Dead Living (Spirit Caller Book 5) (7 page)

He made a rude, grabbing gesture with them towards my breasts, and then took another bite of sandwich.

“For that, you can help me dig up those bushes tomorrow.”

“I have to work,” he said with exaggerated sadness. “Shit, I forgot to pick up groceries. I should run out now before it’s too late. Did you want anything at the store? I can get you a Timmy’s.”

“You drank the last of the orange juice,” I said accusingly.

“Use your words, Rachel. Jeremy, I would like orange juice, please, my darling.”

“Jeremy, replace the damn orange juice you drank.”

“That's my girl,” he said. He grabbed his keys from the hook near the door and headed back into the rain. I watched him climb into the car and back out. He was driving all the time now. He even drove at work for partial shifts. Another month, the doctor said, and he might be able to handle full-time behind the wheel again.

I waited for the car to fade out of view before calling, “Dema?”

A moment later, Dema appeared in my tiny kitchen window. I waved her inside. She sported denim overalls and moccasins. “Yes, Spirit Caller?”

“I want to work a warding into Mrs. Saunders's bleeding heart bushes. I've been thinking about it for the last month and I'm pretty sure I have it all figured out, but I wanted to check with you. Would you look over my ideas?”

“If you had practiced your gifts more instead of copulating with the Tall Man, you would not need my assistance.”

“It was your idea for me to tell Jeremy,” I said.

“That was because your endless moping was draining,” Dema said, deadpan. “Spirit Caller, you must practice your skills every day.”

“I know that, Dema. Thus here I am, practicing.”

“Good. I shall return to inspect your work when it is completed.” Then she disappeared.

Seriously. She just
left.
It's very difficult to take myself seriously as this amazing, rare, talented Spirit Caller of old when the
other
I can call up don't even respect me enough to do as I ask of them.

The next morning, I got up at dawn and, after one of Jeremy's awesome breakfasts, I got ready to work. I shoved on my pink work gloves and grabbed the shovel. Now, before you give me crap for the pink work gloves, I’d like to point out that I have small hands. That means I have to buy women’s work gloves. All women’s work gloves are flower patterned or pink. Do you realize how difficult it was to find work gloves that were meant for work, and not for keeping your fingernails clean? So I wore the damned pink gloves with their frilly edges and began digging.

All of my research said I should clear my mind of pressures and demands. That proved impossible. The more I tried to push away the worries, the more I focused on them. I decided to use my fears and stresses as just another part of the warding.

As I broke the soil with my shovel, I focused on my affection for Mrs. Saunders. She had lived in this house for a very long time, and now she was starting a new adventure late in life. I thought about the words she’d said lately. Her fear of moving, but also her excitement at living somewhere smaller and easier to look after. She feared losing independence in this big house, and the move would help her continue to live on her own terms.

I wrapped all of that together as part of my ward as I dug a big hole around the first of her favourite bushes.

I considered her renewed friendship with Millie. How loyal Mrs. Saunders was. Despite her advanced age, she brokered no bullshit. She knew her own mind and, while she was slowing down every day, she was still in command of herself and anyone around her. She was the matriarch of this little outport village.

I knelt down and began to dig away the dirt from the main root base and thought about how loved Mrs. Saunders was. Everyone pitched in to help her. Even the supernatural helped keep her safe from hauntings and mischief. She was protected in all senses of the word here in her house. That protection needed to move with her.

I pried the first bush out of the ground and dropped it into a sack. I dragged it to my trunk and put it in there.

I did that four more damned times until both my brain and my arms wanted to collapse. I dragged myself back to my kitchen and sipped from a cold can of Orange Crush. It dawned on me that exhaustion might affect the wards and spells I'd weaved. I hadn't considered that.

“Dema, you there?”

I took a few more sips before getting up to make myself an egg sandwich with some of the boiled eggs Jeremy liked to keep for midnight snacks. I munched down on the sandwich before frowning and calling again.

“Dema? Where are you?”

Twenty minutes passed with no sign of my ethereal stalker. Stupid old ghost. I finished up my little break and headed over to Amy's for even more digging and manual labour. I'd never admit it, but thank you Jeremy and his exercise machines of death for getting my arms in shape enough to handle this.

