Page 45 of That Ain’t Witchcraft

“Couldn’t we just, I don’t know, not answer the door?” asked Sam. “Is that an option?”

“Not with Leo. Not with James’ father. A controlled confrontation is better than a break-in.” James’ father probably had a key. Dammit.

I needed time. Time and stitches and about a gallon and a half of antiseptic poured into the open wound where my flesh had been violated, rinsing away the risk of infection, leaving the hole behind. There was going to be a scar. Would it be enough to limit my range of motion, to leave me less than I had been before? I didn’t know. At the moment, I didn’t much care, because regardless of whether or not there was permanent damage, I was going to skin Leonard alive as soon as I had the chance.

“I …” James stopped. “Of course. Sam?”

“Just shout and I’ll be there.” Sam’s voice was low, angry. Out of all of us, he might have been the only one actually hoping it would be Leonard, because then he could take the man apart.

It was an oddly comforting thought.

James’ steps receded as he left the parlor for the front room and hence the door. I heard it open, the sound faint and distant, followed by voices raised in quizzical confusion. The door shut. James came walking back, faster.

“Uh, Cylia?” he said. “I know Annie’s hurt and everything, but I think it might be a good idea for her to come to the door.”

“Not until I say she’s okay to move,” said Cylia.

“Okay, I understand that, but there’s a dead woman on the porch who says she wants to talk to her, and I don’t think taking down the wards would be a good idea right now.”

My eyes snapped open. This time, when I tried to sit up, Sam didn’t stop me. I turned to stare at James, who was standing, flushed and flustered, in the parlor doorway.

“What did you say?”

“There’s a dead woman on the porch.”

Hope bloomed in my chest, hot and bright and unbearable. “What does she look like?”

James blinked. Apparently, of the available questions, that was one he hadn’t been expecting me to ask. “Um. I don’t know. Late teens maybe, brown hair, blue jeans? She looks dead. I can see through her.”

My hope crashed, replaced by realization. “Okay. I know who that is. Cylia, you need to let me up now.”

“I really don’t,” she said.

“You really do, unless you want my entire family descending on New Gravesend to look for my corpse,” I said. “We believe in redundancies. We travel with talking mice who never forget anything so there will be a record of what happened if one of us dies, and we adopted a natural psychopomp years ago so we never have to worry about getting trapped in some asshole’s spirit jar if we die in the wrong place. She must have felt it when I blacked out. She’s here to carry me to the afterlife. Only I’m behind anti-ghost wards, so she can’t tell whether I’m living or dead. Which means she’s going to get worried, and then she’s going to get angry, and then she’s going to call my mom.”

Everyone, even Sam, blinked at me. Finally, Sam said, “Even for you, that’s weird.”

“I know.” I stood. The room spun. That was the blood loss making itself known. Wincing, I muttered, “I need to eat about a pound of raw hamburger and take a bunch of iron pills. Don’t let me forget.”

“Spinach salad for dinner,” said Cylia.

“Swell.”

Even with Sam holding me up, walking to the front door was harder than it conceivably should have been. Every step was heavy, and my head kept spinning, making the room bob and weave in an impossible arc. I felt like I’d just donated blood, only a hundred times worse, and with no orange juice or cookies to lighten the blow.

“I want orange juice,” I muttered, and opened the door.

Rose, her hand raised for another knock, stared at me. “Annie?”

“Hey, Aunt Rose.” A wave of weariness washed over me. I leaned back, trusting Sam to catch me. He did, uncharacteristically human hands wrapping around my shoulders—careful of the wound—and holding me up. “Got a call on the ‘somebody’s dying’ phone, huh?”

“I’ve learned to ignore it when you people get minor injuries, but this one didn’t feel minor, and right as it was getting really bad, it cut off.”

“That was Sam here carrying me through the wards. They’re set up to repel ghosts. They must have blocked the signal.”

“Fun with unintended consequences, I guess.” Rose aimed a broad, exaggerated wink at Sam. “Hey, handsome. Still the boyfriend, I see.”

“Still the dead lady,” said Sam. “Hi, Rose.”