Pretty When She Destroys (Pretty When She Dies #3)(36)

“Yeah, that!”

“I got a hold of Jeff. He’s on his way with Cass, Aimee, and the new guy,” Alexia called out from the living room.

“We got Amaliya! They’re working on a plan! Right?” Benchley glowered at Samantha.

Wielding the broom, Samantha took a menacing step toward the pudgy guy, but Amaliya stopped her.

Poking her head into the kitchen, Alexia’s somber face looked a bit pale. “Well, you better think of something. I have six people near the front yard all clustered together. Seriously, where are the nosey neighbors when you need them? No one’s calling the police on the creepy prowlers.”

“Should we call the police on them? Before I shoot them?” Samantha glanced at her phone sitting on the kitchen counter as she swept up the dirt. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her. She was swiftly adapting to the notion of policing themselves when it came to the supernatural world.

“No! No!” Benchley said adamantly. “We do not want to put more people in danger. If the cops show up and the baddies get violent a lot of people could get hurt.”

“He’s got a point. Sometimes news stories about explosions or violent gang stuff is really supernatural stuff going down.” Alexia checked the television screen. “We need to decide what to do.”

Though she hated deferring to the vampire in her own home, Samantha had to admit that Amaliya was the most powerful among them. “Bitch-face, what should we do?”

“Honestly, I don’t think The Summoner is going to care much about keeping on the down low if he’s planning to rip the veil down. I don’t want to risk anyone else. Cian should be here soon, but we need to incapacitate the black witches.” Amaliya set her hands on her hips and her fingers tapped against her hipbones. “Okay, little bitch, try to call the ghosts. I won’t call zombies. If you can get the ghosts to attack the witches, I can take down the vampires.”

“What can the ghosts do that won’t cause a commotion?” Benchley asked.

“The spells!” Samantha pointed at his bulging pockets. “What kind are they?”

“White magic only. Knock out and paralysis spells.” Benchley pulled the small cotton bags out. “The red string is knock out. The blue is paralysis.”

“Hand them over. I’ll give them to the ghosts.” Samantha held out one hand.

Benchley obeyed her, but skepticism clouded his face.

Bending down, Amaliya grabbed a handful of the dirt and foliage that Samantha had started to sweep up. She held it out to Samantha, arching an eyebrow. “So, little bitch, let’s do this.”

Amaliya wasn’t one to mince words or waste time, which Samantha somewhat appreciated except for the fact she wasn’t sure how to get the ghosts to come to her. Before, the ghosts had always found her and guided her. If only she had a friendly Casper she could depend on.

“How do you call the zombies?”

The dirt in Samantha’s hand was buzzing with latent energy. It felt weird, yet somehow reassuring. The longer Samantha held it, the more at ease she became. Staring at the tiny bits of grass imbedded in the dirt, she felt her magicks stirring and reaching out. Not for Amaliya, but beyond her, into the night, down into the soil, calling to the dead who sought justice.

“Well, tell her!” Benchley said impatiently.

“She’s got it,” Amaliya said, pushing Benchley away from Samantha.

Samantha started to raise her head at the sound of their voices, but then Amaliya’s hand rested on her wrist and refocused her.

Once more Samantha experienced the tangible manifestation of her power as it whispered through the world, calling out to the ghostly remains. The kitchen and its inhabitants vanished from her sight as her vision filled with the realm of the dead. The world of the living disappeared until all she saw was an endless darkness spreading around her peppered with tombstones, mausoleums and other constructs to honor the deceased. Out of the gloom, the dead answered. Their translucent forms drifted closer, drawn by the feather-light touch of her power. The wisps of the spirits solidified, becoming men and women dressed in the clothing of other eras.

What is it you need?

Your help. Come to me.

The ghosts drew closer and were enveloped in the white gossamer threads of her power.

Samantha blinked.

The world of the living returned.

Samantha gasped.

Four beings stood in her kitchen. Two men and two women regarded her with keen interest in their unblinking eyes. They didn’t appear quite solid, the edges of their forms blurred and pulsing.

“Whoa,” Benchley whispered in awe.

“Tell them what to do,” Amaliya urged in a soft voice.

Clearing her throat, Samantha held the spell bags out to the ghosts. “Uh, there are some black witches outside the fence and they’re trying to hurt us. If you hit them with these, it will immobilize them, and then we can take care of the vampires. And demons.”

A male ghost tilted his head, curious, but clearly not understanding.

“Samantha, they’re figments, not sentient. You need to show them in your mind what to do,” Benchley instructed.

Closing her eyes, Samantha imagined the ghosts throwing the bags at the black witches casting the purplish magic. The tiny cotton bags she’d been clutching in her left hand abruptly vanished from her grasp. Eyelids snapping open, she saw that the ghosts were gone. “What the hell?”