Dylan plopped on the edge of my bed, opened his laptop, and typed in his password, the screen casting an eerie blue glow on his face.
“How can you seriously just sit there and do research when that—that dead witch-woman just possessed you?” My voice cracked with thinly veiled hysteria.
Dylan glanced up at me, then back at the keyboard. “I’m fine, Kaitlyn. It didn’t hurt.”
“Are you crazy? She was inside you. You were possessed! Your eyes . . .” I shuddered. “And do you know what she said?”
“I told you I do.” He took a pause from typing. “It was weird.” He weighed his words before he spoke, like he was trying to be sure they were the right ones. “It was kind of like someone pulled some gauze over my mind. I could see and hear and feel, but I wasn’t fully there. She was at the controls. And I could feel her anger.” He looked away for a moment, almost in a daze, then shook his head and looked up at me.
“Yeah, but what was she angry about?”
“Kaitlyn . . .” Mama’s voice floated through my door and I cringed. I wasn’t so worried about what she’d think of Dylan being in my bedroom. I was more worried about what Dylan would think of Mama.
She pushed open my squeaky bedroom door without knocking. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in a week, and her wrinkled T-shirt and grungy jeans in at least that long. And she’d lost weight, too. I needed to get back to work and make sure she was eating.
As soon as she saw Dylan, she stopped and took a long drag from her cigarette. Last I’d heard she’d quit smoking. Looked like that had lasted about as long as the time she tried to quit drinking.
“Hi, Mama. You remember Dylan Anderson, don’t you?” I tried to act like I wasn’t pissed she’d just barged into my personal space or worried that she looked so frail.
As she took another drag off her cigarette, her eyes narrowed. “Sure I do. You’re Hunter’s friend.” She staggered just inside the doorway, scowling from me to him and back again. “What’re you doin’ in my daughter’s bedroom?”
Great. It wasn’t even half past eight on a weeknight and Mama was already drunk. Typical. “We’re working on a project, Mama.” I gestured to Dylan’s laptop.
“We’re doing some research, Ms. Karly.” Dylan smiled at her, trying to be friendly.
“Humpf.” She took another drag. “Looks mighty cozy for research.”
“Really, Mama? It’s not like we have any place else to work.” I scowled right back at her. She’d never complained about Hunter staying over. And who was she to talk? She’d had several different men parade through our trailer since my daddy left. I just locked my door, but never complained about it. So long as they didn’t hurt me or her, I couldn’t have cared less. “Besides, it’s none of your business who’s in my bedroom any more than it is my business who’s in yours.”
She took two quick steps forward and grabbed my jaw, hard. Not something I’d ever have expected Mama to do. “You watch your mouth, Kaitlyn Karly. That Hunter was a good boy. You’ve barely even cried over him since he got killed . . . and now you’ve gone right off and replaced him. With his friend, too. I raised you better than that. Don’t you dare go off and be like your daddy.”
I felt like I’d been slapped in the face and yanked my jaw away from her. I jumped off the bed, forcing Mama back toward my open bedroom door. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, Mama. No idea. Whatsoever. You’re too drunk to know what’s going on in your own life let alone mine,” I spat. I knew it’d hurt her feelings, but I didn’t care. “You couldn’t even be bothered to go to their funerals so why do you give a crap about who I have in my bedroom?”
“That’s right. That’s me. Nothing but your drunk mama.” She glared at me. “Go on, then, be a whore. See how far it’ll get you.” And with that, she spun on her heels, walked out of my room, and slammed the bedroom door right in my face.
Tears of embarrassment and shame burned my eyes. I kept my back to Dylan. I didn’t want to face him, but I couldn’t bolt from my room either. I couldn’t leave Dylan alone in my trailer with her. And I didn’t want to deal with Mama. Not like this. Besides, she’d be gone to the bar soon enough.
“Kaitlyn.” Dylan was behind me now. He squeezed my shoulder, but I pulled away.
“Don’t.” I sniffed back tears that I couldn’t stop from spilling down my face and onto my shirt.
From the front room, Mama bellowed, “Don’t worry about me, you little whore, I’ll be out . . . all night! Like mother, like daughter.” Then the trailer door slammed shut.
