Spell of Summoning

by Anna Abner

  “What did the demon say to you?”

  Holden trembled ever so slightly. “He said.” Holden pulled her flat against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. Into her hair he whispered, “He said he’d put me back in the water.”

  * * *

  Disconnected.

  Everything felt disconnected and sort of numb. Like whatever had happened tonight in Rebecca’s bedroom had ripped the cords right out of Holden’s central nervous system.

  Without remembering how he got there, he sat on the king-size bed in his room at the Bull Dog Inn while Rebecca rushed around gathering plastic cups and ice from the machine outside. Buster jogged nervously from room to room as if he couldn’t find a comfortable resting place.

  “Here. Drink this.” Rebecca pushed a cup of what smelled like floor cleaner under his nose. “You’ll feel better.”

  Holden accepted the cup but didn’t drink, and it eventually rested on his knee.

  She didn’t even bother with a cup for herself but guzzled whiskey straight from the miniature bottle. Then she lifted Holden’s cup from his hand and waved it in front of his face.

  “Drink. I’m already ahead of you.”

  Holden didn’t normally drink. It wasn’t that he couldn’t, but his grandpa had been a recovering alcoholic, and Holden had lived with him long enough for abstaining to become a habit.

  But Rebecca was right. Alcohol was made for nights like tonight.

  He threw back his head and downed the whiskey in one shot. It burned at first but then numbed him from the inside out. Sort of like the icy waters of Wade Lake had done all those years ago.

  The demon’s threats had ruptured something inside Holden. A long-held fear itched inside him, wanting out. He purged it the only way he could think of—telling it to Rebecca. He just hoped she could handle it.

  “I didn’t kill Max Gaines,” he said, his voice filling the quiet room.

  Rebecca turned from the TV cabinet, where she’d set up a makeshift bar. “I know you didn’t.”

  She helped herself to another tiny bottle and then made him a second glass of whiskey.

  “I remember everything,” he continued. “They call it a near drowning.” He snorted. “But there was nothing near about it.”

  No. He needed to start at the beginning. Holden sipped his drink and then said, “During the winter, we all walked home across that lake every day after school. We knew the safe path, and we knew the patches of ice to avoid. That day Max and I were, uh, my grandpa would have called it ‘horsing around.’ I didn’t push him onto the thin ice.”

  Holden watched her for a response. If she reacted the way the Gainses had, he might not recover. He needed Rebecca to understand and to believe him. No, to believe in him.

  Rebecca plopped beside him on the bed and lightly scratched his knee with her nails. “I know you didn’t. You would never do that.”

  Swallowing past the old guilt, Holden said, “We were dragging each other, being stupid, play wrestling farther and farther out. And then—”

  He remembered every moment of the next few minutes. Falling and being consumed by water so cold it paralyzed him. He’d gone numb fast, the lake’s current tossing him one way and Max another.

  Panic hurt the worst. His heart stuttering behind his ribs, Holden had flailed in the water, his winter clothes tightening like a full-body noose.

  He’d found the surface. Not the hole he’d fallen through, but a sheet of unbroken, impenetrable ice. Holden remembered pounding at the ice, ripping off his gloves, and then clawing at it with his bare fingers.

  That was the last thing he remembered before his brain had shorted out and he’d fallen asleep under the water.

  “And then what?” Rebecca prompted gently.

  Her voice broke him free from the memories. “We fell through.” The whiskey was making him sleepy. He fell back against the mattress. Rebecca followed, wiggling into a fetal position beside him.

  “I lived. Max didn’t,” Holden said, “The Gainses twisted a dumb accident into some kind of murder conspiracy.”

  “Because you survived, it must be your fault,” she surmised.

  “But I didn’t want to hurt him.” He’d tried to hold on to Max under the ridiculous assumption he could kick them both to the surface. But that plan had fallen apart in less than a second.

  In his mind, Holden replayed his fingers digging at the ice above his head. “Sometimes,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut, “I think I’m still under the ice. That this is all a dream. That they never found me.”

