Scott Nicholson Library Vol 3 Page 35

  “What about my tow truck?” Pettigrew said, still dubious.

  Cindy and Dempsey both rolled their eyes as if they’d been watching too many Jim Carrey movies. “You can buy a whole fleet of trucks,” Dempsey said. “And you can afford imports.”

  Pettigrew’s jaw tensed. “Don’t be talking like that. I love my country.”

  Dempsey held up his hands. “Sure, sure. But this is more than just money. It’s art.”

  “Yeah,” Cindy said, still clinging to his hand. “You want to stick around this Hicksville town forever?”

  “It ain’t so bad here.”

  Especially compared to Darkmeet and the Graveyard of Second Chances.

  Dempsey stood up as the music shifted over to twitchy Talking Heads. “Think about it. But the agent needs an answer, like, yesterday.”

  As he strutted past with his chains jingling, Bone stuck out her leg to trip him. He passed right through her but his body heat sent shivers up her body. She took it as a hopeful sign.

  Wilt Drumbowski glanced in their direction, and Bone wondered if he were one of those weird kids who could see ghosts. But apparently he was more interested in Dempsey. Maybe Wilt was working on a screenplay like every other writer in America.

  Cindy made her move on Pettigrew, like a cat toying with a paralyzed mouse. “He’s got an agent,” she said.

  Pettigrew pulled his hand free of her claw-like grasp. “Great, then why don’t you go play kissyface with him?”

  Cindy purred a chuckle. “He’s obviously gay. I mean, leather and chains? In Parson’s Ford?”

  Pettigrew’s brow furrowed as if he didn’t understand the concept. “See what happens when you get Hollywood fever?”

  Bone moved closer to him, again digging the man-smell, which mingled with the scorched Sumatra and the artificial vanilla that wafted through the coffee shop. The sensations intensified, and she wondered if her prolonged exposure to the real world was reviving her.

  Maybe if I hang around long enough, I can be a real girl again. And this time, I’ll do it right.

  “Pet,” she whispered in his ear, not sure how well her voice would carry.

  He jerked upright, spilling his Java Junkie blend on the stack of paper. Cindy snatched the papers off the table, shrieking. “You big doofus! That’s the script. That’s my ticket to Sunset Boulevard.”

  She wiped at it, but the brown stain had spread through the inner pages and left a splotch in the shape of Shrek’s head around THE HALLOWEENING. Pettigrew was a little dazed, as if the caffeine had kicked in all at once. Bone smiled to herself, though her cold lips felt like hibernating reptiles.

  Still got the old spark, kid. Even dead, you can still make them jump.

  “I gotta go,” Pettigrew said.

  “Crystal’s got you on a short leash, huh?” Cindy said, clutching the script to her generous bosom and making sure he looked there. “But I can take you places she never even dreamed existed.”

  “She’s okay,” Pettigrew said. “A little weird, but she got a good heart.”

  Cindy leaned close, too close, making sure every kid in the coffee shop would be gossiping tomorrow about how Pettigrew was stepping out on Crystal Aldridge. “See how far ‘good’ gets you,” she whispered, giving his earlobe a tiny flick with her tongue.

  Damn. That even made ME shiver, and I’m dead.

  Bone, despite her jealousy, observed that Cindy was actually a pretty decent actress. She’d been practicing her entire life, fleshing out the role of Cindy Summerhill. She’d been chewing them up and spitting them out since kindergarten, and keeping all eyes on her at all times. Hollywood would be a cakewalk.

  “See you on Halloween, Billy Bob,” she said, sashaying toward the door with a little extra motion in the ocean.

  “Royce,” Pettigrew said.

  Uh-oh. As much as I’d love to stay and play with Pettigrew, I guess I’d better warn Crystal.

  On her way out the door, Bone stopped and pilfered some of the mocha-coated coffee beans. Most of the customers had turned their attention back to their videogames or had gathered heads to tell Cindy Summerhill fables. She could have sworn she heard a couple of them say “Royce.”

  Only Wilt Drumbowski saw the collection of little brown dots floating out the door. His mouth fell open, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he shook his head and kept writing.