With that said, my arms cried out in excited relief when they discovered Amy's husband had already dug out nice, perfect holes for me in their front yard. Thank the Ancestors for five, perfectly-shaped miracles.

The bushes weigh a bloody tonne and the various branches kept poking me in the face and eyes. I dropped one on the concrete driveway just as Mrs. Saunders and Millie came out on the deck to “help” me.

“Maid! Be gentle with those things!” Mrs. Saunders ordered.

“You can'ts be t'rowing them around like dat!” Millie added helpfully.

I waved at them and continued my work, trying to focus my energy and intentions into the wards I was knitting around the roots.

“Maid, you gots it in crooked, you do!” Millie said. Millie Reid was a frail, tiny woman with a surprisingly loud voice.

“It’s crookeder than a crook,” Mrs. Saunders agreed.

I sighed and straightened out the bush. I began again.

“Now it's too far the other way,” Mrs. Saunders shouted. For an old woman, her voice could sure carry.

I couldn’t say to them, “oh please stop, I’m doing delicate warding spells here.” Which, I should add, was very difficult to do. I am not very good with wards and spells, and all of that side of being a Spirit Caller, and I certainly didn’t need a peanut gallery of old ladies complaining about how the bush was crooked. Yes, I know it was crooked. I was in the process of fixing it.

I shot both of the old ladies a very annoyed expression…which just made them titter harder. I sighed. This warding was going to have endless issues if this kept up.

“Mrs. Saunders, I should call my Mom and put her on speakerphone. Then the three of you can all complain about me together,” I shouted out.

“Your mother is a sensible woman,” Mrs. Saunders said back, in as loud of a voice as her strained throat would allow.

I shook my head and went back to the arduous work of digging, planting, spell crafting, and mockery. My back was killing me. Even though I was wearing gloves, I could feel blisters forming on that sensitive, fleshy bit of skin between thumb and index finger. My shirt was soaked from sweat, and the cold breeze sent shivers up my spine.

Manny and Connie eventually rescued me. They were driving by when they saw me digging. A quick U-turn by Connie and they pulled into the driveway. Manny stuck his head out of the passenger window. “Need help?”

“God, yes,” I said.

The teenagers laughed and got out of the car. They waved their greetings at Mrs. Saunders and Millie, and quickly got to the business of helping drop all of the bushes into their respective holes. My back appreciated the extra help.

“What are you two up to today?” I asked.

“We were heading down to see you, actually,” Connie said. “Isabella is in Halifax for a conference or something, so she’s thinking about flying over for the weekend.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“Did you want to come over for supper, if she does?”

“I can’t. Jeremy and I are, apparently, going away on a little trip.”

“Where?” Manny asked. He was positioning one of the bushes.

“No idea,” I said. “Ya know, I didn’t even ask.”

Connie laughed. “You’re the trusting sort, are ya?”

“It’s what happens living around ’ere.”

Manny laughed. “Look at you now! Dropping your h’s!”

I stared at him for a moment and realized I had. “My mother would slap me right now if she were ’ere. Here. Here! Dammit!”

Manny laughed. “You’re one of us now!”

Accents were standing out less to me as time went on here. In fact, I found myself sometimes thinking my parents had accents, as opposed to Jeremy or Mrs. Saunders. Even Amy’s accent was normal to me now, and hers was as thick as molasses and I struggled to understand her when I first met her. Now that I was thinking about it, everyone spoke normal, everyday English. This crazy little area was really my home. These were my friends, or even my family, since I believe you can choose who will become your true family.

Was
I
starting to get the accent I’d originally struggled to understand? Was this why Mom was constantly asking me to talk slower? Well, that was unexpected.

I went back to planting the bushes, and Manny and Connie helped. Eventually, they took over. I worried about the wards, but I kept up focusing as much as I could. I was so tired anyway that I’m not sure me doing the work would have made a difference.

Amy brought out egg salad sandwiches and cans of pop for us, and tea for the ladies. Sweat was dripping down my back, but the food and the pop helped a lot.

“I love egg sandwiches,” I said. “Especially on white bread.”

“They only ever had ham sandwiches when I was in juvie,” Manny said. “With mustard.”

