Spell of Summoning

by Anna Abner

  “But this lady was her only suspect,” he said. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Okay.” Dani sighed. A kid screamed a high-pitched shriek in the background. “Listen. Think about everyone she knows—”

  “There are too many people!”

  “—and consider who has a motive and who has the access. This person is close enough to keep an eye on her. They’ll want to see their handiwork. They might even need blood or hair. So, it’s not a stranger. Start with the people closest to her and work your way out.”

  Holden pushed off speakerphone and took his cell into his own room, talking softly and rapidly. Becca went after him, but the only words she caught were, spell, how long, and bad.

  Holden hung up, stormed back into her room, and slapped the little pad and pen set from his room onto her bedside table. “That’s my new suspect list. We’re going to do this methodically. Check each one.”

  “What’s the sudden urgency?” What hadn’t she heard between him and Dani? Had her timeline shrunk again?

  Rebecca silently inventoried her symptoms. Her headache knocked at the back of her skull. But it had been there for weeks. She was more tired than usual. But other than that, she felt like herself.

  Holden stared at her, but after a moment she realized he wasn’t looking at her. He was scanning the demon all around her. “I didn’t know you a few days ago. But I do now, and I care about you.” He swallowed. “I don’t want to lose you, Rebecca.”

  She grabbed the pad off the table because she couldn’t think clearly. He cared about her.

  With an exhausted sigh, Holden sat on the edge of her bed and motioned for her to come to him. She put down the list, stepped out of her red heels and then moved into the V of his legs. He took her hands in his, staring at her unmarked palms.

  “Anything?” He turned her hands over, massaging them gently with his thumbs.

  “I’m good.” She made a face. “Well, maybe good isn’t the right word.”

  “What would be a better word?” Holden didn’t release her hands, just kept applying gentle and very distracting pressure.

  “Rattled,” Becca said, trying to appear way cooler than she felt.

  “That sounds like a normal reaction.”

  “Mmm.” What exactly would the normal reaction be to discovering the person you swore was secretly plotting to possess you with a demon was innocent? Maybe she wasn’t freaked out enough.

  “I’m so fucking scared, Rebecca.”

  “Me, too,” she whispered.

  “We have to stop this. Now.”

  “Let’s look at the list again.”

  She moved out of his reach in order to study his suspects. The number had dwindled. Her mom, Derek, Jessa. There was a space and then her landlord and current clients. She couldn’t form any coherent thoughts as she stared at the names written in his neat, structured handwriting. Her mother?

  She tried for levity because the alternative was panic. “You didn’t write my dad or sister.”

  “We’ve eliminated your family.”

  She looked at the list again. “Next suspect.”

  “Do you know where your mother lives?”

  Becca cleared her throat. “What would her motive be?”

  “Your success. I don’t know, but we have to check it out.”

  “I’d rather visit my clients.” She checked her watch. Quarter to eight at night. “They’re still up. Let’s go.”

  Rebecca stood, smoothed her shirt, slipped on her heels, and picked up her purse. She left her room in a hurry, giving her a few seconds on the sidewalk to catch her breath. Meet her mother? Had he lost his mind? At the mention of her, Becca was six years old again and scared to the very marrow of her bones. She may not possess the strength to face that awful, selfish woman.

  “You okay?”

  Rebecca didn’t nod. That would have been a lie.

  She supposed she must have loved her mother, the same as any child, but she couldn’t remember it. Her only memory was the absolute anguish that followed her after Nancy Ann’s abandonment. Then had come struggle. Years of it. Struggling to be normal, to take care of her sister, to help her dad, to do the laundry, to put away dishes. That sense of struggle had clung to her for years. Perhaps, if she was honest, she felt it even now.

  “I know you don’t want to see her.” Holden stepped into her periphery, but he didn’t touch her. For that, she was grateful. “If there was any way to test her without you, I’d do it.”

  Her eyes blurring, Becca stumbled to cross the twelve inches that separated them and smushed her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her like she was precious. Something she’d never been in her whole life.