  Good boy. There’s a copy of The Bloodening in your future.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Psst. Wake up.”

  Crystal shook her head. Roscoe. Had to be.

  The bed squeaked as someone moved next to her, then the covers were yanked from her body. Eyes still closed, she reached for them, and her fingers closed on soft fabric.

  But the fabric gave way and she clawed at it, shivering and trying to find purchase on the cool thread.

  “Umm. That’s my face,” Bone said.

  Crystal sat up, blinking. The only light was from the Stonehenge screensaver on her computer. In its bluish glow, Bone looked even deader than usual.

  “Whu—what time is it?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Already?”

  “Yep. Halloween. Or should I say The Halloweening?”

  Crystal tried to shake the slumber from her shoulders, but The Sandman must have dumped a wet bucket of the stuff. “What are you doing out of Darkmeet this time of night?”

  “I’m on a very special mission.”

  “You’re wearing my blouse.”

  “Cute, huh? But enough about me. How’s life?”

  “You say that with such sarcasm. But things are just fine. Me and Pettigrew are probably Splitsville, Momma’s potions are all mixed up, Royce crawled out of the wall and is running loose in Parson’s Ford, and I’m about to start my period.”

  “That’s one thing I don’t miss.”

  “Plus I have to go to this stupid party or McMarkus will have me in for intensive counseling.”

  “About that party . . .”

  Crystal sat up, kicking the blankets away. The first glimmer of dawn leaked from the window, and somebody in the trailer park started a truck. Momma must have still been asleep, because the trailer didn’t smell of bacon. “No date, right? But in a way, it’s simpler, because I won’t have to accessorize.”

  “Dempsey’s going.”

  “If you think I’m asking Dempsey, you’re even dumber now than you were in kindergarten.”

  “Not even to make Pettigrew jealous?”

  Crystal licked the overnight ick from her teeth. “Pettigrew’s not going to be there.”

  “You wish.”

  “Criminey Christ on a lollipop stick, Bone. He didn’t like those kids when he was in school, and he sure could care less now that he’s graduated. Unless their cars break down.”

  “That was before the movie deal came along.”

  “He already told Dempsey no.”

  “Cindy Summerhill got thrown in as a bonus.”

  Cindy Summerhill. Money, breeding, hair style, a stack of Old Navy gift cards, prom-queen crown, cheerleader skirt, and an utter lack of morals. Every girl’s nightmare and every boy’s dream.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “That movie you guys watched. He got brainwashed.”

  “He’d have to be brainwashed, if he dumped me for Cindy Summerhill.”

  Bone glanced around, as if afraid something might be spying from the shadows. “It’s this Royce thing. They have a deal.”

  “I know. Dempsey told me. Major studio interest.”

  “Not a Hollywood deal. I mean a real deal.”

  “What could be more real than Hollywood?”

  “I shouldn’t be telling you.”

  In the brightening natural light, Bone’s face looked gaunt and drawn, as if she hadn’t slept a wink in two years. At times Crystal forgot her best friend was dead, and then it would come rushing at her like a ghost train from a long, dark tunnel of the soul.

  Like now, only without
the steam whistle. “If it’s something you shouldn’t be telling me, then you should be telling me, know what I mean?”

  Bone looked at her hands and sighed, then went nearly invisible, as if reluctant to speak. “They’ll kill me.”

  “You’re already dead. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  “Staying dead.”

  Crystal took Bone’s hand. The flesh was dirt-cool and her friend’s eyes were like the valley mist of a Blue Ridge Mountain morning. “Hey, I’m sticking with you through thick and thin. Best friends forever, right? And forever’s not over yet.”

  Bone shut her eyes and nodded. A grim smile played about her lips. Then she steadied herself and continued.

  “Royce is the front man. He gets established, and soon he’s on the tabloid covers, and his name will be on everyone’s lips. The darker side of fan worship. With a little power, he’s busting open the gate and every creepy critter in Darkmeet is going to come crawling and sliming over here. First Parson’s Ford and then the world.”

  “That can’t happen. The Aldridges have been guarding the portal for centuries.”