I sucked back a sob. I had to get out of here. I couldn’t keep living like this. Hunter’d seen her this way more than once. And he’d promised we’d get out. He’d promised. Now he was dead and I was trapped. I couldn’t even imagine how I’d manage leaving on my own. Especially not with all this crazy ghost crap going on. But there had to be a way. There had to . . .
“Kaitlyn.” Dylan spun me around to face him.
I shoved him away, but he just pulled me into his embrace. His arms wrapped around me and I inhaled the soft, mingled scent of Abercrombie and sweat. A warm, comforting scent. I let loose then, falling into his arms. All the tears and hurt and anger that’d been building up about Hunter and Keisha dying, about Daddy leaving, about Mama being such a mean-ass drunk. They all came pouring out of me. Life just sucked. It was all so unfair. And I hated it.
I’m not sure how long I cried. It felt like hours. But Dylan didn’t complain. Not once. He just sat me on my bed and held me and stroked my hair, telling me it would all turn out alright somehow. When my tears had finally dried, and my nose was so stuffed up I couldn’t breathe, it felt like a great big cavern of emptiness had opened up inside my chest—but emptiness was better than pain.
“What are we gonna do?” My voice cracked.
Dylan tucked a few stray strands of tear-sticky hair behind my ear and smiled. “First, I’m going to go and get us both some water. Then we’re going to find out exactly who or what is at that tree. We might not be able to change our parents. But we can do something to help Hunter and Keisha. And once we’ve helped them, then we can focus on getting ourselves out of this town and away from our parents.”
“Do you really think that’s possible? For me, I mean?” I looked up at him, a twinge of hope fluttering in my heart.
“Of course it is, Kaitlyn. You don’t need a college fund to get away from this place. You work hard. You get good grades. I don’t have any doubt you can leave as soon as you graduate. We both just have to get through all this.” He gestured at the Devil’s Tree research on his computer, then put his arm around me. “Then we have to get through the next school year and we’re done. You can get out of here.”
I took a deep breath and smiled up at him. “I sure hope you’re right.”
Two glasses of water later, I took a seat beside Dylan on my bed and wrapped myself in Gran’s old quilt wondering what Dylan would dig up next.
He angled the laptop toward me. I read what he’d brought up on the screen, then looked at him. “The Demonicpedia? Really? It sounds like something straight out of that TV show Supernatural. Is it even legit?” It was bizarre enough that we were dealing with ghosts, and maybe a witch-ghost, but why on God’s good earth was he researching demons?
“It’s legit enough. Now, look.” Dylan scrolled down a couple lines to a name: Alastor.
I froze. Alastor. That was the name the witch had told us. “Alastor’s a demon?”
“Looks that way. And listen to this.” He looked back at the screen and read aloud. “Alastor. From Christian demonology. A possessing entity brought on by a curse. A cruel demon called the executioner.”
As if in response to his words, thunder rolled overhead and rain began to spatter against our thin-walled trailer. We both glanced out the window, then looked at each other. I pulled my ratty quilt tight around my shoulders and yanked my messenger bag up onto the bed with me and Dylan kept reading. “An executioner. He is associated with sin that passes down through generations . . . He is very cruel.”
Great. Just what we needed—a cruel demon.
“What if somehow that demon is bound to that tree? What if he’s the one causing the truck to chase people off the road? What if he’s the one killing them?” Dylan stared hard at the screen as if it would answer.
It was too terrible to think about. Ghosts were one thing, but witches and demons? What would Father Alvarez say about this? “I don’t know, Dylan. It’s—it’s . . .” It’s crazy. Pure and simple crazy. I’d never really had time to think about God or the devil. My life had been about work and school and Hunter. It’d been about surviving. It wasn’t about ghosts and witches and demons.
“It’s a stretch, I know. But that woman, that—that witch. She knew something. She had this sort of sick, twisted pleasure from the fact Hunter and Keisha are trapped. She was angry, too. But I also felt this lack of control—not mine, hers.”
“She did say something about him keeping his sacrifices.” I swallowed. “But what does she have to do with Alastor?”
“I don’t know.” Dylan closed the lid to his laptop and pulled out the Ouija board.
“Oh, no. No way. There’s no way in hell I’m getting on that thing again. You’re insane, Dylan Anderson. Totally nuts!” I kicked the Ouija board away from Dylan and sent it flying under my desk. “Just don’t forget to take it with you when you leave this time.”
