Spell of Summoning (5 page)

“Yes.”

The next demon would go into him.

* * *

“I can’t tell you how happy it makes me seeing you out in the world like this.” Grams smiled from the seat beside him in the old, stripped-down Jeep that used to belong to her.

“Stalking a woman?” Holden teased. But he knew what Grams meant. Most days were spent in his home sanding the back porch for a fresh coat of stain or stripping the decades-old wallpaper from the upstairs hall so he could paint. With no one but Grams for company. He liked it that way.

Today was a little different. Today he sat in his vehicle, parked outside a woman’s apartment reading emails from Cole about summoning spells. A sort of Necromancy 101.

“You’re meant to have a wife,” Grams said. “And a family. Like the one your grandpa and I had.”

The steering wheel cover was fraying along the bottom, and Holden picked at the loose threads instead of answering. Of course he wanted a family. But the moment he settled down with a girl—hell the second he started dating one—Grams would leave. He wasn’t ready to say good-bye yet.

“Living isn’t always an easy job,” she continued gently. “But don’t forget what a blessing it is to wake up every morning. There’s going to be tough stuff. But you deal with it, and then you move on. I’m not sure you’ve ever moved on, bubba.”

A memory of Wade Lake flashed through his mind. “That’s ridiculous. Of course I have.”

“I’m holding you back.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” Holden didn’t have to explain any further. They both knew that if Grams left, he’d be alone. Completely alone. He didn’t have another soul he could talk to about the weather, let along necromancy.

“You’ll be better in the long run. I stayed to help you adjust, but it’s been years and years.”

“Fourteen.”

Then she said the one thing guaranteed to gut him with guilt. “I miss my Teddy, bubba.” Her husband of over forty years.

Holden was keeping her from joining her one true love in the spirit realm. She was only stuck here in the world of the living because of him.

“I’ll get married when I meet the right girl.” The same old line.

“You’re placating me,” she grouched. “I know bull crap when I hear it.”

Holden snorted. “Watch your mouth.”

Laughing, Grams added, “Think about it. Think about her. She’s beautiful. Don’t you agree? And friendly.”

Rebecca Powell was more than that. She was amazing. God, her hair alone… He imagined the long soft strands sliding like water through his fingers or spread across his chest.

He shuddered, very thankful Grams couldn’t read his mind. Or maybe she could. With a harrumph, she vaporized.

He refocused on Cole’s email, reading it three times before he got the general idea. Then he clicked on the link at the bottom that led to a page of common hand-drawn necromancy spell marks for Holden to practice. A chalice, a bridge, an anchor, a capital X, and a couple of shapes he didn’t know what to call. Different marks did different things, like bridging the realms of the living and the dead or focusing power on equilibrium, cosmic justice, and the soul itself.

Holden didn’t notice Rebecca until she was practically on top of him, he was so distracted. Some protector. Her apartment could have been sucked into another dimension, and he wouldn’t have figured it out until the fire trucks arrived.

She looked fresh and clean as a washed peach, even though she still wore the stained skirt and snagged sweater, and he memorized every detail from her over-sized sunglasses to her painted toenails playing peekaboo through her high heels. The shadow around her head and shoulders remained. Wispy and insubstantial, like a silky veil. It wasn’t worse. It wasn’t any better, either.

She approached, and he snapped his laptop closed. He forced a smile, though he was painfully out of practice interacting with anyone, let alone women. The term
shut in
covered his current situation pretty well.

Buster popped his head over Holden’s shoulder, spotted Rebecca, and tensed to leap. Holden quickly knotted his dog’s leash to the steering wheel, saving Rebecca from an outfit change. With a sympathetic nod, he rubbed his little buddy’s head.

“This isn’t weird at all,” she greeted, keeping a polite distance. “I thought you left.”

“No.”

“Are you spying on me?”

Sort of. Yes. “I can’t leave until this is over.”

“I have your number.” She flashed him her palm, though she’d washed the ink off. “I’ll stay away from any boundary spells. You go on home.”

So, she thought she could wave her arms around and he’d cower? Holden had his issues, but he didn’t scare easily. If he did, he’d have stepped off a tall bridge a long time ago.

