Spell of Vanishing

by Anna Abner

  “I have a surprise for you,” he said.

  “A surprise?” Rebecca echoed. “What kind of surprise?”

  After spending the day poring over building regulations, she’d inadvertently given Holden enough time to plan just about anything.

  He led her by the hand through the front room, past the gleaming staircase, and out the rear door.

  And then she saw it. Beautifully and artistically carved into the polished cedar patio were four glyphs surrounding a large spell circle. Big enough for two.

  “I need a sec,” she said, turning and fleeing.

  “Rebecca, talk to me,” Holden pleaded, chasing her into the kitchen.

  She couldn’t think straight. The only words knocking at her larynx were, I’m not a necromancer. I don’t want to cast magic. But that would hurt him. And she didn’t want to hurt him.

  She grabbed her purse, tipped off balance, and dropped it. Out popped her cell phone, her wallet, her lip-gloss, and a folded slip of paper.

  “Of course,” she grumbled, bending to pick up her stuff.

  Holden was quicker and scooped it all into his hands, depositing the items one by one into her purse.

  Please be gallant, she thought. Fight the urge to open the note.

  But it must have been the rush of adrenaline or emotion or something else because he did the unexpected and read what was on the paper.

  “What is this?” he asked. “What the hell is this?”

  He was seriously pissed because Holden hardly ever used curse words around her.

  “It’s nothing,” she fibbed.

  Spin, spin, spin.

  “It’s not nothing,” he countered, his voice rising. “It’s a spell. Where did you even get this?”

  “It’s a mistake.”

  “Rebecca,” he snapped.

  She’d rarely seen him so angry. Not since he faced down her former assistant turned evil necromancer, Derek.

  “You’re keeping secrets,” he continued. “Tell me where you found this spell.”

  Deep breath. Shoulders back. “You’re right. I was keeping a secret, but only because I knew you’d be hurt, and I didn’t want to upset you over nothing.”

  “Rebecca,” Holden growled.

  “Derek came to see me at the diner,” she confessed. “He gave me the spell—”

  “Derek? Please don’t say Derek Walker.”

  So she didn’t say anything, just watched the fury inside him build to eruption levels.

  “You’re carrying around Derek Walker’s spell,” he wadded the paper in his fist, “but you won’t even talk to me about casting?” He fisted the paper until she expected it to turn to dust under the pressure. “Were you going to cast it?” It was like he’d asked, Are you sleeping with him? Exact same tone.

  “No. Holden, I haven’t even thought about it since he gave it to me. I don’t want to cast magic.” There. She’d said it. The breath left her in a rush.

  His brows came down. The paper crinkled as he eased up on the poor thing. “You don’t?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “That’s what you’ve been so secretive about these past few days?”

  Becca nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

  “But it’s important to you,” she said. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

  He snorted. “What’s so dangerous about disappointing me?”

  “I love you,” she said simply, and the admission brought up all kinds of frightening emotions. “And if I disappoint you too badly you might…” She couldn’t even form the words.

  Holden gazed at her for a long time, so long Becca began to fidget and to glance down and make sure all her possessions were picked up off the floor.

  “You’re scared,” he decided quietly. “Because people you love sometimes leave.”

  It was like he targeted the deepest, darkest niche in her soul with a sniper rifle. And fired.

  “If my own mother can’t stand being with me,” she choked out, “why would anyone else?” She cleared her throat. “Why would you?”

  Paper still wadded in his hand, Holden pulled her gently against his chest. She molded into him, her ear pressed to the steady thump of his heart.

  “Rebecca, I’m not going anywhere.” He nudged the top of her head, and then pulled back enough to cup her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. “You can make me angry. You can disappoint me in a thousand different ways—though I don’t know how you possibly could—but none of that means I stop loving you. I am in this for the long run.”

  “Me, too.”

  “So, you don’t want to cast magic,” Holden reiterated. “You don’t want to cast Derek’s spell?”

  “Why would I? I don’t even know what it does.”

  “It’s an overwhelming sensation of peace and joy spell,” he explained, unwadding the paper. “It’s temporary, but it fills the caster with radiant energy.”

  “I assumed it would light my body on fire.”

  He chuckled low. “That was a safe assumption, but no. He actually gave you a gift.”

  Becca took the paper from him, smoothed the wrinkles, and traced the spell mark with the tip of her French manicure.

  “That was sort of nice of him.”

  “But you’re not testing it.” Holden slipped it into her purse. “Not until you’re ready.”

  “What if I’m never ready?” Because what if she saw chatty spirits everywhere, but never cast another spell for the rest of her life?

  “Then we won’t speak of it again.”

  “Your feelings aren’t hurt?”

  He smiled, actually smiled. “Darlin’, I loved you before that day in Derek Walker’s house, and I love you now. Your opinions on necromancy don’t even come into it.”

  More than ever, deep, swelling love for the man swirled inside her chest. Through some special magic all his own, he completed her in every way.

  “Come back out here.” Holden twined his fingers with hers. “You didn’t let me finish what I was going to say.”

  Frowning, she let him lead her onto the porch. “What were you going to say?” Her voice trailed off.