He grabbed my hands hard and looked at me. “We need more information, Kaitlyn. There’s no one to ask at the library. No parent or teacher who’ll know the answers. And we need answers. We need to know what connection Agatha has to Alastor. It’s the only way we can really figure out what’s going on.”
“And who are you planning to contact now? A demon?”
Dylan scowled and gave a slight shake of his head. “We need to talk to Keisha and Hunter. I think they’re bound here because of Agatha or Alastor. I’m not sure which, but maybe they can give us answers if we ask the right questions.”
“Right. You can ask away, but there’s no way I’m getting back on that thing.” I huffed, wearily eyeing the board lying a few feet away, fear trampling my heart.
“Fine. Then maybe this will work.” Dylan leaned forward. His breath hitched—just for a second—then he pulled me to him and pressed his lips against mine.
He tasted like salt and mint and electricity. A zap shot from my lips straight down to my . . . Oh, hell no. No way. I stiffened and pulled back. “What are you doing?”
“They’ll respond to this.”
“I want Keisha’s attention, but I don’t want her to kill me.” I didn’t want to hurt her either, or Hunter. My heart battled against my mind, fighting this strange new urge I had to kiss Dylan.
“Kiss me, Kaitlyn. If you want them to come without using the Ouija board, then this is the only way to be sure we’ll get their attention.”
Maybe he was right. I wasn’t about to use the Ouija board again, and kissing me was bound to make Keisha jealous. I wasn’t sure I should do this—kiss Dylan—but he’d been so sweet and kind tonight—despite Mama. Despite me having nothing. Maybe Keisha’d been right to love him the way she did. No. I couldn’t think like that. If I kissed him, it would be to get Keisha’s attention. That’s all. And it seemed like it was a sure-fire way to make them come.
I grabbed on to Hunter’s bag, feeling the crucifix through the canvas pocket, then leaned forward, closed my eyes, and let myself kiss Dylan.
For a second I felt his scruffy face against my cheek, then I was lost in the warmth of his lips. His hands traveled over my shoulders, through my hair. His mouth moved over mine, soft and warm and sweet. I let myself go then. I wanted this. I wanted it more than I realized. I kissed him back.
I’d never wanted to kiss Dylan before. I may have looked at his soft lips and strong jaw, but shoot, I’d never even imagined what it would be like to actually kiss him. And I certainly didn’t expect it to be like this. No wonder Keisha’d been so into him. Dylan Anderson was a fantastic kisser.
A wail interrupted our kiss and something threw me against the bedroom wall, away from Dylan. Away from the warmth and safety of his arms.
Keisha. Burned and bloody and madder than a hornet with its nest on fire. “You bitch.” Keisha clutched my neck, and her once perfect nails dug into my skin. Her icy fingers pressed into my throat, choking the air out of me.
I gasped, and let out a strangled cry, my feet rising off the floor in Keisha’s too-strong grip. I tried to speak, but couldn’t get a word out.
“Stop it, Keisha.” Hearing Dylan’s voice was all it took to distract her.
She loosened her grip, and I shoved my hand into my bag, grabbed the crucifix, and swung it into the side of her ice-cold head. She screamed and shot away from me to the opposite side of my tiny room, angry eyes fixed on Dylan.
“How could you kiss her?” she seethed. “You said you barely even liked her. You said you only tolerated her for the sake of that weeping, overly protective thing.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder to Hunter. “But you lied to me, Dylan. Every time I asked if you really liked Kaitlyn, you said no. Liar! All you were doing was covering up your real feelings.”
Hunter was a shadow of his living self. Hunched and crying, he lurked in the corner of my tiny room. “I’m sorry, Kaitlyn. So, so sorry. Sorry about everything.” His voice was weak, tattered.
A wave of guilt crashed over me. How could I have kissed Dylan? It must’ve ripped Hunter’s heart apart. And Keisha. I hadn’t wanted to hurt her either.
“Oh, please.” Keisha rolled her eyes and glared at Dylan. “Get out of my way, Dylan, or I’ll hurt you.”
Dylan stood up then and faced her, tears brimming. “I don’t believe that. You won’t hurt me, Keisha. I loved you. And you loved me.”
