Almost Dead (Dead, #1) (7 page)

Flora’s eyes are wider than the
Atlantic Ocean. “Whoa. How’d you do that?” She runs her hand over the solid surface.

Sara says, “This
is what I’m going to teach you.” She ends her declaration with a proud smile.

A smile that freaks me out. They both freak me out. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want this day to be over with
so I can go home. Instead, I’m trapped.

“Flora, let’s begin with you, since you’re already sitting down,” says Sara.
“The trick is to concentrate on pushing your energy from your core to your fingertips. When you can focus your energy anywhere in your spirit form, you will be able to do many things.”

“Like what?” Flora inquires.

“We’ll get to that in a bit, but first, I want you to start small. Then we’ll work our way up from here.”

This has to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of. That, or the coolest. I mean, who doesn’t want the ability to vanish into thin air…
or a wall? I’m suddenly feeling overjoyed at the thought that Flora might fail this task, though. Standing back, watching her, has given me a new perspective on this whole ghost ordeal: Sara isn’t teaching us this stuff for fun. It’s important.

“What’s this for, anyway?” I ask. Someone’s got to, and I definitely don’t hear Flora opening her big mouth to question why.

“My job is to teach you essential tools to use in your reality, when you get your second chance.”

Um…is she talking in riddles, or is it just me? “What second chance? We’re
basically dead.”

“No, Laney, you’re
almost
dead. In order for you and Flora to have a fighting cyoua fighthance, you’ll have to warn your families or loved ones that your bodies are at the base of a cliff. I can only keep you two alive and well for so long while you remain here with me. After you leave here, nothing is promised.”

There’s no way either of us will make it in reality.
No. Freaking. Way.

I hate to admit it, (and I won’t to anyone’s face), but once Sara explained the gist of why we’re students in Moving
Through Objects 101, it made some sense. I mean, I don’t
want
to be a poltergeist, but if that’s what it takes to get my family’s attention, then I’ll be the scariest, most persistent poltergeist Briarhaven has ever seen. I don’t even know if the town’s ever had a paranormal occurrence, so maybe I’ll be first on the leader board.

“Again,” Sara tells Flora. If Sara’s losing patience, she doesn’t show it. Her features are as soft and endearing as they were a few hours ago. I watch her—my own tolerance wearing thin—and how she takes her time showing Flora little by little how to move her hand through the table, making it invisible.

Flora’s fully concentrating; she bites the tip of her tongue as it sticks out one side of her mouth. But when her hand hits the tabletop with a dull
crack
, she shouts, “Damn it!”

“Do not
be discouraged, Flora. You are doing so well. With just a little more practice, you will achieve this.” Sara places her hand on top of Flora’s.

I’m almost jealous.

Almost.

Why does Flora get all the attention? Why can’t I learn this
stuff? That’ll make her shut up, if I ace it before she does.

“Let me try,” I interject,
prancing over to the table and plopping down on the floor. It looks like we’re preparing to have a séance, minus the Ouija board. And there’s also the fact that
we’re
the ghosts.

Sara momentarily freezes in place, but shakes off her
surprised state and says, “Okay, try it.”

My hand hovers above the table. I concentrate on becoming invisible, like Sara
instructs, and on my hand gliding through the slab of wood. When I let my palm drop, it lands with the same earsplitting
crack
as Flora’s.

Okay, maybe this won’t work after all.

“Again,” Sara says. 

We both atte
mpt to move our hands this time, and we’re both met with the same sound. Flora growls in annoyance. I try to keep my cool and make this work, but so far no luck.

Meanwhile, Sara sips on tea that has an aro sht has amatic flavor. It’s nothing I’ve smelled before, I
can say that, but it does remind me of Oliver’s studio. Great. Now I miss cappuccino.

Flora concentrates on her hand and the table. I’ve
basically given up. How can something be so difficult? It’s like practicing for the pageant. I can walk and strut all I want, but Oliver claims I still don’t have it. Whatever
it
is.

“You’re doing well, ladies,” Sar
a says. “Just a little more effort.” She’s silently reminding us that we don’t have the rest of the year to make this work. Sara? She has all the time in the world. She’s dead and has nothing better to do.

I’m different, though. I have a family that’ll be looking for me—even a boyfriend—and they have no id
ea where I am. I gaze at Flora. How long has she been friends with my sister? Sad to say, but I don’t know much about this girl. All I’m certain about is that she drinks like she lives in a bar, smokes on school property, and listens to bands who scream the lyrics. Her parents care more about her brother, Derek, than they do her, and last year there was a rumor at school that she might get emancipated. How can someone live like that? She has nothing to live for.

I
should be the one who gets this hand thingy. Not her.

Okay, c
oncentrate
.
Focus your energy, so it’ll work this time
.