  She recognized what she hadn’t seen a moment ago, blinded as she’d been by her fear of the spell circle.

  Sitting in clusters along the porch railings were lit candles. Here and there were bunches of muted wildflowers in mason jars. All of it backlit by the most perfect peachy sunset anyone could imagine.

  Holden turned, a nervous smile on his handsome face. “Rebecca,” he began. “Oh, wait.” Keeping her fingers locked in his, he took a knee.

  “Becca, darlin’,” he began again. “I adore you, and I want to marry you. The day you swept into my life, a new light shone upon me, reminding me how sweet and beautiful the world could be. I can’t even imagine a life without you in my bed—”

  She chuckled through a veil of tears.

  “—or by my side,” he finished, giving her fingers a squeeze. “Will you marry me? The sooner the better?”

  She fell to her knees. “Do you even have to ask?” She kissed him sweetly.

  “I’d still like to hear the answer,” he said against her lips.

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  Talia pulled into a drive-thru, and they picked up an early, greasy dinner simply to avoid a rerun of the night before. By the time they were finished eating, it was dusk.

  Another day gone, and still no sign of Sylvester.

  All the way to the Couser farm Talia kept to the speed limit and made full stops at red lights. She checked and re-checked her rearview mirror, but found no hint the FBI or anyone else followed her.

  Maybe they’d given up. Either that or they were better at tailing her than she was at spotting them.

  “We’ll fix this,” Cole said. “But can you please speed up? Your granny driving is making me nervous.”

  She laughed in spite of her current disastrous situation. “Just trying to re
duce our run-ins with the law and rogue casters,” she said. “I like to do the right thing.”

  “You’re a good girl,” he teased.

  She wasn’t sure whether he was trying to distract her from a nervous breakdown by being charming and adorable, or not, but it was working.

  “I sure am,” she teased back. “It happens when your twin sister is a loose cannon.” She hadn’t anticipated spilling painful secrets, but he’d already witnessed her family’s insanity. What was a little more? “Adrian started smoking young, then drinking. Of course, that led to worse decision-making, including unprotected sex. She was only a freshman in high school when she got pregnant with Sylvester. So, in reaction to her slip-ups,” she said, glancing at Cole, “I made sure I did all the right things. Good grades. Lots of sleep. Ate my fruits and veggies.”

  Not that it ever improved her parents’ opinion of her. Instead of being their perfect angel, she was teased as a goody-goody and a butt kisser. Adrian, who required so much attention, was obviously their favorite.

  She continued, “My sister treated rehab like a spa vacation, Mom raised her own grandson, and I went to nursing school.” Talia shrugged as if it were all a big joke, someone else’s eye-roll inducing shenanigans. But it hurt. A lot.

  “Sounds rough,” Cole said. “I’m sorry you had to grow up like that.”

  Everyone had to grow up some way. Hers was simply a little more unconventional. Though she wished her sister made better choices, Talia was happy with the person she’d become.

  “Why, what was your childhood like?”

  He thought about it for a second. “Sheltered.”

  She waited for more, but he didn’t elaborate. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I was born with a sick heart,” he said, obviously not comfortable talking about his health history. “My sister Caitlyn wasn’t. So, I was smothered in bubble wrap like a fragile Ming vase, and she got to play soccer, ski with dad, and go to late-night parties.”

  “Oh.” His upbringing wasn’t so different than hers. Both their sisters got all their parents’ attention.

  “It was fine,” he said, shrugging off the pain the way she had a few moments earlier. “I probably would’ve done the same thing if I was a parent and my kid was sick. There was never any hope for a transplant, the medicine didn’t work the way we expected, and things were always getting worse. They just wanted to be careful with me so I would live a little while longer.”

  “Well, it paid off,” she said, trying to find some kind of silver lining. “Are you still close to your parents?”

  “I was. But I haven’t spoken to them since the abduction.”

  “They’re probably worried out of their minds.”

  He grunted noncommittally.

  “Cole,” she exclaimed. “You have to call them! Do you have any idea what a phone call from Sylvester would mean to us?” She smacked his bicep with the back of her hand. “Promise me you’ll call them.”

  “Okay, okay.” He playfully swatted her back. “I’ll call.”

  “When?” she pressed.

  “Soon.”

  Talia turned into the Couser farm’s driveway, the headlights cutting across the front yard and illuminating a huge oak beside a cluster of scraggly bushes. A body hung from the tree, silhouetted by the setting sun.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Talia made a horrified, strangled noise at the sight of the hanging man and slammed the brakes, afraid to get any closer, helplessly wishing she could go back to the moment before she’d seen it.

  The only thought giving her any comfort was that it wasn’t Sylvester. The person was definitely too big to be her nephew. She felt fleeting relief, quickly overshadowed by revulsion and panic.

  A body. An actual, human body.

  Who would do such a thing? Someone had strung a person from a tree. To intimidate them.

  It was working.

  Cole hopped out. “Go inside,” he snapped, and then slammed the car door.

  But she couldn’t run away. She had to see who it was. She rolled the vehicle nearer, close enough she recognized the man’s face under what looked like a painted symbol.

  As Cole circled the tree, Talia put the car in park and approached.