“What’s wrong with mustard?” Amy asked.

“I hate mustard,” Manny said.

“You just needs to get used to it, m’son.”

“I tried, Amy. I really did.” Manny shook his head. “But I honestly hate mustard now more than ever.”

Friendship. Family. Mustard.

I had a good life.

Chapter 6

Are Mornings Even Legal?

“Rachel! It’s time to get up, honey.”

Zombie-like sounds escaped me.

“Come on!”

I opened one eye. The sun hadn’t even risen. I groaned more. I swore even more when his cell phone’s camera light shone into my eyes.

“Leave me alone or I’ll turn you into a toad.”

“That isn’t even a real thing,” Jeremy said.

I glared up at him. “I’ll find a way.”

“You could never hurt this face.” He made a pathetic puppy face. “Now, come on. We have a bit of a drive ahead of us, and if you play your cards right, I might even stop at Tim Hortons for you.”

Every part of my body ached from the gardening the day before. No, that’s not right.
Gardening
doesn’t convey how hard I worked. Landscaping sounds significantly more impressive.

Every part of my body ached from the landscaping the day before. Yeah, that does sound better.

My back knots had knots. I struggled to bend my knees and my thighs screamed that I was making a bad life choice when I swung them over the side of the bed. Everything hurt. Everything ached.

Eventually and under extreme duress, I dragged myself to the bathroom, muttering unkind words under my breath the entire way. And promptly discovered that I’d started my period. Because there’s one thing a girl can always count on; her body setting up protest signs when she’s about to go on a damn romantic holiday.

At least that explained some of the thigh and lower back pain.

After taking care of all that, I took a very long, hot shower until the worst of the stiffness worked its way out. Wrapped in a towel, I dragged myself back into the bedroom. I wiggled into clean underwear and snatched my bra off the floor. Ow. Ow. Everything hurt. Ow. I struggled into the bra. Ow. I hate my life. Ow.

Jeremy jogged up the stairs. He rolled his eyes and asked, “Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

“I need ibuprofen.” I tugged a shirt on, followed by jeans. I winced as my insides cramped. “Maybe we should put this off.”

He sidled up behind me and pressed his fingertips into the sore muscles in my middle back. “Once we get to where we’re going, which is still a surprise, I’ll give a very nice massage. And then you can spend the rest of the day in bed reading those trashy novels you like so much.”

“My Misty Monroe novels aren’t trashy,” I said sharply. “You read space opera.  And there’s far more sex in your fantasy books than in Misty Monroe. Plus, she’s a girl and she’s awesome. And you can just shut your filthy mouth.”

“All right, all right. Misty Monroe isn’t trashy,” Jeremy said somberly. “And there’s more sex in her books than in my Lexter the Warrior series.”

“Jeremy, I’ve read those books. Dude gets laid every other chapter. Misty’s too busy rescuing morons from demons to be doing much of that.”

Jeremy chuckled. “Whatever. Bring your books. You’re going to love it where we’re going.”

I pouted and explained how everything was ruined and I was going back to bed to sulk.

Jeremy kissed my cheek. “Aww, don’t be like that. We’ll still have fun. I’ll pack a couple board games. We’ll have fun regardless.”

“Are you sure?”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “It’s not the plague. I’ll survive. I’ll go pack the food into the car. Oh, where are your hiking boots? I’ll take them with me.”

“Why do I need hiking boots? Oh, God. Don’t tell me we’re going camping. Dad used to make me do it all the time. I hate tents. You know I hate tents, right?”

Jeremy grabbed his jeans from the corner chair and tugged them over lean, but muscular legs. “I promise there will be no tents.”

“You promise?”

“No tents.”

“Then…where are we going?”

Jeremy tugged a clean shirt on over his head. “Somewhere without tents.”

With that, he padded downstairs to pack. I dug around in the bathroom cabinets for drugs, drugs, all the drugs. Spirit Caller, in desperate need of ibuprofen and a latte.

Drugs now consumed, I collapsed back on my bed. The sky outside was still dark, but I could see the faint streaks of dawn now over the light of my nightstand lamp. Jeremy jogged up the stairs a few minutes later and announced he had the perishable foods packed.