Read Online How to Stop a Witch by Bill Allen - Free Book Online Page A

like to meet you.”
    “Sure,” said Greg. He needed to get Nathan alone so they could talk.
    Nathan said good-bye to his friends and led Greg away. Behind them a couple of boys began sparring with their crude weapons, mimicking the moves they’d seen Greg use, but Greg could tell they knew nothing of chikan.
    Nathan led him past two buildings, then turned and walked down a desolate alley. Greg became increasingly nervous, but he still had his stick. He felt confident he could defend himself if need be.
    Ahead, a large pile of bricks had spilled out onto the sidewalk. Nathan turned there and stepped through a hole in the wall, motioning for Greg to follow. The building they entered was little more than a shell. They passed through it and into another alley. A few hundred yards further, Nathan stopped and pulled back a weathered piece of plywood used to seal up a hole in yet another building. He stepped through the opening, and Greg followed.
    The plywood fell back into place, cutting off all light. Greg’s grip tightened on his stick.
    “This way,” said Nathan, and Greg felt a touch on his elbow.
    The area was deafeningly quiet. The two of them moved through the darkness to a stairway, up two flights, and into a hallway lit by a single window set in the far wall. Nathan knocked on one of the doors midway along the hall. Two quick taps, a slap, and another quick tap. In a few moments Greg heard the sound of a latch being drawn back.
    A second latch was pulled back, then a third. After five more, the door opened. Greg’s breath caught in his throat.
    The last thing he’d been expecting was for Nathaniel Caine’s face to poke out and greet him.

Story Time
    It wasn’t quite Nathan’s face. The features were similar, but the eyes were more sunken, or maybe they just seemed that way because the skin was so sallow. At the moment the mouth was frowning.
    “There you are. I’ve been worried sick. Out fighting again, I suppose.”
    “Uh, no, Dad,” said Nate. “Just messing around. I found someone who knows chikan.”
    “Hah. I knew you were fighting.”
    Nate exchanged glances with Greg. “But he’s really good. His name’s Greg. Say hi, Greg.”
    “Uh, hi,” Greg said awkwardly.
    Nate’s father looked at him for the first time. “You sick, son? You look pale.”
    “Dad.”
    “Well, if he’s sick you’d want to know, right?”
    “He’s not sick.” Nate motioned Greg inside and closed the door.
    Mr. Caine hobbled across the room to a chair that looked like some sort of elaborate mousetrap. He started to say something but began coughing instead and couldn’t catch his breath for a long while. Finally he looked back to Greg through watery eyes.
    “Well, he sure looks sick. I haven’t seen skin that fair since . . . well, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen skin that fair. Maybe in Grandpa’s old photo album. People seemed a lot lighter-skinned in those days . . . then again, that may have just been the film.” He coughed once or twice more, then spoke in a strained voice. “Say, are you sure you’re not sick, son?”
    “Dad, he’s not sick. I just told you he beat me at chikan.”
    “No, you said he knew chikan. You didn’t say nothing about him beating you.” He winked at Greg. “So you beat him, did you?”
    “I guess,” Greg muttered.
    “You should have seen him,” said Nate. “He fought Benny and Bobby Bristo, Danny, Sam, and Big Pete, all at the same time.”
    Nathan’s father regarded Greg with renewed respect. “Five at once? Impressive. So, where’d you learn the art, son? Your parents, I’d wager. They obviously have Earthen roots, no?”
    “Earthen roots?”
    “Dad has this crazy idea that only the Spectrals originated here,” said Nate.
    “You have ghosts here?”
    “Not specters. Spectrals . . . you know, every color of the spectrum. Say, where are you from, anyway?”
    “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Greg said.
    Mr. Caine’s head snapped toward Greg, and