Maddening (Cursed Superheroes #2)(12)

While she’s been a bit temperamental lately, she does have a reason to be, considering her circumstances.

“Ry, I’m so sorry.” I stand up and lean over the table to meet her gaze. “I was just trying to lighten the mood.” I gesture around the damp, murky basement, lined with a few shelves, boxes, and a washer and dryer that look straight out of the eighties. “This place is so depressing. I hate that you’re down here twenty-four seven.”

“God, so do I.” Her open eyes focus on the florescent light above the table, making her look like a possessed doll.

Even dead, she still resembles the gorgeous older sister I grew up idolizing. The only difference now is her long, blonde hair is lily white; her big, blue eyes are a tiny bit bloodshot; and her golden tanned skin is pale. Still, she could definitely pull off the whole hot zombie look. That is, if I can figure out how to complete the spell to bring her back to life. Until I do, she’s stuck on this table every day of every hour, waiting for me to visit, since I’m the only person who was graced with the lovely gift of being able to talk to the dead. Insert sarcasm on the lovely part.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful to be able to talk to my sister, even after she died, yet my gift definitely has down sides. Like every time I go to a funeral and have to pretend the deceased body in the coffin isn’t begging me to save them from being buried alive.

I used to try to carry out their wishes, and even attempted to help my grandpa flee. Let’s just say mourning families don’t take too well to some stranger passing along a pleading, “save me” message from their dead loved ones. And my parents weren’t very thrilled about me trying to drag my grandpa out of his coffin. Afterward, they took me to a bunch of specialists to try to find out what was wrong with me.

Each specialist had their own theories and treatments; some of which included cutting open my head. Fortunately, my parents weren’t total nutjobs and told them no freaking way. I stopped seeing specialists after that and was allowed to live a normal life. Well, normal except for the rare occasion when I’m near a dead body. I also get the occasional warning to be on my best behavior whenever I attend a funeral.

“The lights are so dim down here,” my sister gripes, yanking me out of my thoughts.

I rest my elbows beside her head. “I’m sorry. If I could keep you someplace else, I would. But this is the only place that’s both safe and has the right temperature to …” I press my lips together, worried finishing that sentence will only upset her more.

“Keep my rotting stench under control.” She heaves a heavy sigh, her bloodshot eyes drifting in my direction. “Look, I’m sorry I’m getting upset. I don’t know why I’m being so moody. I was never this bitchy and whiney when I was alive.”

“No, you weren’t.” I place my hand over her clammy one and offer a smile. “But that’s okay. Death is a legit reason to be a little bitchy.”

“Maybe. That doesn’t mean I need to be bitchy to you. Not when you’re trying to bring me back to life.” Hope sparkles in her lifeless eyes.

I force a smile, but my stomach knots with nerves. While I have been trying to bring my sister back to life, I’m far from completing the spell. A spell that’s extremely complicated for a powerful witch, let alone someone like me who’s been cursed since birth with weak, uncontrollable powers.

Yep, on top of being the only witch and paranormal creature in all of Mystic Willow Bay—that I know of—who can chat it up with dead bodies, I’m also known as the town’s magic klutz because of my sucky skills at casting spells, brewing potions, and dancing naked under the full moon.

Just kidding on the last part. I don’t really dance under the full moon naked. Well, unless I’ve had a few too many drinks and decide to play a game of truth or dare.

“What’s with the frown?” My sister’s fingers twitch beneath mine, a sign she’s probably trying to put her hand over mine to comfort me. Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tries, she won’t be able to move anything except her eyes and mouth, and only I can witness that. To everyone else, she looks exactly as she is—a dead body lying on a cold steel table with my half-eaten breakfast and a book about removing parts of the human brain.

“I was just thinking about some of the ingredients I need for the spell,” I lie, turning back to my book to avoid eye contact. “There’s some really weird stuff required.”

“Like what?” she asks. When I don’t respond, mostly because I don’t want to worry her, she adds, “If you tell me, maybe I can help you.”

She may be right. After all, my sister was what a lot of townspeople considered a witch genius.

“I need a bottle of moonlight, which I have no clue how to get since no supply store has it.” I pace the table, counting down on my fingers. “A demon scale, which I have no clue how I’m going to get that one. A mermaid’s scale, and every mermaid I’ve asked so far has told me no in a very not-so-nice way. Seriously, mermaids have dirty, potty, pee mouths.”

She chuckles, life fleetingly sparkling in her eyes. “Dirty, potty, pee mouths? What are you, like, seven years old?”

“No, but it got you to laugh.” Smiling, I stop beside her head. “I haven’t heard you laugh since I brought you down here.”