My body might
be through a portal somewhere, though
…

No, no, no
.
Don’t think about your body, or how this world looks like it’s covered in ash
.
Think about the energy, and how you’re going to use it
.

“Laney? What’s wrong?” asks Sara. “You’re not trying. There’s only so much—”

“Time? Yeah, I got that,” I say.

I force
all of this bad energy and negative thoughts through my arm and into my hand. It tingles, like liberated electricity. I bring my hand down, waiting for the cracking noise, but it doesn’t happen. My hand goes straight through the table.

God, I love myself.

“How the hell did you do that? I’ve been trying for longer than you.” If Flora were in her true body, her face might be redder than an ember in the fireplace.

I shrug. “Oh, you know. Practice.”

She stands up. “That’s not fair! Tell me how you did it.”

“And what’s in it foro, s in i me? Will you
take my clothes to the dry cleaners for the rest of the year,
if
we live?”

“Ladies, please,” Sara says. “Sit down, Flora. This takes some time.”

Flora eases herself back down to the floor and raises her hand several inches above the table. Down it goes, meeting the tabletop. She curses.

Just to be
sure, I test my hand again. It’ll suck if it was only a one-time thing.

But my handy-dandy magic trick
still works. Yay! Go me.

“Would you stop that?” Flora shrieks. “You’ve proven your point already. Damn.”

“Fine,” I say, curling a lock of hair around my finger. Okay, I’m over it. I just want to find my family and warn them. Maybe even throw a book or two at their heads. Isn’t that what ghosts do?

Over and over and over Flora tries…and fails. I don’t understand why she can’t grasp the idea. It doesn’t take a rocket
scientist to figure it out. I mean, I did it. I’m not as bright as sunshine. So, what does that make her? Maybe all those alcoholic drinks are killing her brain cells.
They won’t let you have drinks where you’re going, sweetie.

“Got it!” she yells.

I snort. “Oh, please. It only took you, like, twenty-five hours to get it.”

“Bitch,” she mumbles under her breath.

“Now that you both have learned how to move your hand through an object, you have to learn how to move your body through objects, too,” says Sara. “Like this.” She stands from the couch and walks to the nearest wall, next to the fireplace, and disappears.

“How is that harder than using our hand?” I ask.

She reappears. “With your hand, you have to focus all energy into one area. With your body, you need an equal amount of energy in all areas.”

“WHAT?” Flora shouts. “There’s no way…”

“Do you guys have, like, salons and stuff here?” I ask, holding my nails up to the light from the fireplace. “This place seems so dull without entertainment.”

“Are you serious right now?”

I eye Flora. “It’s not like you’d care unless there was a biker bar around the corner.”

She
grits her teeth, growls, and then makes a flying leap toward me. I try to push her off, but it’s like a mouse lifting a dog. How can I compete with that?

“Ladies, please!” Sara calls somewhere in the background. Why can’t she use ghost powers and lift Flora off of me?
Ugh. They’re both psycho.

I’m able to squirm out fr
om under Flora’s grasp and run
straight through a wall
. Something Flora hasn’t mastered, apparently, because she runs into the wall, smacking her face against the wood. I stifle a laugh. That’s what she gets for going all axe murderer on me.

Walking through a wall isn’t all it’s cracked up to be
, though. I mean, it’s dark and dusty in between the crevices. There are probably termites. Wait…do termites live in the afterlife? I step back into the living room area, where Flora narrows her eyes at me.

“I am so proud of you, Laney,” Sara gushes. “But, Flora, you need to learn to control your temper. Anger is not the solution to your problems.”

“But alcohol is,” I murmur.

Sara cuts me a
n icy glare. “And, Laney, you should not be so quick to judge.” She guides Flora to the couch and helps her sit. “Now, I need your full attention. If you want to make it, you have to warn those you love.”

“And what happens if we don’t?” Flora asks.

“If you decide against notifying them, then I can send you to the Passage of the Lost, which leads to the Tower of Forgotten Souls. There, you would stay until your physical bodies pass on. Afterward, it would be decided how long you will remain here, in Lichburn.”

Not seeing Chase or my family again? That would suck. But waiting around in a lobby until I died would suck even wo
rse, especially if I had to wait with Flora the Freak.

“Who
or what, exactly, decides where our spirits will end up?” Flora asks.

Sara
hesitates, almost like she’s unsure whether she’s given too much information away, but responds, “There is a council who dwells inside the Town Hall. They are the Elders, the ones who decide a person’s fate, as they have been in this realm for many centuries and have great knowledge.”

I don’t want Flora
getting all the attention, so I pipe up. “And why are you stuck here?”

This time, unlike the others, Sara’s smile is
strained. Her eyes radiate deep pain as they glaze over. “I am afraid that story is for a later occasion.”