Spell of Summoning (12 page)

The shower next door cut off. The bathroom door opened, and Rebecca unzipped her suitcase again.

He couldn’t handle anymore. Holden locked himself in his own bathroom and ran a shower. By the time he emerged, steam pouring through the doorway, he was more relaxed and more capable of being in Rebecca Powell’s vicinity.

No sound came from her room, though he could smell her meal, and he peeked around the doorframe. Only her glorious blonde hair was visible, the rest of her covered by the bed sheets. By the rhythm of her breathing, he guessed she was asleep.

His phone rang, jolting him into the present. He jogged to the bedside table and snatched up his cell.

“Hello?”

“Holden, it’s Cole. I found something worth checking out. There are rumors about a secret organization that worships the devil and his demons. A dark cabal.”

A dark cabal of demon worshippers. It sounded too ridiculous to be true. But if it was, and they were targeting innocent people for demonic possessions…

“I talked to some people,” Cole continued. “A few years ago a necromancer calling himself the Dark Caster tried to open a Chaos Gate. It’s like a gateway between our world and the demon realm. He got spanked by agents of heaven before he could do it, of course. They took away his power to channel spirits. But now, he’s got a whole cabal of followers doing new mischief in his name.”

“What happens if they open a Chaos Gate?” Holden asked.

“My guess is heaven would never leave it open for long, but as long as it was, countless demons could enter our world. And it’s possible the summoning spell on Rebecca Powell is the first part of his plan.”

“Do you know who he is? Or where he is?” Holden asked.

“No, I wish I did. He’s very careful with his identity. But I wanted you to know. I’ll keep looking. You do the same.”

They hung up, and Holden saw he had three missed calls.

Two from Sean at the diner, which he skipped, and one from his waitress. Her name was Katherine, and the only reason Holden knew that was because at some point in their business relationship he’d entered the name Katherine Waitress and her number into his contacts list.

“It’s Kate,” she greeted, her voice way past irritated. “If you had stopped for ten seconds today and talked to Sean, you would’ve figured out his stupid plan, but he cleaned out the register and left town.”

Holden knocked his forehead against the wall. Perfect. What else could go wrong? Fire? Flood? Plague?

“I’m five months pregnant,” she added in a huff. “I don’t need this crap. For crying out loud, take care of your own business.”

He had to go into work tomorrow and open the diner. Either that or close it. But if he closed the diner, even for a few days, he might as well close it forever. He’d lose customers, and he’d lose the faith of the community.

Rebecca screamed.

* * *

The Prince—he liked the name; it sounded badass—was a born necromancer, not made. And deeply proud of it. The Dark Caster told him not too long ago it meant the devil had chosen him from birth.

He’d played with friendly spirits from the time he could see and hear and smile. But he’d never considered black magic until very recently. And once he’d met the Dark Caster, joined the cabal, and performed his first few dark spells, his longtime spirit friends abandoned him.
Poof.
Just gone. He’d gained a few angry, violent spirits curious about doing evil in the world and willing to transfer him their power, but even they left when he first cast the demonic-possession spell into Rebecca Powell.

A demon was a creature of hell and the devil. It wasn’t supposed to have any physical foothold in the human world. God forbade it. Demons were not only dangerous to bring forth but a necromancer had to be insane to attempt it. Demons turned on their masters. And agents of heaven handled infractions with fire and blood.

But he wanted to impress the Dark Caster. He wanted to be a big shot for once. In reality, he was a gofer. He worked around powerful, successful people, but he wasn’t one of them. The Dark Caster saw potential in him no one else did. The Dark Caster promised him the second top spot in the cabal and all the power he could handle. Soon he’d have a demon on a leash, and then the sky was the limit for him. No, the sky wasn’t enough. Soon he’d have no limits.

The Dark Caster may not be able to cast anymore after he’d attempted to open a doorway between worlds and been spiritually castrated by an agent of heaven, but his drive hadn’t been dampened. The Dark Caster needed necromancers and witches to do the heavy lifting, but he had a vision. He saw an army of demons under his control. And with that much power, any government could be overthrown. Any military overrun. Bank vaults would be their personal ATMs.

All they had to do was open the Chaos Gate.

