s okay. Death is a legit reason to be a little bitchy.”
“Maybe. That doesn’t mean I need to be bitchy to you. Not when you’re trying to bring me back to life.” Hope sparkles in her lifeless eyes.
I force a smile, but my stomach knots with nerves. While I have been trying to bring my sister back to life, I’m far from completing the spell. A spell that’s extremely complicated for a powerful witch, let alone someone like me who’s been cursed since birth with weak, uncontrollable powers.
Yep, on top of being the only witch and paranormal creature in all of Mystic Willow Bay—that I know of—who can chat it up with dead bodies, I’m also known as the town’s magic klutz because of my sucky skills at casting spells, brewing potions, and dancing naked under the full moon.
Just kidding on the last part. I don’t really dance under the full moon naked. Well, unless I’ve had a few too many drinks and decide to play a game of truth or dare.
“What’s with the frown?” My sister’s fingers twitch beneath mine, a sign she’s probably trying to put her hand over mine to comfort me. Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tries, she won’t be able to move anything except her eyes and mouth, and only I can witness that. To everyone else, she looks exactly as she is—a dead body lying on a cold steel table with my half-eaten breakfast and a book about removing parts of the human brain.
“I was just thinking about some of the ingredients I need for the spell,” I lie, turning back to my book to avoid eye contact. “There’s some really weird stuff required.”