Xmas Spirit by Tonya Hurley Page B

expression froze into a simultaneous frown, as if they’d both gotten shots from a bad batch of Botox.
    “You didn’t.”
    “Unfortunately, I did. I told Petula,” Damen admitted. “She squeezed it out of me.”
    “I’m sure that’s not all she squeezed out of you!”
    “Stop the car!” Wendy Thomas shouted. “Do you have your passport in your bag, Wendy? We need to head for the border.”
    “What’s the use? She’ll use all her powers and resources to track us down. There’s no place to hide!”
    “Calm down,” Damen ordered. “She was cool about it. Almost appreciated it, in fact.”
    The Wendys’ relief was immediate. They cautiously settledback in their seats.
    “I just felt every one of my seven lower chakras relax,” Wendy T. admitted.
    “That was a close one,” Wendy A. said. “I don’t speak a word of Canadian.”
    “Ditto,” Wendy T. concurred. “Besides, I’d make a terrible illegal immigrant.”
    Damen sped through town toward the convention center, fantasizing a sudden earthquake or mudslide or avalanche during the demonstration.

    It was getting late. Christmas was literally being ushered in. Charlotte sat staring at the beautiful gift box she’d laid on her bedroom desk. She wasn’t able to fill it with a gift yet, but she would be soon. She knew Scarlet was right, that The Wendys were users, but for some reason she found herself caring less and less. They might be using her, but at least she was getting paid. It was more than she’d ever gotten before. Up till now, all the abuse she’d taken was gratis.
    She shut her eyes tight, like a person hanging from the edge of a cliff trying her hardest not to look down, as she felt the last of her former self sliding away.
    “Charlotte Usher,” a tuneful voice serenaded her. She heard mournful melody of a piccolo in the distance accompanying the small voice.
    “Not here.”
    “Calling Charlotte Usher.”
    She opened her eyes and there, standing in front of her window, was a shadow. Long flowing hair against the moonlight gave the appearance of a thin, beautiful Christmas tree.
    “What now?” Charlotte asked.
    “It’s me, Pam.”
    As she walked closer to Charlotte, it was apparent that this was no tree. It was a pale girl with long red curly hair. She was wearing a deep emerald chiffon gown with gold glittery stars as a headband around her gorgeous mane.
    “Who?” Charlotte asked, dumbfounded.
    “Pam. Your best friend. Don’t you know me?”
    The look of fear and trembling on Charlotte’s face told Pam all she needed to know.
    “Are you a ghost?”
    “Yes, and so are you.”
    “I’m not!” Charlotte protested. “I’m alive. Flesh and blood. Human.”
    “But you shouldn’t be,” Pam said. “It’s not your time.”
    “That’s an awful thing to say.”
    “I didn’t come here to hurt you.”
    “Then why did you come?”
    “To save you. To save all of us.”
    “Well, I don’t need to be rescued. I think I made that clear to your two friends.”
    “ Our friends.”
    Pam noticed the gift box on the desk behind her.
    “Who is that for?”
    “A friend of mine.”
    “The way you used to tell it, you didn’t have any friends when you were alive.”
    “Well, now I have lots of them, and they just happen to be the coolest kids in school.”
    “So you’ve hung out with them? Been to their homes? Met their parents?”
    “Sort of—well, no, but . . .”
    “But nothing,” Pam said sharply. “And where did you get money for a gift anyway?”
    “I didn’t. Yet. But I was just leaving. I’m splitting the fee from this amazing modeling job with Damen and The Wendys.”
    Pam didn’t need to hear the details to know that Charlotte had been duped into something. These people wouldn’t have given her the time of day.
    “You just can’t get past it, can you?” Pam asked ruefully. “Still can’t tell who your real friends are? What’s really important in life?”
    “You just said the magic word. Life.