Spell of Summoning (10 page)

Becca blew her nose on a paper napkin. “My mother left when I was six. From then on I cooked what I could, picked up after my dad, and changed my sister’s diapers. I was a mini mom. And when my high school friends were at parties, I was working two after-school jobs. So, yeah.” She pointed at herself. “Super screwed up.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “I find that admirable.”

Becca looked at him, trying to decide if he wanted to make her feel better or if he was actually sincere, but she couldn’t tell.

Holden pulled his lunch plate closer and popped a fry in his mouth.

He reclined beside her, warm and solid, and she expected him to move back to his side of the booth. But he didn’t, which only activated every nerve ending along her right side. He must feel her, too, but he lazily chewed his sandwich, unaffected.

“You own a restaurant.” Becca blew on her tea because she couldn’t stomach anything more substantial at the moment. He seemed to have no problem with his appetite. He was nearly finished.

 “You have a dog,” she continued, “and you see ghosts. Anything else I should know about you?” Like the contents of that file folder outside in the Jeep. She was beginning to feel bad about having it at all. It would be a lot easier on her conscience if he revealed the contents willingly.

Holden drank from his soda. “I’m twenty-nine. I grew up in Minnesota, but I’ve lived here for fourteen years. I live alone.”

“Except for the dog and the ghosts.” Becca sipped her hot, sweet tea, which did wonders for her mood. Her tears dried and her stomach settled down. “How did you almost die?”

“I drowned.”

“That’s it?”

He popped another three fries into his mouth.

Fine. Rebecca tossed her napkin onto her uneaten meal. “Well, I’m twenty-eight. I’m an Auburn native—born and raised. I live alone. And I’m allergic to peanuts.”

He cracked a smile, and her insides got all fuzzy.

Just keep talking.

“How does Dani get all that power?” Rebecca asked. “From spirits or your spell circle or what?”

“She is a witch and her power is inside her. All the time. I’m a made necromancer, and my power comes from out there.”

“A made necromancer instead of…?”

“A born necromancer,” Holden explained.

“How were you made?”

“I died. And then came back.”

He finished his last bite and pushed his plate away.

The witch’s spell didn’t seem to have bothered him, but it had shaken her. Badly. Remembering the electricity in the air and the uncomfortable tightness in her belly, she examined the palms of her hands, and then the backs. They looked and felt like hands. Hard to believe anything magical could burst out of them.

“If I touch the person doing this to me,” Rebecca marveled, “these will bleed.” It didn’t seem possible. But then lots of impossible things were happening lately. She turned and laid both hands on Holden’s bare forearm. Static electricity crackled, raising the hair on her arms.

“Why do we do that?” she wondered aloud. “Make sparks?”

“It’s your spell,” he said quietly, his gaze glued to her fingers, “I feel it, too.”

Rebecca left her hand there, and his body heat seeped into her. Holden stared at her hand on him as if he couldn’t believe she’d want to touch him at all. His mouth opened and he drew in a deep breath before his blue eyes met hers.

The light across the room, the one above the door, flickered.
Oh, no. Not here
. She shoved him toward the aisle. “Let’s go.”

* * *

They sat parked in her driveway at quarter after noon, and Rebecca had nothing to do the rest of the day. Or the rest of the week, to be totally honest. Still, she should get out and go inside, but she didn’t.

Holden should say, “It’s been fun. See you later.” But he didn’t do that, either.

Finally, he scratched the stubble along his jaw and asked, “You going up?” He nodded at the stairs leading to her apartment.

“You going home?” she countered.

“I can’t.”

He’d slept the night before in this hunk of junk and he’d do it again if she didn’t put a stop to it.

“Will you stay here all night in my driveway?”

“I don’t have a choice.”

He might not, but she did. “Unacceptable. I’d never forgive myself.”

Holden didn’t respond, and he must be thinking the same thing Rebecca was. Him following her up the stairs to her door, hovering as she pushed her key in the lock.

“I can’t let you in my apartment. It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

“But you don’t know me well enough.”

“Exactly.” Though he’d been nothing but a gentleman the last two days, she couldn’t prove he wasn’t a con man. Or in bed with the enemy. Or worse.

“I’m guessing you won’t stay at my house?” When Becca hesitated, Holden added, “I’ve got three bedrooms. I’ll stay downstairs. You can sleep upstairs.”

“Sorry.” Spend the night locked in a house with him? On his turf? Nope. “That’s not gonna happen. No offense.”

“Compromise? Adjoining hotel rooms?”

Rented rooms brought to mind seedy rendezvous and kinky sex on a dirty motel mattress. An experience she’d never had, though it was sounding less and less sleazy the more she considered it.

Holden leaned into her personal space. “You don’t want to be alone when the demon breaks through.”

“Right.” She took a steadying breath. “Hotel it is.”

“Pack a bag. I’ll wait.”

Pulling out her cell phone, Rebecca hurried up the stairs. “Kristin?” she greeted when her friend answered the call. “It’s me.”

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

“Good,” she lied, throwing panties and blouses and slacks into an overnight bag. “But I can’t make it tomorrow night.”

“Becca! You promised work wouldn’t interfere with wine night.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But it’s unavoidable this time.”

“I’ve heard that before.” Big sigh. “I miss you. I never get to see you.”

Becca blinked back tears. Sometimes she thought she loved Kristin more than she loved anyone else in the whole world. “I miss you, too. Why don’t we catch up in the afternoon instead? Coffee and pie? Just you and me?”

