Spell of Summoning (2 page)

“What are you going to do?” Becca disliked the idea of Holden Clark investigating her personal life behind her back. “What do you mean?”

“There’s a guy in the store over there.”

She glanced at the row of shops. “What guy?”

Holden eased farther away. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Whoa,” she said, following him. “You’re not going over there to talk to some guy about my personal business.”

“Then come with me.”

 Her logical mind urged her to get as far away from Holden Clark as possible. And fast. She’d taken a self-defense class. Distance and crowds were two important assets. Right now, she had neither.

But what if he wasn’t a lunatic? What if he was right?

She was already here, and she had nothing to do the rest of the day but sit in her mostly boxed-up office or go home to her too-small apartment, the second one she’d moved into in the last three months, and eat alone.

Then he went in for the kill, aiming the full strength of those blue eyes on her. “There’s a summoning spell on you. I want to get rid of it.”

“Not possible.”

But Becca couldn’t lie to herself.  Some too-weird-to-be-believed shit had been going on for a while. It was the reason she lived in a tiny, slightly toxic-smelling one-bedroom apartment instead of her real house on River Road.  This wasn’t all make-believe. Those chairs hadn’t moved themselves.

“Without help it’s only going to get worse.”

Worse wasn’t an option. Worse was stroking out during her morning commute. She couldn’t do worse.

“Does this guy have a name?” she asked.

Holden cracked a small, approving smile, and his features softened. She was struck, again, by how handsome he was.

“Cole Burkov. He has experience with dark magic.”

“Is he a friend of yours?” she asked.

“Sort of. But the point is he knows a lot about spells.”

Becca bit her lip and then went with it because not only was her schedule flexible for the first time in ten years, but if her issues weren’t supernatural, then it was CAT scan and blood work time. The very real possibility that she was suffering from a brain tumor was always sitting there in the back of her mind, terrifying the living daylights out of her. And she’d much rather deal with a pesky spirit than chemotherapy.

“Fine. You got me here. Let’s see what he has to say.”

Because, yeah, Mr. Clark was probably a head case, but how else to explain the headaches, the nightmares, and the electricity glitches?

She glanced at the fluorescent lamp pole arcing above their heads, but it held steady. No light shows today, then.

Holden secured his dog, and Rebecca pulled an off-white cardigan from her trunk. It would cover the gritty paw marks on her clothes. As she pushed her arms through the long sleeves, she made a promise. Five minutes with Cole Burkov, and then she’d return to her office. That was long enough to decide whether Holden was on to something or a frustrating waste of time.

Of the two other psychics that had tracked Becca down at work, neither had mentioned a necro-whatever or a demonic possession. Their conversations had run more toward blocked chakras, sage smudging, and EMFs. They’d been equally earnest in their conversations and only slightly more ridiculous. And each had brought up forms of payment in nearly the same breath as “Hello, nice to meet you.” At least Mr. Clark wasn’t asking for money. Yet.

Holden got his dog out of the Jeep, a stronger grip on the leash this time, she hoped, and gestured for her to proceed.

She faced the storefronts. Not exactly voodoo country. Where were the Spanish moss and rolling fog?

“So,” she said, “which is the collection of dark and unknowable magics—the fast food Mexican place or the ice cream parlor/arcade?”

He eyed the row of family-friendly establishments. “It’s the comic book shop.”

The dog surged toward Rebecca, straining at his leash and dancing up on his hind legs. He was obviously biding his time until he could jump all over her. She gave him a look that said, “Try it, and I’ll hobble you.”

“Who’s your fine young gentleman?” Rebecca asked.

“Buster. I hope you don’t mind, but he doesn’t like being alone.”

Mind
? “Of course not.” She grabbed her bag, locked the car, and marched ahead in her heels and turquoise pencil skirt, her cardigan hiding most of Buster’s little gifts.

Holden led the unrepentant Lab across the parking lot, keeping barely enough space between them to prevent further assault. The dog couldn’t belong to anyone but Holden. Neither one had a clue about personal space.

“What is a necromancer?” Becca asked, quickly outpaced by Holden’s long strides.

