Page 48

I swallowed thickly and shuddered out a breath that fogged the air. Even though I didn’t need to check, I stole a quick peek at the amulet Keene had given to me. It was currently dangling from a bracelet on my wrist and clouding with a thick, puffy white smoke.

Too afraid to move as the single book hovered expectantly in front of me, I gulped heavily and waited for it to start chopping into me like an ax, but it just floated before me, very unthreatening.

She communicates through books , I remembered Keene telling me. And realizing she was just trying to talk to me—not kill me—I slowly lowered my attention to the title and read what it said.

It was a fiction novel titled It’s a Waverly Life by Maria Murnane.

I blinked, stunned. “Hey, you remember my name.”

The book shifted up and down, nodding.

Well.

Warmth flooded my chest, and my fear evaporated. I smiled at the book, utterly charmed. Swear to God, I think I actually fell in love with her at that moment.

Except I also went a bit sad and sympathetic. I’d always thought death was the end. No more pain. No more suffering. No more bad. Just blissful nothing. Except if she was seriously stuck here forever, she could see her son while never being able to touch him. And that must be miserable.

It made me think maybe not everyone’s death was the peaceful, untroubled escape I’d imagined it to be.

Tucking some hair behind my ear, I motioned toward the cart. “Hey, I was just going to shelve these books,” I announced, pushing the button to re-open the doors. “Do you, uh, do you want to…?”

I didn’t even get to finish the question; books began to lift off the cart and soar through the rows of shelves. Within seconds, the cart was empty.

“Cool,” I uttered, watching in awe.

But seriously, now what the hell was I supposed to do for the rest of my shift?

A cold breeze crawled up the back of my neck, telling me the ghost had returned, finished with all the work that probably would’ve taken me half an hour to do.

“Wow. Uh, thank you, Mrs. Dugger,” I said, bowing my head slightly to show my gratitude because I had no idea how I was supposed to treat her.

But I must’ve done something wrong because a book whipped off the shelf and slapped me on the side of the arm in reprimand.

“Oww,” I said, rubbing the spot. It barely smarted, but it had still surprised me.

Seven more books joined the first, and I reared back in worry.

Great. Here we go again. I guess my end was going to be death by book stoning after all.

But instead of coming at me like a pack of spears, the books arranged themselves on a nearby table, waiting for me to approach and read them.

Stepping forward, I frowned in confusion, unable to make sense of what she was telling me. None of the books had anything in common. And when I tried to read their titles together as a sentence, it just sounded like gobbledygook.

Finally, I pulled my phone from my pocket and texted Keene, snapping a picture of the book arrangement before saying,

What does this mean?

Twenty seconds later, he responded.

Who dis?

Rolling my eyes, I winced up at where I assumed his mother was standing—or floating or whatever—just waiting for me to understand her message.

It’s Waverly. I’m working at the library, and your mom gave me this message. Do you understand what she’s trying to tell me?

Instead of answering, he wrote,

Waves?

Yes. Waverly Frank.

Who else named Waverly worked at the library and knew about his ghost mom?

How did you get my number?

I groaned. Really?

No idea,

I smarted back.

You just had it printed on hundreds of posters in large, bold font under a picture of my underwear that you passed around campus. But it’s a true mystery how I came to be in possession of your number.

Instead of being contrite, the man merely answered,

It wasn’t HUNDREDS of posters. We only made fifty.

My mistake. That’s SO much better.

I had a feeling he’d detect my sarcasm.

Do you know what this message from your mom means or not?

Of course. She’s saying Laterman.

Laterman? Are you sure? How do you know?

Because I’m just that brilliant. Obvs.

With a snort, I typed,

I remain unconvinced.

I’m pretty sure I heard him roll his eyes across campus as his little bubbles appeared on the screen.

Fine. It’s because she has a system. If she uses one book, you can figure out what she wants from the title or subject matter. If she uses more, you take the first letter of each title and spell out the word she’s trying to say.

I turned my attention to the tomes on the table to spell out Laterman. Irritated that he was right, I wrote,

Well, what the hell does Laterman mean?

That was her last name, genius.

Oh. Okay. That makes sense.

I paused to slap my palm to my forehead.

She showed me this right after I called her Mrs. Dugger.

Yeah. Don’t do that,

Keene warned.

My dad is basically the reason she’s dead, so anything that reminds her of him, like his name, will probably set her off.

Okay, wow. Good to know.

I glanced apologetically at the air around me, only to realize,

Wait. How is your dad to blame? I thought she died of cervical cancer.

She did, but the cancer came from a sexually transmitted disease that went too long without treatment. Three guesses who gave her the STD.

My mouth fell open as I gasped.

Oh damn. Now I really feel terrible for calling her Dugger.

How do you think I feel? I’m stuck with the bastard’s name for the rest of my life.

My eyebrows lifted until he added,

It’s okay though, since Nana and Grandpa Dugger have the name too. At least I can handle sharing it with them.

Which told me he didn’t like his dad. Got it.

Shit, gotta go. I just got called out by the prof for texting in class.

Keene!

I wrote back in exasperation.

What the hell are you doing answering my text if you have a teacher who doesn’t like it?

Hey, if you didn’t want me to answer in class, you shouldn’t have written while I was IN class.

I didn’t KNOW you were in the middle of a class when I wrote.

Well, you do now, yet you KEEP texting.

Then stop answering me!

I will as soon as you stop texting.

Oh my God.

I groaned out my frustration, sent him a thumbs-up, and snorted out a laugh. He was such an annoying goofball.

And texting him was just as invigorating and fun as talking to him in person. I was so freaking in love with his total weirdness. I felt all floaty and happy until I remembered he just wanted to be friends because he had no sexual interest in me at all.

Damn.

And now my chest was aching, and I felt awful.

I hated unrequited feelings.

What was worse, I didn’t see him again for the rest of the week after that conversation.

He didn’t visit the library.

He didn’t text.

I didn’t even spot him walking across campus anywhere.

If Xander hadn’t mentioned him in passing, talking about how he’d annoyed her the night before during supper or used her bathroom because Alec had been busy in theirs, I might’ve thought he’d skipped town entirely. But he was still obviously around.

He stayed away so long even his mom asked me about his whereabouts. And that’s when I realized he was purposely avoiding me.