Hands on her hips, Keisha’s eyes softened. “Maybe I did. You showed me white guys aren’t all bastards. You showed me I could be myself no matter what. You showed me people could overcome hatred. But what does that matter now? I’m dead and you—you’re alive and kissing her.”
“I did it because I knew it’d make you come. That’s all.” Dylan’s eyes were sad, pleading.
Ouch. And I’d given myself over to that kiss. What an ass. I was sorry I’d even done it—especially considering poor Hunter. Guilt shot through my heart all over again, and I hoped he hadn’t seen the kiss.
Keisha crossed her arms over her chest, just like she always did when she was pissed. “And I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Keisha, come on. We needed to talk to you and Kaitlyn wouldn’t use the board again. You know me. You know how I felt about you.”
“Felt,” she spat. “Exactly.”
“Stop. Just for a second. Stop and listen to yourself. Stop and think. You know what I went through with my father to be with you. You know I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t really care.” He took a step closer to her, but stopped just shy of touching her. “And I still care, Keisha. Do you really want to be stuck here on earth forever?” He looked at Hunter. “Or you, Hunt? We were best friends. I don’t want you trapped here. I want to help you. I want you to move on and find peace. We both do.”
“So you can be with her,” Keisha said, glaring at me over Dylan’s shoulder. “Agatha’s right. You men are all the same. They use you, then piss all over you as they’re walking away.” She scowled, her teeth gleaming in her bloody, broken face.
“That’s not true, and you know it. Don’t listen to what Agatha says. She’s probably the one keeping you here! All Kaitlyn and I want is for you and Hunter to be at peace.”
Hunter moved closer to us then. Tears streaked his pale cheeks, but he no longer cried. “How can you help us? We’re trapped.”
I crawled over the rumpled covers toward the edge of my bed. “Hunter.” Pain punched me hard in the chest. Even burned and dead, he was my Hunter. I couldn’t leave him to keep on suffering. “We know about that woman. We know about Agatha. We think she was a witch. She died at that tree; she was lynched. And somehow a demon is involved. His name is Alastor.”
Keisha wailed.
Hunter cowered, hands over his ears. “Don’t say his name. Don’t say it or he’ll come. He’ll hurt you. He’ll hurt us all.”
I crept around Dylan, who reached out a hand to stop me.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I need to talk to him.”
Slowly, he let his hand drop from my arm. “Be careful.”
Crouching beside Hunter’s battered, translucent spirit, I willed him to look at me. “Hunter.” My voice was soft, gentle. The way it used to be when it was just him and me alone. Alone and sharing our deepest secrets. “Hunter, talk to me. Like we used to.” Tears choked my words, but I couldn’t help it. Hunter’d been the love of my life. He knew more about me than anyone. Ever. “Please.”
He looked at me then, his face bruised and bloodied and burned. “Kaitlyn.” He reached out his hand to touch my face. I closed my eyes, but only felt a chill where his fingers should have been.
“I’m here,” I whispered and opened my eyes. “I don’t want to let you go, but I will if it means you’ll have peace. I want to help you. I want you to be free. I want you to be happy.”
“He’ll never let us go. I thought you could help, but . . .” Hunter, always strong and confident and sure of himself in life, was the opposite in death. Weak, afraid, pitiful. Trapped. “She made a deal, Kaitlyn. Agatha made a deal to avenge herself.”
“Against who?” Tears cascaded down my cheeks. How I missed his touch, his warmth, his love. I had the stupid bag he’d given me, but I didn’t have him. Had he seen me kiss Dylan? If he had, it must have hurt him so damn much. And I’d enjoyed it. A new swirl of confusion and guilt wrapped itself around my heart and squeezed.
Hunter gazed at me, his eyes clearer than I’d seen them since he’d passed. “I heard her talking to Keisha. And whispering to herself. She murmured through the night. All night. Every night. She keeps saying his name over and over again.”
I reached out, wanting to take him in my arms, but my fingers tingled with cold where his body should have been. “Whose name, Hunter?” I asked, my hand as cold as the spot where Hunter stood. “Whose name?”
He looked at me with sad eyes that pierced my heart. “If there’s any hope at all, find Henry Willis. Maybe he can help you.”
A boom of thunder clapped overhead and a flash of bluish-purple lightning illuminated my room. When the lightning was gone, so were Keisha and Hunter.