  Seconds ticked by, and the silence in the room stretched way past comfortable.

  “This is real,” Rebecca finally said. “Why would you fantasize about a pain-in-the-ass female with a summoning spell hanging over her head? Wouldn’t a fifteen-year-old boy dream of something … sweeter?”

  “You’re not a pain in the ass.” He rolled onto his side and faced her. She looked so small, curled on his bed. He reached around her and flipped the comforter over her hips.

  Rebecca blinked sleepily. “I know this isn’t a dream because mine would involve a white beach and a pink drink.”

  Her hand snaked across the bed and clasped his. She didn’t let go. “I’m so glad it was you who called me on Monday and not Cole.”

  He circled the impossibly soft flesh of her wrist with his thumb. “Me, too.”

  She snuggled deeper under the blankets. “You’re not a screw-up,” she mumbled.

  Holden smiled, kicking off his shoes. For her, he’d be the opposite of a screw-up. No matter what it took. “Good night, darlin’.”

  But she was already asleep.

  Chapter Twelve

  Holden needed a new manager. A good one. Which was why he was sitting at a booth in the back of Sparky’s interviewing college kids, middle-aged mothers of grown children, and one retired wrestler for the position. So far no luck. In fact, he was so bad at interviewing potential employees that he was sure at least one applicant would not want the job even if Holden offered it to him.

  He shuffled the applications and glanced toward the lunch counter. Behind there, in the manager’s office, Rebecca continued her mission to digitize everything he’d ever touched. Though interrupting her would be rude, not to mention counterproductive, he found himself missing her. Which was absurd. You couldn’t miss someone working twenty feet away. Or a woman you’d last spoken to only an hour ago.

  But he missed her anyway. Something inside him had been altered last night. And not just by the demon’s games. No, it was her. For once, he’d been able to express his feelings and share himself with someone else. It had changed him.

  Holden leaned forward to go to her when the door chimed and a customer entered. On second thought, he’d better stay. The way the diminutive redhead zeroed in on him told him this was the next applicant for manager.

  “Mr. Clark?” She extended her hand.

  He shook the dainty thing, half afraid he’d crush it.

  She couldn’t be over four feet ten, and she didn’t try to increase that with heels but wore sensible, black flats. He felt like a gorilla next to her.

  “Good to meet you,” she continued, sliding into the booth opposite him and pushing her resume across the table. “I’m Doreen McAllister, and I want to be your manager, sir.”

  Holden couldn’t keep from smiling. She was pure southern charm, her voice lilting with a thick, North Carolina twang. She was the first candidate he liked at first sight.

  “Why is that?”

  Doreen folded her hands on the table, completely unflustered. “I asked around. I know your last manager took off with your money. I can promise you I’m a good Christian girl who won’t betray you. Besides that,” she nodded at her resume, “I worked as a waitress for two years at the Olive Garden and then three years as a manager. They loved me. I got nothing but positive evaluations. I would have retired from there, but the restaurant I worked at closed, and I lost my job.”

  He read ov
er her resume. High school diploma. Five years of related experience. Some college credits.

  “Let’s level,” she said. “You need a trustworthy manager, and I need a job.”

  She was perfect as far as he was concerned. “Can you start right now?”

  Doreen wilted in obvious relief. “Thank you, Mr. Clark. I won’t disappoint you.”

  Holden collected his pile of applications and went behind the counter. As he entered the manager’s office, Rebecca said good-bye into her cell phone and put it into her purse.

  “I hired a manager.” His gaze slowly traveled from her sensible button-down blouse and little black skirt to her naughty red heels. He’d never been so turned on by business attire. “How are things in here?”

  They’d woken this morning on his motel bed, Miss Powell’s adorable little behind tucked into his belly. If she hadn’t scurried into the bathroom the moment her eyes popped open, he’d have been thrilled to further express his deepening admiration.

  “Good.” Rebecca gestured to the desk, now neat as a pin. Everything had been cleaned, organized, and put in its place.