And it all started with one spell, one demon, and one uppity, blonde Realtor.

The Prince knelt and cast. And cast. And cast, chanting his spell until his voice cracked and his knees screamed. But with only one broken-down spirit named Robert to draw power from, the damned spell that should have taken two weeks, at the most, was going into month three.

He needed better spirits. He’d petitioned the Dark Caster for more, but he’d been denied.

A flare of power burst in the room, knocking him to his hands and knees. Beside Robert, a fat man in overalls flickered into being. A cold smile scrolled across the man’s mean face.

“The Dark Caster sent me to help you,” the fat man said. He slapped his fleshy chest. “Ned.”

The moment the Prince drew on two spirits and cast his spell, he felt the increase in power like a jolt of industrial strength caffeine in his veins. Grinning, he chanted a strength-sapping spell, confident it wouldn’t be long now.

* * *

Becca woke a little dazed in what she supposed was the morning. It took a few minutes to remember she wasn’t in her apartment. She stretched her legs and accidentally kicked something warm, heavy, and dog shaped. Damn it. Buster must have snuck in during the night and climbed onto her bed. She sat up, pulling the blankets with her. Someone grumbled in complaint from the other side of the king-size bed.

Startled, she yanked the sheets to her chin like some shaky Victorian maiden. “What the—”

Holden rolled onto his stomach, and muscle rippled along his bare shoulders. She froze, staring at the tiny hairs, nearly translucent, on the back of his neck.

“You’re in my bed?”

He jammed his pillow over his head as if she’d disturbed his sleep.

“Holden!” She shoved him. “What are you doing in my bed?”

Ignoring her, he reached for the bedside phone and punched a number. “Deliver that breakfast now,” he said, his voice husky from sleep. “Thanks.”

“You are unbelievable.” She hopped out of bed, jogged past the open adjoining doors between their supposedly separate rooms, and locked herself in the bathroom. She ran the shower, too angry and startled and—best to be honest—turned on to deal with anything more complicated than hot water and shampoo.

Good God, he’d slept in her bed! Beside her. Maybe all night. Maybe curled around her like a snuggly heating blanket. And how hadn’t she noticed? For God’s sake, when a tall, good-looking, clean-smelling man was in her bed, she wanted to know about it.

He must be out of his freaking mind. They had an agreement. No perverted stuff.

Rebecca stepped out of the shower clean and clear headed and wrapped herself in a soft cotton towel.

Someone knocked on the door.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” she shouted.

“I have your suitcase,” Holden said through the paneling. “Open up.”

She poked her nose out the door, schooling her features. As if waking practically in his arms hadn’t affected her at all.

He looked way too good in the morning. Sort of tousled. And beautiful. And holding her beige overnight bag in his arms.

But none of that meant he could do whatever he pleased. “Why were you in my bed? We talked about this.”

“You had a nightmare. I wanted to be close. Just in case.”

“Oh.” Rebecca didn’t remember any nightmares, but it was not out of the realm of possibility.

 “Thanks.” She accepted her bag and closed the door.

Becca dried her hair and then curled it softly around her shoulders the way she always did. But this wasn’t any other day. First, this bathroom was ridiculously small. Second, she didn’t usually style her hair while aroused. So she skimped on the makeup, applying only mascara and lipstick. Today she dressed in black slacks and a sleeveless top. She rolled on deodorant, trying to remember the last time she’d woken up in bed beside a man. It had been a long time.

When Becca emerged, feeling 100 percent better and like a human being again, she was greeted by a mouthwatering breakfast tray and Holden dressed in nothing but a pair of low-slung jeans. God, what a body. Hot. Sexy. She imagined running her hands across his strong, broad shoulders and wide chest. His golden skin would be warm and smooth and sprinkled with fine, golden-brown hair…

He shoved a mug of steaming coffee with cream and sugar under her nose. Their fingers brushed, and electricity zinged between them. Spell or no spell, no one had ever made her feel this level of chemical awareness before, and it was freaking her out.

“There’s Excedrin on the tray,” he said, not seeming to notice the current between them. “For your headache.”

“I’ll eat first.” She tore her gaze from his chest and focused on the spread he’d ordered. Waffles, bacon, eggs, grits, and toast. Good Lord. “This is amazing.” She crammed a triangle of buttered toast into her mouth. “Thank you.”

