Page 27 of Dead End

“And over there you’ll find the Ghost of Our Pasts movie theater,” Pip announced, gesturing down the street. “It plays the best mortal films. The creatures here tend to find it fascinating, the way mortals dress up and pretend to scare each other. Fascinating, yet horrifying at the same time.” Cobwebs hung from a black and white-striped sign above a scrolling marquee.

“Is that a bubble tea café?” Maddie gasped, already heading that way before I could stop her.

Fog was coming out of the tea shop windows, which were cracking a hair, and an old, rusted cauldron-shaped sign was swinging back and forth, squeaking in the breeze. The sign read Toil and Trouble Tea. I would’ve been all for it if it weren’t for the questionable-looking crone out front, stirring a pot of something bubbly as she cackled. I didn’t know what she found so funny about a bubbling cauldron, but my stomach turned at the thought.

“Candy is one thing, but there’s no way I’m going in here,” Michael said with a shudder as we all watched the witch pluck a gray hair off a wart on her chin and add it to her cauldron.

My stomach flipped again. I hoped she was just making a potion and not trying to pass that crap off as tea.

Okay, how about this?” Pip suggested. “I’ll take Maddie, Michael, and Jason to the Witches Den for some potions. We would have gone there regardless for some school items and gnome repellent. Freddy, be a dear and go with October to the book shop. I can see those wheels turning, and she’ll go with or without you, but I’d rather you keep an eye on her.”

Freddy was still scowling towards the blood bank, impatiently waiting for Norman, but he nodded to Pip absently.

Pip leaned in closer to me and lowered her voice as she said, “Look for some books on necromancy while you’re in there. The bookkeeper has a lovely collection of antiques. Your dad didn’t leave his things behind, and I’m afraid our grimoires won’t do you much good.”

I nodded grimly. I suppose I'm on my own for now. Plus, she was right—I should definitely look for some how-to guides or something if I wanted to learn how to raise the dead—or how not to. I didn’t bother waiting for Freddy because all he would do was bitch at me, so I took off into the bookshop without saying anything as everyone split up in different directions.

An old-fashioned bell chimed the moment I opened the door, and the comforting smell of parchment, ink, and coffee beans filled the air. I took a deep breath, feeling relaxed for the first time since being here, and smiled as I glanced around at the rows of shelves filled with books. The original hardwood floors were scratched up and aging, showing that this place got a lot of love and care. The shop was way bigger than I thought it would be from the outside. It was more like a library, and there were only a few people milling around here and there.

A book floated through the air and then placed itself on the bookshelf right before a man came around the corner with his face buried in another book. He adjusted his wire-framed glasses perched on his nose. His dark brown hair was wavy and parted to the side but kept getting in his face, and he let out a frustrated sigh as he pushed it away, just as he spotted me standing in the doorway. Freddy finally got his head out of his ass and followed me in.

“Welcome to The Wicked Quill,” the man said with a welcoming smile. “I’m Baen, owner of this fine establishment. If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.” His voice was like smooth honey dripping over a biscuit; the New Orleans southern drawl was notable, and I started to wonder what the South looked like in this world.

Dear God, the possibilities are endless.

I could only nod like an idiot with my mouth slightly parted because this guy was gorgeous. Yet something about his hazel eyes was harsh, contrasting the softness of his smile. He had caramel-colored skin kissed lightly by the sun—or moon? I supposed he was naturally tanned.

Baen pushed his glasses up his nose again, flashed a white-toothed smile, and walked around another bookcase while I leaned to the side, following him with my eyes. Damn… He was tall and strong with rippling muscles under that white button-down shirt, and those tan pants were pulled over heavy brown boots, as if he were about to go for a hike in the jungle. He was a bookish explorer type, and I immediately felt like fanning myself.

“Stop staring!” Freddy growled low in his chest. I was startled, looking up at him. His eyes were narrowed on Mr. Hottie, as if he were suddenly planning the guy's very gruesome death.

“Shut up,” I muttered, attempting to shove him aside and follow Baen. “I just have to ask him where I can find necrom—”

I barely got a step away before Freddy was pulling me by the hand in a different direction. He practically sprinted down row after row of bookcases until it felt like we were traversing some hidden labyrinth.

“You don’t even know where you're going!” I shouted but still tried to keep my voice low. “We need a directory or something. There's no way we’ll find what I need like this!” He just smirked over his shoulder. “Freddy, come on!”

He stopped at the very back of the shop, where it was quiet and noticeably darker without so many overhead lights. Some of the lights even flickered. “Every book store is the same, Carrot Top. The forbidden books are always tucked away in the back,” he said with an eye roll at my dubious expression.

He skimmed a few shelves, muttering to himself as he scanned the titles. Back here, there seemed to be older books, some still coated in dust and cobwebs. He hummed in the back of his throat and reached for a book near the bottom, just as it slid out, right into his hand. He shook his head and handed it over to me with a shiver. Rolling his shoulders, he said, “Well, that was easier than I planned.”

The moment the old, black leather book made contact with my fingertips, the lights flickered off and then on again, and then the book snapped open with a sudden gust of wind that whipped my hair over my shoulders.

“That was…” He glanced from me to the book and back again, gulping loudly.

“Creepy,” I finished for him before looking down at the page splayed open in my hands.

Freddy stepped closer, reading over my shoulder, his body heating like a furnace. It made it easier to dive into the unknown, pretending that he was here to keep me safe. I decided to read out loud as I leaned back into his chest, needing the extra support to do this. He placed his hand on my waist and just kept staring at the book as I cleared my throat.

Necromancer: Those with the power to speak to and summon the dead. It is said that the person(s) who bear this gift will lead a cursed life. The purpose of death is to provide rebirth; therefore, the dead should stay dead. Necromancy is the art of wielding the balance of life and death by utilizing one's own soul. Not only does the soul suffer while wielding this power, but so does the one welding the soul.

Above all, a necromancer's power is coveted yet feared, and those who know the truth will seek it for themselves.

I slammed the book closed, unable to keep going. Reading it was like reading about my own impending doom. A ‘cursed life,’ it said.

How on Earth was I supposed to learn to control a power I knew nothing about? How, when my parents never told me and now they are gone forever? There was no one left to help me.

Is it hot in here?

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