He paused on the sidewalk for her to catch up. “I see spirits. Deceased persons.”

“You see dead people.” She fought a smile. “You’re obviously a movie fan. So, is that like a magician?”

“I’m not sure
magician
is the right word.”

He settled Buster in a shady spot under the store’s front windows and poured water from a bottle into a stainless steel bowl. The little devil tilted its head up and stared at Holden with an expression of pure adoration before belly flopping on the warm concrete. His tail thumped twice, and then he fell asleep.

“You’re good with him.” It wasn’t right to be jealous of a well-cared-for animal. Becca looked after others, but there wasn’t a single person who took care of her. Not her sister, not her dad, and her mother didn’t count. If she had time for a boyfriend, maybe he would, but she didn’t, and there was no point in dwelling on all the reasons why she didn’t.

Holden pulled open the shop’s glass door and held it for her.

Tall wall-to-wall shelves ringed the interior of the store, which smelled like books and Mexican food. Three men played a dice and card game at a table in the corner, a teenage girl flipped through back issues, and a twenty-something guy stood at the cash register, his nametag pinned to his dark blue polo.

“We have to go,” Becca whispered. “They don’t have magic. They’re
role playing
.”

Holden grunted.

A dark-haired young man wearing a company shirt stared hard at her and then headed right for them. “Freaky. It’s like you have your own personal storm cloud. Demonic possession?”

Holden had probably called this guy on the drive over and prepped him for their little con game if that’s what this was. And there was a good chance that’s what it was.

“Rebecca Powell.” She extended her hand for a quick shake, reflexively passing him her card.

 “Sure.” He frowned at Holden. “Let’s talk in the back room.”

“And your name is?” she called after them. No answer.

Damn them. She knocked her knuckles on a glass case dedicated to
Buffy, the Vampire Slayer.
The stake-wielding blonde glared up at her from the cover of a glossy graphic novel.

This was a mistake.

Becca checked her watch. Three minutes down. Two to go.

Quiet conversation in the store picked up again. She didn’t mind being the center of attention—her job encouraged it—but this didn’t feel right.

“Hi.” The cashier stepped into her periphery. His nametag read
Justin
.

“Hello.” Smiling sweetly, she handed him her card. “Rebecca Powell. Nice to meet you.”

He traded her a plastic-encased comic book. Leaning in, he whispered, “You’re welcome.” He stared meaningfully at the book and then wandered to the checkout area.

She glanced at the comic in her hands. A group of teenagers under the
Statue of Liberty
raced across the front cover of
Runaways
.

Time’s up.

She set the book on a shelf and marched for the closed door marked Private—No Exit. Nobody tried to stop her, and she let herself in. Groups of used candles, posters of big-breasted superheroines, and crates of comic books surrounded Cole and Holden. No ancient tomes or long wands in sight.

Becca crossed the threshold, and her ears buzzed. The air hummed as if she were standing beside an electrified fence.

Cole stopped talking midsentence, and both men stared at her.

The lightning storm in her brain intensified, worse than ever before, and her instincts screamed at her to escape.

The shelf beside her rattled.

Rebecca pasted on a smile, cloaking herself in professionalism. “What have you come up with?”

“Go back into the store,” Holden snapped, a twinge of panic in his voice.

Just what were they doing in here?

She stepped into the room. And the whole building shook.

Chapter Two

Holden flinched. The walls seemed to bend inward, enclosing him in a prison. He didn’t like tight spaces on a normal day. A room collapsing on top of him was a recurring nightmare.

The rattling increased, crashing through the room until every piece of furniture shuddered. Something in the ceiling made a wrenching metal noise. A box tumbled to the floor. Then another.

“Get out!” Cole grabbed for the nearest shelf, preventing stacks of comics from hitting the floor as the guy’s spirit companion—a plump brunette visible only to necromancers like him and Cole--cowered near the emergency exit.

For a fleeting moment Holden considered pushing through the alarmed rear door and escaping into the parking lot where he could breathe easier.

The spirit screeched, “I’m not messing with demons. This is crazy.” Her image flickered, and then vanished.