  Holden crossed the threshold and grasped her hand, his fingers slipping between her much smaller ones. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for making me love my job again.”

  “I didn’t do anything.” She flushed even as her fingers tightened around his. “You stepped up.”

  “No, it was you.”

  She tilted her chin and smiled softly at him, and all sorts of naughty thoughts fuzzed up his brain.

  She said, “We did it together.”

  He lowered his voice, “I like when we work together.”

  “Holden.” She gave his chest a halfhearted shove. “I want to have a serious conversation for a second.”

  “I am very—” He wet his lips, recalling her sweet taste. “—serious.”

  Rebecca pushed a little harder on his chest, giggling. “That was Damian Arasmus’s nurse on the phone. He’s asking for us.”

  All his naughty thoughts burst like soap bubbles. Damian fucking Arasmus had made contact with Rebecca’s demon and nearly summoned him into their world. He had some serious questions to answer.

  “Fine.” He released Becca’s hand. “Let’s go.”

  “And I think Buster would be more comfortable with my dad,” she blurted out.

  Holden opened his mouth to argue. Buster didn’t like being alone, never had. Not since Grandpa had passed away. Holden spent nearly every waking moment in the dog’s vicinity. Packing him off to a sitter felt wrong.

  Quickly she added, “Just while we’re in hotels. Think about it. He can run around and play. Plus my dad could use the company.”

  Holden shut his mouth, frowned, and then nodded. “Is the yard fenced? Because he might try to escape.” He had no idea what Buster would do if left alone. He’d gotten shut in a bedroom once by accident and chewed a hole through the wall to escape.

  “Yes. Definitely. I’ll call him right now. Oh, is your manager working today?”

  “Right here, ma’am.”

  Crap. Doreen had been standing there the whole time?

  Rebecca’s cheeks flushed bright pink. “Oh, good. Wonderful.”

  Rebecca collected her things. “Because Hol— Mr. Clark and I have an important errand to run.” Grabbing his sleeve, she pulled him out the door.

  * * *

  After settling Buster at her father’s house, Becca strolled through the emergency entrance of the Onslow County Memorial Hospital, assaulted by the stink of antiseptic as well as human body odors. Holden followed a step behind.

  They didn’t bother with the check-in desk but marched straight for Damian’s room. The closer they got, though, the angrier Holden’s expression became. He needed to cool off, or he may kill Damian with his bare hands. But Damian wasn’t the necromancer. He may be dangerous because of his ignorance, but she’d touched him and had no reaction whatsoever.

  At the door to Damian’s hospital room, Becca hesitated, blocking the way.

  “Would you do me a huge favor?” She dug a single bill out of her purse. “I really need a drink.” She pushed the cash into Holden’s hand. “Coffee. Soda. Whatever you can find.”

  He growled, crumpling the dollar bill.

  “Get some air,” she said. “You can’t go in there ready to attack.”

  Holden took the hint, thank goodness, and she ducked into the room alone.

  Damian sat up in his bed, and despite heavy gauze bandages over both ears, a huge grin split his face.

  “Hello,” he greeted a bit too loudly. “Thanks for coming!”

  Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, but he handed her a notepad and pen.

  “Profound and permanent hearing damage,” he shouted at her, touching both ears.

  She’d done that. She’d hurt him. Well, her demon had, but what was the difference, really? Because of her, Damian Arasmus would never hear again.

  She wrote, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this would happen.” She faced it toward him to read.

  He rearranged his blue hospital gown, sitting up even straighter. “No, don’t be. My whole life I wanted to believe in the supernatural.” He chuckled. “Now I’ve seen it for myself. I believe.” He grasped her hand and squeezed. “I believe.”

  No point asking about pressing charges. Damian was too giddy to worry about vengeance. Whatever happened last night in her bedroom had reinforced all his theories about the paranormal.

  She wrote, “I hope you feel better soon. I’ll be in touch.” She added her card to the pad and pen, leaving them on his bedside table.

  He wasn’t the necromancer. Time to narrow the field and finally pay a visit to Charley McGovern.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t clear your apartment,” Damian said.

