Free The Dead Ones (Death Herself Book 3) by Amy Cross Page B

door. It's not Molly, but it's Shannon Lucas, a girl who's always involved whenever Molly does something dumb, which is depressingly often. The corridor next to the gym's main hall is completely dark, but I know this school well enough by now to make my way easily to the double-door that leads into the hall, and when I lean through I see several candles flickering at the far end, catching the sides of three tense, oh-so-serious faces.
    “It's not working,” Molly says after a moment. “Are you sure we're doing it right?”
    “You've got to be patient,” says another voice. Karen Barnes, I think. “I told you, it takes time. If you try to rush them, you'll scare the spirits away?”
    “Spirits?” I whisper under my breath.
    “We call upon the spirits in this building to answer us,” Shannon continues. “We mean no harm, but we wish to commune with those who have passed on to the other side.”
    Stepping forward, I stay as quiet as possible as I make my way cautiously through the darkness.
    “I don't feel anything,” Karen whispers.
    “Quiet!” Shannon hisses. “Don't disturb the process.”
    Now that I'm getting closer, I can see that the three of them are sitting in a circle, holding hands while candles burn next to one kind of home-made ouija board. There's a part of me that wants to go over and flick the main lights on, or to start banging the pipes to give these idiots a scare, but at the same time I'm too shocked by the fact that they're being such complete fools. Still, at least I know why Molly couldn't hang out tonight, and why she wasn't answering her phone. She must have known that I'd go ballistic if I found out about this little stunt.
    “Are the spirits close?” Shannon calls out. “I think... I think I hear something! I think maybe there's a presence here...”
    “Yeah,” I reply. “Me.”
    They all gasp as they turn, and I step forward so that they can see my face in the candlelight.
    “That's Bonnie,” Karen says with a hint of disappointment. “ She's not dead, is she?”
    “No,” I reply wearily, “I'm not. Thanks for noticing.”
    “Hey,” Molly says, getting to her feet. “What... What are you doing here?”
    “I saw your bike outside.”
    “We were just...” She pauses, but it's clear from the panic in her eyes that she knows she can't wriggle out of this. “I mean, we were... We thought...”
    “Trying to contact the dead?” I ask, stepping past her and looking down at the ouija board, which isn't really a ouija board at all. It's a piece of paper with some letters drawn in a vague pattern, plus the words Yes, No and Maybe at the bottom. “And how's that going?” I mutter. “Have you amateur Alistair Crowleys managed anything yet?”
    “Are you angry?” Molly asks.
    I turn to her. “Why would I be angry?”
    “Well, I mean...” Her voice trails off.
    “I don't have any right to be angry,” I continue, even though deep down I know she's right. I am angry that these idiots are turning the tragedy into a game, but I know I shouldn't start lecturing them. “Just because my brother was one of the two assholes who shot this place up, that doesn't give me the right to...” I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “How long have you been doing this?”
    “About two hours,” Molly replies. “Tonight.”
    “And before tonight?”
    “We've been a couple of times.”
    “We heard a bump,” Karen adds.
    I turn to her. “Are you sure it wasn't me coming in just now?”
    “It was two nights ago!”
    “Wow,” I mutter. “Success, huh?”
    “It might have been the heating system,” Shannon admits cautiously.
    “Might have been,” I tell her.
    “We don't really know what we're doing,” Molly says.
    “That's not true!” Karen hisses.
    “Yes, it is!” she replies, turning to her. “This is the third night we've tried this, and we're not getting anywhere! Face it, the spirits aren't interested in talking to us!”
    “Maybe you're not a true