Read Online Drop Dead Demons by A Kirk, E - Free Book Online Page A

head. “Sure you weren’t crying?”
    “Yes.” I yanked the covers over my head to hide the contradictory evidence.
    “Maybe a present would help,” he said cheerfully. “You expecting a package today?”
    “No,” I mumbled through the blankets. “I just need a few more minutes. Alone. Please.”
    Selena pouted, “She’s a Grumpy Gus.”
    “Yet we love her anyway. See you downstairs.” Dad patted my arm before he left. 
    Grumpy? You bet. I didn’t exactly sleep last night. And when I did, it wasn’t delightful visions of wreaking a satisfying revenge on Matthias dancing in my head.
    Nope, his little stunt last night — and the whole Heather fiasco — cracked the surface of the barrier where I kept nightmare memories safely buried beneath steel traps and mountains of denial. Memories of the night which seemed like both a lifetime ago, and yet fresh as yesterday.
    My “friends” had used pretty much anything they could find in the back alley Dumpster. Fists and feet as well as wood, pipe, bottles, and —
    I threw back the covers, rushed out of my room and downstairs, heart pounding blood into my head with a steady ache as if Thor himself was mercilessly wielding his mighty hammer inside my skull. I needed to not think about that night if I was going to make it through the day.
    Denial was how I functioned.
    At least The Voice was back. The one that shows up in my nightmares when I’m scared out of my mind. The one that promises to find me, protect me. It was male as far as I could tell, although it wasn’t much more than a raspy whisper. The man of my dreams was the invisible hero my subconscious had conjured up lately to help me through those nights when the Terror Train ripped through the tunnel of my psyche.
    Hadn’t heard him in a while, but that was because I hadn’t had nightmares for the past few weeks.
    Thanks, Matthias.  
    At some point in between nightmares, I’d vowed to find a way to get the Aussie back, but my brain was on slow-mo. No brilliant diabolical plan. Yet.
    I opened my door and tripped over Van Helsing as he sprinted into the room.
    “Hey!”
    He ignored me, raced to his royal purple cat bed, frantically dug under the cushion then sprinted out, a feather gripped between his teeth. 
    “You are so weird.”
    The feather was from the wings of my guardian angel, Gloria. Helsing was obsessed with them. I hadn’t seen my perky, costume-loving angel in weeks. Guess that was a good thing. As long as she was in the background protecting my family, that was all I cared about. 
    At the bottom of the stairs, I white-knuckled the railing, determined to clear my head which felt heavy, filled with a sludge of dread and exhaustion. I needed something to lighten the load of my dark mood.
    As if on cue, Dad darted out of the living room past the front windows then slowed to a hunched creep across the foyer. He scowled through the spyglass in the front door and chuckled darkly.
    “Wanna dance mailman? Let’s dance!” Then he ducked outside.
    Yes, if there was one thing my family was good for, it was distraction.
    “Breakfast!” In the kitchen, Aunt M pointed to a steaming pot on the stove. Under an apron, she wore her ritual skirt, blouse, and blazer, and the French twist was smoothed to perfection. I felt more like a zombie than ever.
    “Burnt oatmeal, two weeks straight. Yay.” Luna grimaced from her stool, actually looking like a zombie with all the pale makeup and dark, artfully ragged clothing.
    My brother Lucian patted M’s back. “Maybe I’ll make scrambled eggs tomorrow.”
    Aunt M folded her arms on top of her swollen belly and narrowed a look. “You don’t like my scramble.”
    “Because you burn it,” Luna muttered.
    Lucian said over our sister’s complaints, “We just want to help out.”
    “And not be nauseous all through first period.”
    “Luna!” I smacked her.
    M jabbed an oatmeal covered spoon Luna’s way. “Your parents asked me here to help take care