The Hawley Book of the Dead Read Online Free PDF

Neither would their father.
    “I think you’re right, Fai. It’s time to leave the web.” It was four o’clock, past the heat of the day, yet with plenty of time till nightfall. “Let’s go to the barn. Then we can have dinner at Teriyaki Madness.”
    Grace whooped and Caleigh leapt up and did a little dance, bumping the table and scattering pieces of the Lady far and wide.
    That day, we all realized there might be life after Jeremy’s death.
    The next morning, Marisol brought a plain manila envelope in with the mail. It had no stamp or return address. It smelled of burning: not cigarette smoke, but sulfurous, like the smoke from an open flame. My nerves leapt wildly as I broke the seal. A sheaf of photos fell into my lap. I openedmy lips to cry out, but no sound came. In the photographs, Caleigh carried a water bucket. Grace and Fai cantered their horses in the ring, laughing. Every photograph was of the girls the previous day. And each was scorched by fire. The mirror had cracked, and the curse was upon us.
    The Fetch crept through our lives then, like something unseen but deadly: a poisonous snake, our big bad wolf. He photographed us, myself and the girls, even inside the house. Somewhere out there he must have been lurking in the hills surrounding the house, with a camera, a long lens. Daily, somehow unseen, he’d leave the photos where I would be sure to find them. They were always singed, melting to brown ash at the edges. It was as if he knew my fear of fire, my innermost thoughts. As if he knew me from a past I didn’t want to think of. The police scoured the hills after the photos began appearing. They didn’t find so much as a Twinkie wrapper. Although he left the photos every day, the police found no fingerprints, no stray hair, nothing they could get a DNA sample from.
    I’d kept Nan’s letter, crumpled but whole. I hadn’t answered it. I didn’t want to think about that story. But I had to do something. I called her.
    Nan has always loathed phones. She usually let the voice mail pick up, but this time she answered on the first ring.
    “Nan, I need to come home.”
    “Yes. You do.” I heard the high-pitched keen of a hawk in the background.
    “Have you been to see the Hawley houses?” I asked her. “How much of a wreck are they?”
    She laughed her old lady laugh, like a nail being wrenched out of a board. “The houses just need a little loving care. They have for many years, you know.”
    I
did
know. “Maybe we should stay with Mom and Dad.”
    “No!” Her voice was fierce. “I’ll give you Carl Streeter’s number. He lives in Hawley Village. Anything you need done, he can see to.”
    So I called Carl Streeter, and he saw to the basics of running water and hiring a roofer and a company to install the fence I wanted. In ten days’ time, the house was ready and we could be bound for Hawley Five Corners. I just had to take care of one more needful thing.
6
    I scheduled a free memorial performance at the Bijoux in Jeremy’s honor. Most of the magicians on the Strip and many from farther afield signed on to perform. Dan planned the show, assisted by Nathan and Wesley, who’d recovered speedily from his ordeal in an old Westward Ho bathtub.
    We went to the theater early that night. Even so, a line of people snaked around the building. The girls wanted to see the exact spot where their father had died. Of course everything had been cleaned, and there was no trace of blood. But as we approached, Caleigh clung to me, hid her face in my sleeve. I heard Grace’s sharp intake of breath, and Fai stifled a sob. I reached to take their hands, led them to the urns overflowing with white roses at the edge of the stage. We all wore white: white T-shirts, white jeans. No magician’s cape for me that night. I wasn’t performing any trick that would require it.
    We placed white roses where Jeremy had fallen. Dan turned on the mist machine, and wisps of fog crept around our feet as we made our way