Page 39 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
At the end of possibly one of the longest and most taxing days I’d ever had at the shop, when I finally flipped theClosedsign and turned the key in the front lock ofMargaret’s Mystique, my mind continued the spiral it had been in ever since Ellis had left—with Liv right on her heels.
I blinked at the white sign, the wordClosedwritten in cursive. It stared back at me.
Two weeks. That’s what I’d told Ida. I’d be gone forroughlytwo weeks. She’d blinked at me for a moment, her eyes flicking toward the reading room, probably wondering what had gone down in there that would have me leaving on an impromptu road trip.
Then she’d grinned, clapped me on the back, and said, “You go have a quarter-life crisis, love. I’ll keep the incense burning, don’t you worry!”
Now, hours later, I was lying flat on my back, staring at the dark ceiling of the apartment Margaret had left me, right above the shop. Ida continued to occupy the room she had onceshared with Diana and Margaret, as she should. I’d settled more permanently into the guest room I’d occupied more often than not over the years.
The apartment felt more silent than it used to. It creaked and groaned more. The grandfather clock in the living room ticked loudly, but the scents of lavender and sandalwood still clung to the wood floors and all the fabrics, filling the air with the ghost of Margaret herself, as if she were sitting beside me right now.
Ghosts. Jesus.
I still couldn’t wrap my head around Liv. A real, eye-rolling, thigh-high-boot-wearing ghost with unfinished business and abitof a savage streak. There was nothing fake about her, no illusions, no trick mirrors. And me—me—I’d acted as some kind of conduit.
A ghost had shown up in one of my readings, and I’d spent so long worrying I wasn’t a medium that I’d convinced myself Margaret’s strongest gift had skipped me entirely. That ghost, the same ghost whose heart now beat inside that uptight, know-it-all redhead who’d walked into the shop looking like a lost catalog model for pastel anxiety.
Ellis Langley.
I blew out a heavy breath and rolled onto my side, reaching for the stacked deck beside me. The same cards I’d used earlier that day for Ellis’s reading. My mind was too wired, too caught up in whatever magic had been triggered to bring Liv into the physical. Had this ever happened to Margaret? Surely she would’ve told me.
I ran my thumb along the top card of the deck, trying to get Ellis’s flashy red hair out of my head, or that striking green of her eyes, the way they flashed so defensively on a near-constant basis, like she was always bracing for impact.
“All right, Margaret,” I muttered into the dark. “Give me a card.”
I took a breath and flipped it over.
The Lovers.
I snorted and rolled my eyes. “All right, Margaret. Cute.”
I shoved it back into the deck and resumed shuffling, straightening slightly to sit up better in bed. A few cards slipped from my grip and scattered across the duvet. I leaned awkwardly over my nightstand to flick on the lamp, squinting as my eyes adjusted to the sudden change in lighting. Then I glanced down to collect the fallen cards.
I gathered them one by one, pausing over a particular card marked with a very familiar, very old stain.
Judgement.
It sat along the bottom corner of the card, reddish-brown and long faded, looking like an old wine spill. Or ketchup. Margaret had been known for her obsessive love of ketchup, after all. But she’d always insisted it was blood. Real blood. From a reading that had “gone bad,” as she’d put it, but she’d never elaborated.
I’d never really believed her. She did have a flair for the dramatic.
The card felt heavy in my hands.
It didn’t often fall out in readings. I could count on one hand how many times I’d seen it.
The air suddenly seemed thicker, and a cold chill ran down my spine.
My phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand, making me jump. I dropped the entire deck into my lap, my heart pounding at the sudden noise. Letting out an annoyed breath, I gathered the cards, stacked them neatly, and slid them back into their velvet bag before grabbing my phone.
Ellis Langley [11:11 p.m.]
Be outside your shop at 6 a.m. Bring coffee.
I rolled my eyes at the bossy tone in her text. Not even a hello? Three dots appeared, another message incoming. I waited.
Ellis Langley [11:12 p.m.]
Any tips on how to shut a ghost up?
