Mr. Real (Code of Shadows #1) Read Online Free
Author: Carolyn Crane
people.
Still, she couldn’t help but think that if either one of her sisters had inherited the place, they would’ve made friends by now. Jackie would’ve joined the church choir and Jennie would be busy teaching Sunday school and meeting other moms. And they would wear proper outfits for errands into town. And never make spectacles of themselves at the townie bar, drinking beers and dancing wildly by the jukebox. Sure, Alix had made acquaintances, like Benji the barista at Bean Central, Malcolmsberg’s lone coffee shop, the Lings, who owned the Chinese restaurant, and Ginny, the nice Red Owl cashier. But there was nobody Alix could call on the phone.
No way would she phone her parents—they’d tell her to come home and invest in a church choir robe and a book of tater tot casserole recipes.
And no way would she leave.
Except now she felt scared, lying there all alone.
She turned over and scratched Lindy’s head. People had given up on poor three-legged Lindy—she was about to be gassed when Alix rescued her from the pound. Alix loved Lindy so much, it scared her to even think about her dying. Sometimes she joked about Lindy being the dog version of a loser to soften the fierce, sharp edges of her love for her.
“Good girl,” she whispered.
Alix lay there, alone in the darkness in her occult aunt’s house with her sledgehammer, her under-confident 1950s rifle, her computer, and her phone.
She stroked a finger along Lindy’s ear, which was just long enough to flop over. “I wonder what Hardass Paul would say about this?”
She snickered softly.
What the hell, it was still a good joke.
CHAPTER TWO
The porch stood empty the next morning. Alix felt vaguely disappointed, but she reminded herself that the necklace had taken about a day.
She could barely concentrate on sanding the woodwork in the kitchen; she kept popping out to the living room to check the porch and make sure the web cam’s record light was on.
And then, that afternoon, when Alix looked out the window for the umpteenth time, there they were. The boots, the belt, and the clutch. Right there on the porch.
Like magic.
Slowly, Alix opened the door. Lindy ran out and sniffed the boots, then sauntered down the steps and out to pee on the grass.
Lindy hadn’t even barked! Lindy always barked like crazy when the mailman or delivery people came. Even a squirrel setting a paw onto the clearing around the gravelly circle drive was occasion for a bark-fest. Which also suggested a magical cause, rather than a human one.
Heart racing, Alix grabbed the stuff and called Lindy back in. She raced to her computer and checked the web cam footage. At 02:41:06, the porch was empty, at 02:41:07, the belt, boots, and clutch were there. They seemed to materialize, but you couldn’t tell for sure—the porch was white, and the accessories were white. Somebody could have flung the stuff up there really fast. Why hadn’t she taped at a lower speed? Karen would never accept this as evidence.
Alix checked the jpeg; the outfit was knocked out of the image, with only pure white nothingness where the stuff had been. Alix couldn’t even find the things on the Marley’s site anymore. Maybe they’d taken down the page.
A shiver rushed through her. What other explanation could there be?
Then she realized something else: the items appeared exactly 24 hours from when she’d saved and clicked on them—to the second . She could tell from her computer history. She checked the timing on the necklace thing, and as far as she could tell, it was the same deal.
Twenty-four hours. That seemed very magical!
A new test: she selected an old wooden barrel. It was so giant that it would be easy to see what was going on. She put it on her desktop and clicked on it a bunch of times at 2:58 pm.
The next day was a Thursday.
At 2:40 pm, she was in position, peering out the window behind a camouflage screen of plants, with a perfect spy-view of the porch. And the
Still, she couldn’t help but think that if either one of her sisters had inherited the place, they would’ve made friends by now. Jackie would’ve joined the church choir and Jennie would be busy teaching Sunday school and meeting other moms. And they would wear proper outfits for errands into town. And never make spectacles of themselves at the townie bar, drinking beers and dancing wildly by the jukebox. Sure, Alix had made acquaintances, like Benji the barista at Bean Central, Malcolmsberg’s lone coffee shop, the Lings, who owned the Chinese restaurant, and Ginny, the nice Red Owl cashier. But there was nobody Alix could call on the phone.
No way would she phone her parents—they’d tell her to come home and invest in a church choir robe and a book of tater tot casserole recipes.
And no way would she leave.
Except now she felt scared, lying there all alone.
She turned over and scratched Lindy’s head. People had given up on poor three-legged Lindy—she was about to be gassed when Alix rescued her from the pound. Alix loved Lindy so much, it scared her to even think about her dying. Sometimes she joked about Lindy being the dog version of a loser to soften the fierce, sharp edges of her love for her.
“Good girl,” she whispered.
Alix lay there, alone in the darkness in her occult aunt’s house with her sledgehammer, her under-confident 1950s rifle, her computer, and her phone.
She stroked a finger along Lindy’s ear, which was just long enough to flop over. “I wonder what Hardass Paul would say about this?”
She snickered softly.
What the hell, it was still a good joke.
CHAPTER TWO
The porch stood empty the next morning. Alix felt vaguely disappointed, but she reminded herself that the necklace had taken about a day.
She could barely concentrate on sanding the woodwork in the kitchen; she kept popping out to the living room to check the porch and make sure the web cam’s record light was on.
And then, that afternoon, when Alix looked out the window for the umpteenth time, there they were. The boots, the belt, and the clutch. Right there on the porch.
Like magic.
Slowly, Alix opened the door. Lindy ran out and sniffed the boots, then sauntered down the steps and out to pee on the grass.
Lindy hadn’t even barked! Lindy always barked like crazy when the mailman or delivery people came. Even a squirrel setting a paw onto the clearing around the gravelly circle drive was occasion for a bark-fest. Which also suggested a magical cause, rather than a human one.
Heart racing, Alix grabbed the stuff and called Lindy back in. She raced to her computer and checked the web cam footage. At 02:41:06, the porch was empty, at 02:41:07, the belt, boots, and clutch were there. They seemed to materialize, but you couldn’t tell for sure—the porch was white, and the accessories were white. Somebody could have flung the stuff up there really fast. Why hadn’t she taped at a lower speed? Karen would never accept this as evidence.
Alix checked the jpeg; the outfit was knocked out of the image, with only pure white nothingness where the stuff had been. Alix couldn’t even find the things on the Marley’s site anymore. Maybe they’d taken down the page.
A shiver rushed through her. What other explanation could there be?
Then she realized something else: the items appeared exactly 24 hours from when she’d saved and clicked on them—to the second . She could tell from her computer history. She checked the timing on the necklace thing, and as far as she could tell, it was the same deal.
Twenty-four hours. That seemed very magical!
A new test: she selected an old wooden barrel. It was so giant that it would be easy to see what was going on. She put it on her desktop and clicked on it a bunch of times at 2:58 pm.
The next day was a Thursday.
At 2:40 pm, she was in position, peering out the window behind a camouflage screen of plants, with a perfect spy-view of the porch. And the
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