  “Umm, you forget that someone’s been playing trick or treat with the potions. And it’s Halloween. Coincidence?”

  Crystal thought of Momma’s last two unsuccessful attempts at casting spells, including the fabulous forehead newt. “You have a point.”

  “And you’re not exactly up to speed on this witchcraft stuff.”

  “Gee, you’re as bad as Momma. Let’s see you try learning isosceles triangles, the capital of Uzbekistan, and the Tibetan Chant of the Cheese Moon all at the same time.”

  “Not criticizing, just saying.”

  Crystal was fully awake now. The Jiminez pit-bull mix three trailers down unleashed its morning howl, the unofficial rooster of Wellborn Trailer Park. Crystal was determined, once she mastered the arcane arts, to turn that loud-mouthed mutt into a goldfish. “Yeah. Momma says I’m not good enough to get found guilty in Salem.”

  “None of this is an accident. It’s like they picked the perfect time to pull off the invasion.”

  “Wait a second. Who are ‘they’ and what in the world do they need with the world? I thought Darkmeet had everything you could ever want, heaven without the harps and hell without the eternal stench of scorched barbecue?”

  “They don’t have Milk Duds.”

  “Candy? They’d go to all that trouble just for candy?”

  “It’s a symbol, Crystal. Remember in Mrs. Loggerfeld’s English class when we had to read ‘Moby Dick’?”

  “Nobody read it. It was too long and boring.”

  “Yeah, but we all looked it up on the Internet. The whale is a symbol of an unfulfilled, impossible goal. Just like Milk Duds.”

  “Dead people sit over there thinking about junk food?”

  “It’s a desire. Wishing for something you can’t have.”

  “Sort of like you and a steady boyfriend?”

  Bone sighed. “I’m working on it.”

  “Okay, save the world, and then get a boyfriend. Gotta have priorities here. Go on.”

  “Dead people are jealous. Royce Dean wants to be James Dean, I want to be you, the Judge wants to be Quentin Tarantino—”

  “Wait. You want to be me?”

  “In, like, a symbolic sense. I’d never possess you, even if I could.”

  Did Bone’s eyes just change color? I could have sworn I saw tiny flickers of red in them. Has she thought about possessing me? Maybe even TRIED it?

  “I trust you, Bone.” Mostly.

  “You’d better, because I’m risking big trouble by telling you this. The plan was for me to come over and help Royce—that’s why I have my ‘Get out of jail free’ card going on.”

  “And you’re double-crossing him?”

  “Worse than that. I’m blowing any chance for a stable relationship.”

  Crystal felt a surge of emotion rise in her, filling her chest with warmth. She scooted forward on the bed and hugged Bone tight, wishing the warmth could seep into the dead girl and revive her. Wishing, wishing, wishing.

  But it’s just another symbol. Wishing for something you can’t have.

  Bone’s ghostly tears were like dandelion sap.

  A minute later, Bone sniffed and said, “Pity party’s over. We’ve got a real party to get ready for.”

  “I’d guess I better go as a witch.”

  “How original. I’ll go as a ghost.”

  “As a real ghost, or are you wearing a sheet?”

  “That’s what I’ve been meaning to tell you. Dempsey’s movie. It’s called The Halloweening.”

  “As stupid as all his other titles.”

  “Yeah, but the idea is pure gold. The set-up is this high-school Halloween party, kids in costumes messing around, and all of a sudden a real ghost appears.”

  Crystal shook her head. “Boring. A supernatural Scream without the Neve Campbell. You already had that idea, remember?”

  “You don’t get it. Halloween. And a real ghost appears. A ghost named Royce.”

  “Whoa. Isn’t that against the rules or something?”

  “They’ve got an agent. They can do anything they want.”

  “And Dempsey’s got the camera rolling the whole time.”

  “It’s like reality TV, only it’s a movie.”

  “And the world will finally have proof of life after death. Royce will be bigger than ...bigger than ....”

  “James Dean. Heath Ledger. Taylor Lautner with chest hair.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of God and Satan.”

  “We don’t talk about that, remember?”