Holden disappeared through the connecting doors, and by the time he returned she was propped up in bed sipping her second cup of coffee.

“Feeling better?” He was fully dressed, clean shaven, and slightly damp from the shower. He looked fresh and sexy as hell.

“Yep.”

Rebecca picked at her bedspread. Best not to think about his level of sexiness. Because nothing was ever going to happen. She had to remember the plan. Stop the necromancer. Move to Raleigh. Be happy. No room in the plan for him no matter how good he looked in those jeans.

“I got a call from my waitress.” He leaned against the TV stand and sucked on orange wedges. “My
ex-
waitress. The manager at Sparky’s emptied the safe and took off yesterday. I have to go by the police station to report it and then go to the diner.”

“That’s awful.”

She set her cup aside and did what she always did when things went badly—she cleaned. She started with her suitcase, arranging it on the luggage sling so it lay flush against the wall. Then she piled the dirty breakfast dishes on the tray and set it outside the door. The wet towels went onto the floor, and her dirty clothes went into a plastic bag that she loaded into her suitcase. Lastly, she snapped the sheets and comforter into place.

“I’ll help you any way I can.” Rebecca scanned the room, content that everything was neat and in its proper place. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Holden grabbed Buster’s leash and shut the door to room seven behind Rebecca, trying not to be obvious about enjoying the sight of her shapely little ass popping in a pair of black slacks.

Her cell phone chimed, and she checked caller ID. “It’s my sister.” She turned away, presenting him with another view of her rear end.

“Hi, Nelly. Everything okay? Did you get the box I sent?” She paused, listening. “Oh.” She massaged her forehead. “That’s my fault. I’ve been really busy.” Another pause. “No, don’t freak out. I’ll do it right this minute. Yeah. Yeah, I know the website. Right. I’ll text you when it’s done.” They said their good-byes and she hung up, looking frazzled.

“What was that about?” Holden asked.

He watched her struggle with whether to be honest with him or gloss over the truth. Finally she said, “My little sister goes to UNC. I pay for it. With everything that’s been going on, I forgot to pay her tuition. They sent her some scary letter, and she freaked out a little.”

“
You
pay for her college, not your dad?”

Buster pulled at his leash, anxious to destroy the patch of grass near the pool. But Holden petted his glossy fur. He’d have to wait another minute.

Rebecca shook her head. “My dad’s a retired garbage collector.”

“Who paid for your college?”

“I didn’t go to college. There wasn’t money to send me.” After putting her phone away, she made a big show of rifling through her purse.

“What else do you pay for? Her spending money?” Holden guessed.

“Yes.”

“Her car?”

“Yes.”

“Your dad’s car?”

Rebecca sighed, staring into her tan purse like the answer lay somewhere inside a lipstick tube or under the checkbook. “I work hard so I can support them. So yes, I bought them each a car last year. Matching hybrids.”

He’d never met anyone quite like her. She seemed so in control of herself, but he was beginning to think it was all an act and she might be hanging by a thread.

He didn’t know her sister, barely knew her dad, but Holden’s protective instincts kicked in. “If you worked less, maybe you’d be happier and they’d be more responsible.”

Up went her chin. “It’s none of your business.”

“Does your sister even know what’s happening to you?”

Her silence was a definite
no
.

Rebecca picked up her cell and dialed a number, shutting him out as if she’d raised a wall between them. “Hi, Dad. Listen, I’ve been swamped at work. I overlooked some bills last week. If you get any calls, ignore them. I’ll take care of it today.”

“Hey.” Holden reached for her hand, but she snatched it away, her eyes shiny and sad. “Look at me,” he said, moving into her line of sight. “I think someone should make
you
their number one priority is all.”

“No one has ever—” She bowed her head, and he had no idea what she was feeling.

“My mother left when I was young,” Rebecca confessed. “My dad sacrificed a lot to be a single parent. We were poor. When I turned eighteen I became a Realtor, and I never looked back.” She wiped at her eyes, and her expression hardened. She may as well have turned to stone. “Let’s talk about your family.” She turned the tables, her words like little darts. “Where are
your
parents?”