  Big sister? Yes, she’d been that. Helpful? Oh, yes. Driven to succeed? For sure. But never had she felt precious until Holden Clark embraced her.

  “You can do this,” he breathed into her hair. “I will not lose you to the spell.”

  And she believed him. With a sniffle and a nod, she straightened. “My clients first, and then we’ll make a trip to my dad’s.”

  “He knows where she lives?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Whatever happens, I’m getting you out of this motel tonight.” Holden swatted her bottom. “Go pack your bag. Tonight, we’ll sleep at the Sunrise Suites.”

  * * *

  The Lane Street house was an adorable single-story home in a new subdivision on the edge of Auburn. An easy sale. Which was why Rebecca had taken the listing so soon before she had to move.

  Two cars in the driveway meant she and Holden had a good chance of surprising the owners at home.

  Rebecca hopped out and marched for the front door while Holden hung back, observing. She rang the bell and Laurie answered the door in pink pajama bottoms and a New Kids on the Block concert tee.

  “Rebecca?” She leaned around the door, catching sight of Holden and frowning. “Is something wrong?”

  Rebecca pasted on her brightest, friendliest smile. “No, of course not.” She laughed lightly. “I wanted to check on you, make sure Derek answered all your questions.”

  “Uh, yeah.” She opened the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

  Kent, her husband, walked by carrying a toddler wrapped in a towel, the boy’s wet hair plastered to his head. “Everything cool?”

  “Nice to see you again.” Becca reached out her hand to shake. Being a polite marine, Kent closed the gap and took her hand.

  “Same,” he said.

  “Are you happy with the offer?”

  “Very.”

  “Do you have any questions for me?”

  “No, I think we’re good.” Laurie sent her husband a nervous glance.

  That was Rebecca’s cue to go. “Wonderful.” She shook hands with the wife. “Enjoy your evening. You have my number.”

  Pivoting, she hurried down the driveway while inspecting her hands with nothing but moonlight to see by. There was no blood.

  “What did you think?” she asked Holden as he reversed the Jeep down the driveway. “Evil necromancers?”

  “Probably not,” he conceded, “But we have to check everyone.”

  She gave him directions to the Havers Street house, her only other active listing. But when they pulled up, the driveway was empty, and the house was dark. Maeve must not be home. To be thorough, Becca rang the bell and waited, but no one answered the door.

  “We’ll come back tomorrow.” She climbed into the Jeep beside Holden. “Are we done?”

  “We’re running out of time. We need to talk to your mom.”

  Which meant face-to-face physical contact. “I don’t know where she lives.” She made a point not to know. It was easier that way. “But my dad does.”

  She couldn’t feel anything, yet. She was shockingly numb considering the wash of emotions the subject of her mother usually brought up.

  “This is the kind of thing we need to do in person,” she decided. “It’s only eight t
hirty. My dad will be awake.”

  Her father and Buster were happy to see them. Daddy made lemonade and a bowl of kibble. Buster ate his fill and flopped onto the carpet at her dad’s feet looking completely content. Becca, on the other hand, could not be still. She paced the living room from the foyer to the swinging kitchen door and back.

  “Daddy,” she began.

  “How did the séance with Damian go?” Daddy asked. “I haven’t heard from him. Was he helpful?”

  “Um, yes. Very.”

  “That’s great news.” He beamed.

  “But Daddy, you know this thing that’s happening to me?”

  “What thing, darling?” He laughed awkwardly in Holden’s direction, but Holden stared at the floor, doing his impression of Grecian pottery. “Are you alright?”

  A rattling sound started in the kitchen, kicking her old nemesis headache into play. A throbbing pain spread from the base of her skull.

  At first Rebecca thought Buster was to blame for the noise, but he lay quietly beside Daddy’s feet. The dog’s ears perked up though.

  She ignored the noise and pressed on. “Well, it might have something to do with, uh, mom.” The word sickened her, and she grimaced.