  “I know him,” she said, hugging her middle so tight her ribs pinched. “His name’s Jeff. He’s friends with the Carver.”

  “He’s dead,” Cole said, unnecessarily.

  “Who would—”

  “Don’t say anything else,” he yelled. “Go inside. I’ll take care of this.”

  A spirit blinked into view near the porch. A scared, pale face. And then he was gone.

  Zachary must have seen everything.

  She glanced at Cole, afraid to leave him, but the sight—and to be honest the smell—of the dead man was making her queasy.

  “I’ll find a knife,” she offered.

  “I have one.” Of course he did. “Please go. It’s not safe out here.” He sent her a pleading look. “Go on.”

  With a last survey of the yard, she hurried across the porch and shut herself inside the barrier spell. From the window, she watched Cole cut Jeff down, search him, and then drag him out past the tool shed to the fallow cornfields. She ran to the back door just as Cole retrieved a shovel from the shed and started digging.

  * * *

  Covered in sticky sweat and a layer of dirt, Cole removed his boots at the back door, and then lumbered inside. Immediately, a weight eased off his shoulders. One of many. At least within the home’s four walls, he was safe. Or as safe as he got these days.

  “It’s done?” Talia asked, standing from the kitchen table with effort, as if she’d been through a devastating ordeal.

  And it struck him, as he admired the way her soft, beautiful curls framed her adorable face, that he didn’t need her anymore. Not for casting or leverage or information. She was in far worse danger staying with him than if she ran back to the Dark Caster and professed her innocence. The bastard would welcome her home with open arms, but another couple of days with Cole and Talia might be the next person hanging from a tree.

  “We haven’t fooled anyone,” he said sadly. “They know where we are. They can guess what we’re after.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  He laid a scrap of yellow paper on the table between them. “He was marked with a white W. The wraith’s mark, I’m guessing. And this was in his pocket.”

  “The White Wraith killed him?” She paled and fell back into the chair she’d just vacated.

  He couldn’t blame her for being afraid. He’d heard stories, too. The kind of stories usually reserved for grotesque fairy tales.

  “I’m not so sure,” he admitted. “He had deep cuts to both wrists, and they seemed self-inflicted. I’m guessing he killed himself, and the wraith took advantage of the situation to scare us.” He shook his head, hoping to shake the images of Jeff’s corpse as easily. It didn’t work. “But if she’s knocking on our door we may as well answer it. We don’t have any other options.”

  Talia picked up the note and studied the writing. “Is it a spell?”

  “I’m guessing it’s how we contact her,” he said.

  “Screw that.” She wadded the paper and tossed it into the sink.

  But Cole didn’t know where to go from there. He’d tried kidnapping Talia to flush out the Dark Caster. The big boss hadn’t fallen for it. They’d tried contacting his spirits. No one had taken the bait. The meetinghouse, the cabin, and Derek’s house were all dead ends. There was nowhere else to go.

  He smiled at her bravura, but it didn’t change his mind. She was in too much danger to stay.

  “It’s time for you to go,” he said. “You were going to leave this morning, anyway. Do it now.” The moment the hurtful words were out of his mouth he wished he could retrieve them. He didn’t want her to go. God, all he wanted was more—more time, more conversation, more her.

  But being with him could get her killed.

  “No
.” Talia’s fist came down, rattling the table. “You were right all along. It’s not safe. The same thing they did to you, they’ll do to me. Maybe worse.”

  “You’ll leave the state. We’ll find you a safe place to lie low.” He didn’t know how to go on if she got hurt because of him. She meant too much to him already. “I don’t want you any more involved than you already are,” he said.

  “Tough,” she shot back. “I am involved. You involved me.” Her hands went to her hips. “I’m not disappearing into witness protection. Sorry. I’m staying until this is over. Just tell me what you’re going to do.”

  The shameful truth was he wanted her on the hunt with him. He wanted her beside him, keeping him anchored in reality. The thought of her leaving sent waves of panic crashing into his gut.

  He’d never considered himself a selfish man, but he was. A huge, selfish bastard.

  He didn’t argue with her. He didn’t force her to leave.

  Cole retrieved the paper and smoothed the wrinkles. “I’m going to cast this spell.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  She reached for it again, but he was faster. “It might be a location.”

  “It might be a trap,” she returned, her face flushing. “No, scratch that. It is a trap. You’d be an idiot to cast her spell.”

  He studied the page, trying to make sense of the mark. It reminded him of a locator spell, but altered. “It’s the only lead I have.” And if Talia was staying, he must find her nephew. There was no choice. He’d search for the poor kid either way, but if Talia risked her life by partnering up with him, Sylvester must be found.

  “What if it kills you?” she demanded. “What if it changes you? What if it causes unending pain?” And then her voice dropped. “What if it’s a nightmare spell, and they think it’s funny to make you cast it on yourself?”

  The idea of returning to his nightmare silenced him for a long few moments, but finally he shook his head. “The White Wraith is proud and vain and doesn’t see me as a threat. I think she wants me to come to her and grovel, and this,” he rattled the paper, “is her summoning me.”

  “Cole, please don’t cast that spell.”