“It won’t work like that.” He recalled Cole’s very specific email and set the offending laptop on the passenger seat. Holden was sick of reading it. Nothing but bad news on top of bad news. He got out of his vehicle, and Buster whined.

“If the demon possesses you,” he said, “you’ll cease to be you.”

Holden took a step closer, towering over her petite frame, but she didn’t shy away or back down. Impressive. A lot of women who’d learned a dark caster was forcing a demon into them would probably freak out. Cry. Faint. But not Rebecca Powell.

Maybe she didn’t understand the full story.

“The demon will control your thoughts,” Holden continued.

Rebecca clasped her hands tightly in front of her, twisted them behind her back, and finally crossed her arms in front.

Her eyes fluttered nervously. “You’re not serious.”

She’d learn he didn’t joke about the supernatural. “I wish it weren’t true. I really do.”

“Are you trying to scare me?”

“Yes.”

Rebecca’s chin rose a fraction, drawing Holden’s attention to a piece of gray lint clinging to her blouse near the collar. Slowly he picked it off, his fingers brushing the soft blonde hair on her shoulder, and he realized he was holding his breath.

Air escaped her lips in a shaky hiss. “Hands off, please. Let’s keep this professional.” But her eyes shone as her glossy outer facade cracked. “How will it happen? Like a poof, and I’m gone?”

“It’s a process. If the demon possesses you,” Holden said, quoting Cole’s email with a twinge in his gut, “you’ll cease to be you. He’ll be in control, and you’ll disappear. Cole sent me some research. Because this has happened before.”

“I want to see it.” Rebecca held out her beautifully manicured hand.

“I’ll tell you the gist,” he said, not wanting her to read the scariest parts.

Historically, demons had possessed human beings countless times. Sometimes under their own power, but more often with the help of a witch or a necromancer. Some cases became popular in the press, but most incidents weren’t seen as demon-related at all. The majority of possessions ended in arson, assault, torture, and commitment in mental health facilities. Because demons created chaos. Constant, soul-crushing chaos.

Holden’s plan was to stop this one before it broke through and save everyone involved a whole lot of pain.

“I’ve been studying the spell. So has Cole. Yours is a slow one, more like a siege. The necromancer is constantly casting, maybe every day. Little by little the spells break through your natural defenses, making you more vulnerable.”

He made eye contact with the demon over Rebecca’s shoulder. It was hazy, but he acknowledged a faint pair of red eyes and a set of fangs.

“Be more specific, please. What will it do to me?”

Holden bowed his head. “First you’ll feel sick. Flu symptoms—nausea, muscle aches, headaches. Then it will escalate. Vomiting. Insomnia. Uncontrollable emotions.”

“And then?”

He glanced back at his Jeep, suddenly hesitant. Images of her eventual assault and defeat by some faceless necromancer refused to be shaken.

“Holden?”

He faced her. “If he gets that far, blindness, deafness, and then total mental blackout. That’s the last step before possession.”

“I see.” Rebecca’s entire body tensed as if in anticipation of the coming attack.

He wanted to protect her. More than anything he’d ever wanted before. “It won’t get that far. We’ll stop it before then.”

“How long do I have?”

“Not long.” Unfortunately. And he couldn’t be any more specific. It all depended on the necromancer and how quickly he gathered enough power to finish the spell. Her shadowy veil with the glowing red spell marks might be a little bit darker tomorrow.

“Until?” Rebecca swayed as if a stiff wind would bowl her over.

Holden fought the urge to comfort her, but he wasn’t good with…
this
. So much time spent alone working on his house.

He didn’t touch her again.

“An honest-to-God demon will be let loose upon the world.”

Chapter Four

Rebecca wouldn’t cry. Nope. Not in front of Holden. She had some dignity left. Okay, not a lot. But enough to keep from blubbering in the street.

“Wow, blunt,” she said, taken aback. “You sure are honest.”

Holden looked confused. “Am I supposed to be dishonest?”

“No, of course not.” But Rebecca was. She didn’t tell the truth about anything—her feelings, her desires, her fear. None of it. And the people she worked with were constantly telling fibs and half-truths.

Sellers forgot to mention the flood last year and all that mold hiding under coats of paint. Buyers glossed over tax liens and credit card debt. Other Realtors were the worst—every one of them a professional spin doctor. And so was she. So this guy with the honesty issue was a bit of a shock.