  “That’s—”

  “Probably not. Don’t worry, but we need to talk to her. Can you please show me her card?”

  In the kitchen, a glass dropped and shattered. Something metal and heavy banged against the floor. Then another glass. And another.

  Rebecca shoved through the swinging door as the entire contents of her father’s cupboards leapt into the air and crashed onto the linoleum. She slammed back against the wall. Dinnerware and water glasses shattered into a million tiny pieces, and she screamed.

  Holden dragged her away from the mess, pulling her off balance. She clung to his arm to keep from falling.

  “I’m so sorry, Daddy,” Rebecca exclaimed. “I’ll clean it up.”

  He struggled to his feet to survey the damage over her shoulder. “No need to be sorry. Not your fault. Probably one of those earthquakes they talk about on the news.”

  Earthquake. Right. Because voicing the obvious was too uncomfortable. The summoning spell was almost done, and the demon clinging to her was enjoying a new rush of power.

  “I’ll clean up.” Holden said. “You keep talking.” He sent her a look as he snatched a broom from the corner. “It sounded important.”

  She led Daddy back to his chair, probably a safer spot than standing within range of knives, forks, and other miscellaneous kitchen weapons.

  Time to wrap this up. “Can I see her card? Please?”

  He dropped into his recliner. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart. She may not want to—”

  “I don’t care what she wants!” Becca balled her hands into fists. “This is more important than her wants or desires.” She blew out one long breath, though it did nothing to calm her swelling anger.

  “Someone’s been stalking me,” she said, her eyes glassing over from the half-truth. At this point she’d welcome a stalker. A stalker was a person who could be caught, handcuffed, and imprisoned. This demon on her shoulder couldn’t be touched at all. “It might be her.”

  “What are you talking about?” He sat up, his face flushing a deep red.

  “It has to do with the hauntings,” she admitted. “Someone has been messing with me. All the weird stuff—the furniture, the photos, the lights. Holden is helping me find out who it is. Someone is doing it to torture me. And we think it might be her.”

  “Your mother does not want to torture you!” Daddy struggled to his feet, pushing away her efforts to help.

  “How do you know? The woman walked out on her family and never even made a phone call to explain or say good-bye or anything! How do you know what she’s capable of?” Rebecca’s headache crawled up around her ears and squatted behind her eyes. She pressed fingertips to her temples, but it didn’t help.

  “She was a crappy mother, is that what you want to hear?”

  Rebecca’s stomach wrenched. “Was she?”

  “She wasn’t a good mother, and she wasn’t a good wife, but she doesn’t want to hurt you anymore.”

  “Anymore?” Her mother left when she was six. By the time Becca was old enough to ask probing questions, her father wasn’t answering them. They’d never discussed the ins and outs of the woman’s abandonment, whether it had been after a marital fight, in the middle of the night, out of the blue, or a long time coming.

  “That’s why she left! So she’d stop hurting you. And me. She made the right choice, baby, even if you hate her for it.” Daddy hobbled to the over-stuffed junk basket on the dining room table, and then handed her a three-by-five card. “Here. Go. Talk to her.”

  Rebecca accepted it without looking at it.

  He shook his head. “I didn’t know how hurt you were.”

  “You didn’t?” The tears fell. Damn it. “I grew up without a mother. I worked to help you pay for things. I took care of Nelly like she was my own daughter. I gave up going to college. And you didn’t know that I was angry?”

  His eyes welled with unshed tears. She looked away because her father never cried, and she couldn’t bear to see him cry now.

  “I did the best I could,” Daddy said. “I was hurting, too.”

  She’d never considered that his heart might be broken over the dissolution of his marriage. Or that he’d missed his wife. Or still loved her.

  Becca swiped at her tears, disgusted by them. She got that itch, the one to order the room, to tidy up and get everything into its proper place. But she didn’t.

