Page 44 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
I took a calming breath, wrinkling my nose at the familiar scent. Wood polish, expensive air freshener reeds, and that vaguely haunting blend of Catholic guilt and generational repression.
“You said we weren’t doing anything illegal,” Ellis whispered, immediately breaking my no-commentary rule. I closed my eyes for a beat, summoning every ounce of restraint not to murder her.
“It’s not technically illegal if you have a key,” I hissed back. Still, my heart was pounding so loudly I swore it echoed through the room. “Don’t touch anything.”
Liv danced through the kitchen as if she owned the place, her boots echoing against the hardwood floors. She somehow headed in the right direction without needing guidance, so I let her lead. We followed as she craned her neck at the family portraits lining the wall, examining them with amused interest.
“This place is giving major Stepford energy,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “What a load.”
“Liv!” I hissed.
“What?” she said, eyes wide and innocent. “I’m just saying this guy here looks like the kind of guy who calls a woman ‘sweetheart’ and means it as an insult.” She jerked her head at a picture of Uncle Bill, dressed in a three-piece suit and posing for his own self-important portrait.
I mean... she wasn’t wrong.
Liv began humming a funeral march as we continued through the house. I took the lead now, guiding us toward that dreaded room, my sneakers whispering against the carpeted halls, the tote bag clutched in my sweaty palms, my stomach churning.
The door was open.
I took a breath, stepped inside, and tried to ignore the memory of the last time I’d been in here. Without hesitation, I made a beeline for the cabinet and yanked the doors open.
There she sat, right next to the world’s most unwelcome plus-one.
Graham.
Margaret’s urn was a cream-colored thing, with delicate blue flowers around the rim of the lid. It looked regal and pristine and terrible, all at once.
I swallowed.
“This is a horrible idea,” Ellis murmured beside me, rubbing her face. “You know that, right?”
“Which part?” I muttered, setting the dustbuster-filled bag at my feet and tugging the empty ziploc from my waistband. “The breaking and entering? Stealing someone’s ashes? Or being on the worlds most fucked up road trip, haunted by a glitter-loving ghost with serious boundary issues?”
Liv gasped dramatically, slapping a hand over her chest. “Excuse me, I have amazing boundaries. You’re the ones who invited me into your lives!”
“We did notinviteyou,” Ellis grumbled sourly, watching me shake out the empty bag.
“I mean, you sort of did,” Liv said with a smirk. “You know, with the whole heart transplant thing. Plus, Dove, I’m not haunting you,silly. I’m haunting Ellis. ”
The look Ellis shot her was so sharp it could’ve drawn blood, if Liv had still been alive. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and Liv let out a cackle, clearly enjoying herself in the most unhinged, possibly deranged way imaginable.
I ignored them both. I was on a mission.
If I had to be dragged across the country by a ghost with unfinished business, then I needed something in return.
Margaret was owed closure. She was owed her last wish. And she was going to get it.
“Okay, Ellis,” I said, deciding that if she was here, she could help. “Grab the empty bag and hold it open for me.”
Ellis blinked. “W-what?”
“Hold the bag open,” I repeated, drawing out the words like I was speaking to a toddler. “Or do you just want to stand there and make this experience even longer?”
She made a strangled noise in the back of her throat but crouched beside me, reluctantly pulling the bag open with trembling hands.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she all but wheezed, her eyes clamped shut.
“Trust me, no one hates this more than me,” I said. “But she’s not spending eternity in a cupboard next to a man who beat her and bullied her. She deserved more than this. Not to be some trophy in my uncle’s display cabinet of morality.”