There was more she hadn’t told him.

“In my old house,” Becca said. “I came back one evening and every framed photo and piece of art I owned lay broken on the floor. Every piece.” There hadn’t been an earthquake. No storms. No sonic boom from the marine base. She’d checked. And not even her dad had keys to her home. “Can you explain that?” Because she couldn’t.

“The demon is breaking into our world. The further it gets the more chaos it causes. That’s all demons do, you know. Cause pain and chaos.”

Holden scratched his head through a very old, baby blue UNC cap with the same fingers he’d used to pluck lint from her collar. What had he been thinking, touching her like that? He was a client. Or close enough to make him off-limits romantically. So why did he look at her with undisguised longing in his eyes? And why did it make her tummy all fluttery?

Becca shifted uneasily on the curb, wobbling over the gutter. “I’m going to visit my dad,” she admitted, though it was technically none of Holden’s business.

“I won’t get in your way.”

Too late. “If you’re going to follow me anyway, why don’t you get in my car? We’ll go together.”

“I can’t.”

She lost her balance and stepped into the street with a jolt. Everyone always did what she told them to. She was bubbly and cute and in charge. Always.

Adding a smile, Rebecca tried again. “We’ll take my car.”

“We’ll take mine.” Holden spoke with absolute finality.

“Is there some dark magic preventing that, too?”

“No.” He cracked the tiniest of smiles. “I’m not good in tight spaces.”

“Oh.” She tilted her head to get a better look at his Jeep, which had been stripped down to a windshield, seats, and a metal frame that might have once held up doors and a roof. His behavior in her kitchen nook came to mind. “Claustrophobia?”

He nodded.

She tried to imagine this guy, who seemed so calm and controlled, in a panic. “Have you always been that way?”

“Not always.”

Becca caved. “Your Jeep it is.”

“Hop in.” He shoved the laptop into the backseat and urged his dog in the same direction. Buster barked at having his space invaded and tried to lick the side of Holden’s face off in retaliation. “I’ll drive.”

She hesitated at the memory of all those crime shows she’d watched late at night. Weren’t all the psychopathic killers charming, good-looking guys no one would ever suspect in a million years?

She jangled her keys, disguising the fact that her hands shook.

“You coming, or not?”

She wasn’t used to being bossed around. “I’d rather be asked than told,” she snapped.

No response. Of course.

Finally, she relented, climbed in, and buckled up.

Without warning, Buster barreled into her chest, and she squealed in surprise as the unapologetic Labrador nosed through her hair.

Holden grabbed Buster’s collar and yanked. “Down, boy.”

The dog backed off, but not by much.

“What is wrong with him?” Rebecca edged against the door until the window lever bit into her ribs.

“He senses the magic on you,” he said. “But he can’t tell if it’s a threat or not.”

As if she was going to feel bad for his ill-mannered dog. Not today. “Well, that’s fantastic. Can you convince him to leave me alone?”

“Convince him yourself.” He scratched Buster behind the ears. “Let him smell you.”

Either Holden was dead serious, or he had a very dry sense of humor. But the dog running its wet nose all over her was out of the question. She wasn’t a chew toy.

“I don’t want to add anymore bandages, if it’s all the same.”

“Fine,” Holden conceded, “But he’ll keep jumping until you do.”

Right. Point made.

“Okay, okay.” She straightened her clothes and opened her arms to Buster. “Come here, big boy, but if you scratch me, I’ll pinch.”

The dog climbed between the seats and put his front paws on Becca’s collarbones. She held her breath and turned her head. But Buster was intent and didn’t seem to mind her discomfort. He ran his wet, sort-of slimy nose through her hair and huffed into her ear, making her shiver head to toe.

His muzzle was baby soft and warm, like a living version of her favorite stuffed teddy bear from childhood. She touched his velvety ear and then scratched behind it. He licked her nose and continued his investigation. She giggled, wiping saliva off with her wrist.

“It tickles,” Rebecca said.

“Yeah.”

Buster wagged his tail in Holden’s face. Finally he hopped down, tumbled into the backseat, and lay with his chin on his paws.