  “Don’t be. I’ll be fine.”

  She extended her right hand to shake good-bye when Holden slammed through the heavy door, apparently out of patience. He definitely wasn’t here to check on Damian’s health. He was furious.

  “Did you cast the spell on her?” Holden grabbed Damian by the shoulders and shook him. “Are you the necromancer trying to hurt her?”

  “Holden! He can’t hear you.” She tried to shove him off Damian, but she couldn’t budge him. It was like trying to move a concrete pylon.

  “What did you do?” he growled.

  Damian shrank into the bed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry I couldn’t cleanse those two victims,” he squeaked. “I tried! They were too powerful for me.”

  “Two victims?” Holden loosened his hold but didn’t let Damian go completely.

  Rebecca scribbled at super speed, so fast it was nearly illegible. “How did you affect the summoning spell?”

  “What summoning spell?” Damian asked. “I tried to clear a spirit.”

  “Bullshit,” Holden shouted. “You’re part of the Dark Caster’s cabal, and you were trying to summon her demon. Or did you want to strengthen it?”

  “Wait, what dark caster cabal?” Was he keeping things from her? “Holden?”

  He huffed impatiently. “Cole found a group of casters who do spells like the one on you. But we don’t know who’s in it or who runs it.”

  A whole group of people determined to destroy her? She blinked away a wave of nausea.

  “Rebecca,” Holden said, snapping her into the present. “Ask him.”

  She copied his words and showed them to Damian.

  “What’s a dark caster? I’m a spiritualist. I told you exactly…” He glanced from Holden’s unforgiving expression to Becca’s. “What is going on?”

  She wrote fast. “Are you a necromancer? Do you know who’s summoning a demon into me?” If he answered “Charley McGovern” she’d flip out.

  Damian opened his mouth as if he wasn’t sure what to say. “There’s no such things as demons. There are only people and spirits. I don’t know what weird stuff you’re into--”

  “What did you carve into those candles?” Holden as
ked. Becca translated the question onto paper.

  “The Chinese symbol for peace!”

  “This is a waste of time.” Holden tore his hands away. “You touched him bare-handed, right?”

  To prove it, she laid her palm on Damian’s exposed forearm. “It’s not him. He’s an amateur who got lucky. Isn’t that what you said the other day? He knows even less than you do about this stuff.”

  “What in the world?!” A nurse in tropical-themed scrubs ran in. “Leave the poor man alone!” She turned on her heels and shouted into the wall phone, “I need security in room two.”

  “Holden.” Rebecca ducked under his arm, putting herself right in his face. “Time to go.”

  “He spoke to your demon. How did he do that unless he’s involved?”

  “It’s not him.” She pushed him toward the door. “I think I know who it is. Let’s go talk about it. Fast. Before we get arrested.”

  * * *

  “Who is it?” Holden couldn’t calm down. He hadn’t been this angry in a really long time. Maybe never. But standing face-to-face with a man who might be hurting Rebecca had ratcheted his fear and rage past all control. He was lucky he hadn’t throttled Damian.

  “Who?” he said again. He slowed his speed walk across the hospital parking lot and stood at the trunk of some strange car. “Who is it, Rebecca? Derek or Jessa?”

  “What?” She stuttered to a stop beside him. “Neither!”

  Fine, but they remained at the top of his list. “Who, then?”

  “Neither of them are suspects. Seriously. Jessa is a friend. And Derek has been with me for years. We spend every day together. There’s no way either of them practices dark magic. No chance.”

  “Then who?”

  Her cell phone went off. “Charley McGovern. If I were a superhero, she’d be my arch nemesis.” Rebecca pressed the phone to her ear. “Now give me a minute.”

  Give her a minute? Like he was an annoying solicitor? Like he hadn’t had an up-close-and-personal experience the night before with her demon? Holden paced, jittery and anxious.

  “That was my sister, Nelly. She wants to meet halfway and have dinner tonight in Benson. She has big news apparently.”