“You can’t bring that thing in here.” Cole shoved Holden toward the front of the store. “Get her out of here,
please
.”

Holden grabbed Rebecca and steered her into the shop, his free hand brushing the small of her back. The delicate ridges of her spine pressed through her sweater and against his fingertips.

She quivered in his hands, her breath coming in quick little gasps. This was a woman on the verge of losing it. He wanted to comfort her, to help her deal with these horrors, but he had no clue what to say. So he said nothing.

She jerked out of his grasp. “Leave me alone!”

Her panicked eyes met his as realization struck her. The demon clinging to her was real. Angry and real. Rebecca pivoted and fled.

Holden tensed to follow, but Cole yanked hard on his sleeve.

“Help me.” Cole’s voice rose an octave. Guess he never had a demon cross his boundary spell before.

The shaking and shivering stopped the moment Becca left the room, but a few comics and a two-foot-tall Incredible Hulk figure lay scattered on the floor. Holden steeled himself against the fear of being buried alive and scooped up the nearest pile of merchandise. The faster he helped Cole, the faster he could get out of this closet of a storage room and find Rebecca.

Grams tucked herself into the corner, hugging a ball of lavender yarn to her chest. “This isn’t going well.”

“How should it go?” Holden asked.

“She’s scared. She’s never heard of any of this stuff in her life,” Grams reminded him.

“Lucky her.”

“Help her, bubba.” She clutched her knitting even tighter. “This is big-time trouble.”

Cole knelt and sorted a mess of plastic sleeves. “Your grandma’s right.”

Holden paused with his hands hovering near an overturned box of cleaning supplies and stared at the back of the other man’s head. Meeting Cole Burkov had been absolute dumb luck. They’d stood in the same checkout line at a building-supply warehouse. Holden had never been good with people, but they’d bonded over spirit companions and necromancy. And thank God they’d met because Holden now needed his new friend for a huge favor.

Cole had experience with magic. And decent social skills. And he didn’t screw up everything he touched.

“You’re better at this than I am,” Holden said. “You’ve done research. You cast spells all the time.”

“Not really.”

“You could help her.”

Cole set aside a pile of Dark Horse back issues and put his hands on his hips. “What are you getting at?”

Holden was the last person who should be helping anyone. He’d been a necromancer for fourteen years and never cast a single spell. He was beyond useless. But not Cole. He could actually help.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Grams shook her head at him. “You don’t get out of it that easily. It has to be you.”

Holden made the offer to Cole anyway. “Do this for her. Find the necromancer casting this summoning spell. Prevent the possession.”

“Hold up.” Cole kicked closed a cupboard door. “I said I’d do some research, but I’m hardly an expert. Besides, I don’t even know her.”

“Neither do I.”

“But your spirit companion led you to her. It’s your job to stop this. Or she’s as good as dead. And maybe a lot of other people, too.”

“Right.” The unfamiliar crush of responsibility settled over Holden.

The demon clinging to Rebecca Powell would soon slip through. Then all hell would break loose. Holden didn’t know what to do next, let alone how to affect another necromancer’s magic. “I gotta go after her. I can’t leave her alone. Thanks again.”

Cole snatched his forearm and gave him a long, anxious look. “Tell me you’re not falling for her.”

“Don’t be—”

“You are! And you know how stupid that is, right?
Right?
” His grip tightened. “You know what you might have to do, what you’ll
probably
have to do.”

“I got it.” Don’t get involved with a woman who was going to end up a violent, chaos-hungry demon’s puppet. But Cole was way off. Holden had no desire to fall for anyone. He was better off alone.

Cole added, “I’ll help, but I can’t do this for you. Now, keep your eyes off her ass and on the big picture, yeah?”

Holden nodded once and chased Becca outside. Buster barked an anxious hello as her silver Lexus peeled out of the parking lot.

* * *

The silliness of her current situation sunk in around minute five of the twenty-five minute drive home. To shake the unease Holden and Cole had caused, Rebecca called work, and her junior real estate agent, Jessa McAvoy, answered the office phone.

“Where are you?” Jessa exclaimed. “I went across the street to get you Excedrin, and when I came back you were gone.”