Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble by H. P. Mallory Page B

situation. I couldn’t say I was comfortable with that thought but forced it out of my mind, lest it interfere with my mission.
    After getting my wits back, I followed Jack into the kitchen. He made himself a chicken sandwich, the whole time banging and slamming this and that. It didn’t take a genius to figure out something was amiss.
    Then the front door opened, and I peered around the corner of the wall. A woman walked inside. I recognized her from Jack’s family photo as his wife. She was pretty with short bobbed hair, wide set eyes, and a trim body. Tears stained her cheeks, and the mascara smudges under her eyes gave her a zombie sort of look. She took her shoes off at the door.
    Her small, stockinged feet barely made a sound as she marched right into the kitchen where Jack ate his sandwich. She didn’t even bother putting her purse down or taking off her coat.
    Before I could comprehend it, she pulled a pistol from her clutch and aimed it at the back of his head. There was no hesitation before she pulled the trigger.
    I moved as if waist deep in molasses and tried to push Jack out of the way. As soon as I touched him, the brightest of lights seemed to penetrate through him until it completely encompassed us both. I glanced down and the white ray of light shone right through me, like I was merely a projection. I had to close my eyes against the intensity of the glare. As soon as my eyelashes met my upper cheeks, a jolt sailed through me and I had the vision of energy, of life leaving my body. The hairs on my skin stood to attention. I suddenly felt extremely tired, drained. I felt myself drop. I hit something hard and my eyes blinked open. I was on the floor, the yellow linoleum cold underneath my cheek. Pushing myself onto my hands and knees, I glanced at the wall before me. It looked like someone had thrown buckets of tomato red paint against the otherwise pristine white of the wall. Then I made the mistake of looking at Jack. Half his face was gone, pieces of bone, brain and other head debris decorating the floor behind him.
    Hyperventilating, I pushed myself away from him and clasped my eyes together, hoping the darkness would erase any residue of the hideous scene before me.
    You’re okay, Jolie, you’re okay. Just breathe. I tried to talk myself down but couldn’t shake the image of Jack’s brain spread out on the floor like spilled cat litter.
    I pried my eyes open, glanced down at myself and noticed my figure disappearing. My feet were already transparent and the rest of me was becoming cloudy, as if a fog were twirling up my legs, erasing me as it went. A scream of pure, unadulterated terror cut through the air like a razor blade and it took me a second to realize the scream was mine.
    “Jolie!” I heard a deep voice and felt a smart slap to my face.
    “Wake up, Jolie! Blast it, wake up!”
    I came to with a start, blood pumping in my ears until it sounded like a chorus of demons singing bass. I was on the floor with Rand hovering over me. I sat bolt upright and glanced around, trying to get a grasp of what the hell had just happened. I noted Rand and Christa but I could definitely feel someone else in the room. I turned and found Jack, in his corporeal body, staring at me with his mouth hanging open.
    Jack was no longer a ghost.
    And, luckily for him, it appeared as if he’d never been shot at all. His head was in remarkably good condition.
    “What the…” I began when it dawned on me that maybe I’d changed places with him and I was now the ghost. A shriek of horror welled up within me, but was gobbled up by Christa who engulfed me in her arms.
    “Thank God you’re alright! I thought you were going to die!”
    I pried her arms from my neck. “What the fu…” I interrupted myself, thinking I should inspect my arms to ensure there was nothing ethereal about them. Nope, I looked as fleshy as Rand and Christa…and Jack. Then I got angry. “What the flipping hell crap-shit was that?”
    As