  Momma called from the kitchen, reminding Crystal that she had to be at work in an hour. Crystal went to the closet, wondering how she’d pull together a witch’s costume without a credit card. Why couldn’t Momma be a normal witch and have black robes, pointy hats, and ugly old-lady shoes?

  Crystal had been planning to go through the motions, walk through the party with Pettigrew, say hello to the right people, and be out of there before midnight, in time to help Momma save the world.

  Suddenly the evening had become much more complicated. She owned no black panty hose. “So where do Cindy and Pettigrew fit in?”

  “The basic storyline is Pettigrew doesn’t believe in ghosts, so Cindy wants to prove they exist by summoning a restless spirit through an Ouija board. A little conjure session at the party, Royce struts in, love triangle erupts. Of course, there’s a romantic subplot—”

  “Any kissing?”

  “I haven’t read the script,” Bone admitted. “But if it’s like Dempsey’s other movies, then you can count on locked lips, swapped tongues, and some partial nudity.”

  “I’m going to kill that jerk.”

  “I know a UPS van you can hotwire that’s got a pretty good track record.”

  Crystal selected khaki Capri pants, a scarlet T-shirt, and a white cotton sweater, changing in front of Bone without shyness or pretense. “Maybe I should warn Momma.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. They’re watching her very closely. If they suspect something’s up, they will be on to me, and it won’t be pretty. Besides, she’s got enough to worry about just watching the portal and making sure she has enough candy corn for the neighborhood kids.”

  “Why do I get the feeling this is more about saving you than about saving the world?”

  “I’m on borrowed time. I lied to get away—”

  “Like that’s the first time that’s ever happened.”

  “—and I’m passing up a hunka hunka burning love with a movie star. See? I’m choosing you over Royce.”

  “I’m moved.”

  “Does this mean I get to keep the blouse?”

  Bone’s development had stopped once she’d died, and though she’d been ripe and lush for a sixteen-year-old, Crystal had since gained a full cup size on her. She didn’t want to think of Bone as a little sister.

  People were meaner to family me
mbers than to friends, simply because friends could leave you. She’d already lost Pettigrew and she didn’t want to be stuck with just Momma and Roscoe.

  “Sure, I’ve outgrown it anyway. Got a hot date or something?”

  “A girl’s always got Plan B. In my script, Royce discovers that the dead and the living are doomed like Romeo and Juliet, so he decides only a ghost chick can understand him. And I plan to understand him, if you catch my drift.”

  “Your drift is smoke on the water.”

  “We got each other’s back, then?”

  Crystal thought about it. She really should be here at midnight to help Momma when the portal got wide and the veil was thin. Plus there was this business of the Underlings. If she abandoned her watch, then the powers of darkness would be let loose on an unsuspecting Parson’s Ford.

  On the other hand, if she skipped the party, Pettigrew might make a play for Cindy Summerhill.

  And she still wasn’t sure which side Bone would choose when push came to shove and the dead demanded their day in the sun.

  But you didn’t drop your best friend over a little thing like everlasting life.

  “All right,” Crystal said. “Here’s how we’ll do it.”

  Before they could make plans, Momma banged on the door. Crystal thought it was odd, because Momma’s style was to yell from the far end of the trailer, leaving Crystal to her privacy.

  “What is it?” Crystal shouted, as Bone hid in the closet.

  The door shook again with her insistent blows.

  Annoyed, Crystal answered the door. Then she understood why Momma wasn’t yelling.

  She had no mouth.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Summerhill house was in the older section of town, where Colonial-style brick, white trim, and black shutters were the basic ingredients of the upper-class lifestyle. The house was set back from the street with a neat lawn, and two old, gnarled oaks stood sentinel, shedding brown leaves on the driveway. A portico was supported by high, white columns, and the evenly spaced windows suggested order and safety.

  Nice, normal suburban house. Bummer.

  Dempsey figured a little special effects and clever use of shadows would work wonders, though, and the place could make a convincing haunted house. He peered through the camera’s viewfinder, making sure he could get his establishing shot before the lawn filled with high-school kids.