  “I have to let this go,” she said softly. “Because maybe I can find someone who makes me happy, who’s good for me.” She couldn’t see Holden, but the sweeping noises paused. “I’m sorry, Daddy. For being so angry or resentful or whatever it is inside me.”

  Her father grabbed her into the hardest, toughest hug imaginable. “I’m sorry, Becca-baby, so sorry. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” She hugged him, crumpling the card against his shoulder.

  * * *

  The towers of Sunrise Suites rose in the distance, and Rebecca nearly wept in relief. She’d suffered through two nights at the Bull Dog Inn, but tonight she’d enjoy an in-room Jacuzzi and four-star room service. Finally.

  Holden guided her through the front doors and into a plush armchair in the shiny and luxurious lobby. “I’ll take care of the rooms,” he said.

  “Fine.” She closed her eyes and leaned into the chair. She’d pay him back. As soon as she gathered enough energy to lift her purse. Holden hadn’t been joking when he warned her about unusual fatigue.

  Time leapt forward.

  “All done,” he announced.

  Holden, keycard in hand, knelt and examined her face. Becca tried to smile but failed. “What’s wrong?” He laid one palm on her knee. The warmth and solid strength of his hand was a balm.

  “It’s been a long day.”

  He helped her stand. “Can you walk?”

  “Of course.”

  They stepped into the elevator, and she bowed slightly. Her carefully controlled life was spinning out of control. The conversation with her father had ignited long-dormant emotions. The grief, fresh again, was like an old record stuck repeating one word over and over without end.

  M-m-mother. M-m-mother.

  The elevator dinged, and she hesitated. Holden swept her into his arms and whisked her down the hall.

  “Sorry, but elevators aren’t my favorite places,” he said.

  “Right. Sorry.” Rebecca’s perpetual headache faded into the background, and she shook off the lethargy as her senses awakened to this man’s broad, thick chest against her side. He was built like a rock wall, all muscle and sinew. She tightened her arms around him.

  He smelled of pine trees and rain. She fought the urge to nuzzle her face into the crook of his neck.

  He opened the door one-handed and then set her inside her suite.
She wobbled a little, but he steadied her, and she gained her footing.

  “Thanks for the lift.” Rebecca smiled.

  Holden leaned in, filling the doorway with his wide shoulders. “Do you need anything?”

  Yes. “Don’t go.”

  Holden’s blue eyes darkened, and he sucked in a small breath.

  Grabbing Becca’s hand, he pulled her through the common area to the bedroom beyond, keeping her off balance. Silently he sat on her king-size bed and yanked her onto his lap, spreading her thighs around him. Her little black skirt crawled up around her waist.

  She stifled a startled gasp, her nerve endings springing to life and popping tiny fireworks clusters up and down her limbs.

  “Hol—”

  He grasped her chin and kissed her, and she forgot whatever she was going to say.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, flattening her breasts against his chest. There was nothing between them but his shirt and the thin fabric of her button-down blouse, but it was too much of a barrier. She flicked two buttons open, baring her lacy bra.

  It still wasn’t enough. She wanted him inside her. She broke the kiss to yank open his fly, and she reached for him.

  He gripped her wrist in a death hold and then flipped her onto her back on the goose-down comforter. He captured both wrists, stretching them above her head as he hovered over her.

  “We are not,” he growled, “rushing this.”

  Becca gave a jerky nod.

  Slow was good. She liked slow. Except her body wanted him now.

  Holden released her. “Lock your hands over your head.”

  She did as he asked, and something wild and unrestrained showed in his eyes. She recognized the same need in him that reared up in her, and her core hummed in response.

  Surrendering herself to another person, not only her body but her will, wasn’t just scary. It was thrilling. And freeing. Rebecca relinquished control and focused on the tide of pleasure rising in her lower belly.

  Holden rested one knee on the mattress, and it dipped under his weight as he popped the last of the buttons on her blouse. With a flick of his wrists he pinned the cups of her bra under her breasts. Air tickled over her bare skin, and her breath whistled through her teeth.