“Now you’re talking my language.” Kristin laughed. “I know you’re busy. I’ll let you go. Text me with the details.”

They hung up, and Becca finished packing, cramming in her makeup case and three pairs of shoes. She grabbed a mauve silk scarf from her top drawer but stopped short of tossing it in her bag. The thought of Holden’s warm, musky cap gave her pause. She kind of liked wearing it. Flushing, she returned the scarf to her drawer and carried her bag downstairs.

“Let’s head to the Sunrise Suites on Highway 24,” she said, hopping into the Jeep as Holden hung up his cell phone.

“Oh. I just made a reservation at the Bull Dog Inn.”

Her skin crawled. “That hotel next to Walmart?” The one famous for bed bugs and mold? “No, no. The Suites are better.”

He didn’t say anything right away, and she assumed his preference for rundown hotels that catered to marines and construction crews was based on money. “I’ll pay for it. It’s really not a big deal.”

“I can afford two hotel rooms,” he said.

“What, do you own it, too?”

“No.” Holden glanced over his shoulder. “It allows pets.”

Buster wins again
. Rebecca couldn’t really argue. Holden was sacrificing a lot to help her. She could afford a vacation this week, but maybe he couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m taking you away from your job.”

“I don’t have a job.”

She frowned. “What about the diner?”

“I own it, but I don’t work there anymore.”

“Why not?” She couldn’t fathom a business owner not physically and emotionally invested in his business 110 percent.

“It’s a long story. Do you mind if we stop by my place so I can grab a change of clothes?”

He revved up the Jeep, backed out of the driveway, and picked up speed, making conversation impossible.

* * *

Holden Clark lived in Richlands in a beautiful old remodeled, turn-of-the-century farmhouse with a wraparound porch, two stories, and half a dozen well-kept outbuildings. The Realtor in her salivated. The grass was bright green and freshly mowed. The paint was new. There weren’t car parts or pieces of old furniture out front. It was gorgeous. If the interior was as impressive as the outside, she’d die of pleasure.

If only he was serious about selling. She’d have motivated buyers lined up the driveway.

The interior was even more beautiful than the outside. Rebecca faked a faint in the foyer. “Are you kidding me?”

Holden scrutinized her face, his hands in his pockets. “What’s wrong?”

“Your house is to die for. You live here alone? No wife? No housekeeper?”

“I don’t have a lot to do,” he muttered, turning to the gleaming staircase, “but fix it up and keep it clean.” He went upstairs, presumably to pack, and she made herself at home.

The kitchen was spotless except for a cereal bowl and spoon in the bottom of the sink. The cupboards were antique white and scrumptious. He’d added an island and a hanging rack for pots and pans. The stove and fridge were new, a pair of shiny, stainless steel rectangles bookending a small pantry, which housed boxes of white rice and canned veggies.

This was the kind of warm, polished, comfortable home Rebecca, as an unhappy child, had fantasized about living in. In fact, the first thing she’d bought herself after her first few sales was a beautiful home of her own on River Road. She’d discovered, though, that big, fantastic houses were lonely when only one person lived in them.

She wandered through a parlor with adorable white accent chests, a living room with classic crown molding, and a formal dining room decorated with framed bird sketches hanging beside a polished dining table. Each room looked less used than the former, and she finally ventured upstairs.

There were three bedrooms on the second floor and one bathroom, recently remodeled. Becca peeked through the first door at the top of the stairs. It smelled of dust, and was bare from the hardwood floors to the country white ceiling. Not a single piece of furniture or scrap of cloth remained.

“That was my grandparents’ room.”

Rebecca jumped, banging her wrist on the antique brass doorknob.

“Goodness,” she said, clutching her chest. “You snuck up on me.” She smiled guiltily. “Sorry. I was snooping.”

“It’s okay.”

“You stripped it?”

Holden reached around her and closed the door. “I couldn’t look at their things.”

She’d seen similar behavior when children passed away unexpectedly and their bedrooms became shrines to their memories. This felt like another side of the same coin.

“Ready?” He carried a duffel on one shoulder and a black leather bag on the other.

“When you are.”

On the way down the stairs, Rebecca studied a descending row of framed family photos to her left. A much younger Holden astride a toy horse. A family of three posing at the beach. Two smiling women on a porch swing, flowers in their hair. But one picture in particular caught her eye, and she paused. It was a beautiful black-and-white photo of a middle-aged couple standing arm in arm under a Ferris wheel.

“Your grandparents?”

“Mmm.” Holden cut around her and escaped out the front door.

Becca stared at the happy couple. “He misses you,” she whispered. Then she followed him outside.

* * *

While Holden strolled up to the bullet proof glass registration window of the Bull Dog Inn and checked them in, Becca waited in the Jeep with Buster. There was no point going over and inquiring about upgrades or suites or extra services. There were none. The place had two floors and all the rooms’ doors faced the parking lot.

Holden returned, not looking nearly as apologetic as he should, and gave her a keycard.

“Take Buster, will you?” He grunted over their luggage.

Becca glanced at the giant dog, who stared at the motel building and panted, his pink tongue dangling out.

“Sure.” She clipped on his leash and made the same giddyup click with her tongue that Jonah, one of her more colorful clients, had taught her. He’d insisted she come by and ride horses with him before he’d sign a contract. The sound got Buster’s attention, and he jumped out of the Jeep, landing on his feet and circling her, twisting the leash in a tangle around her knees.

“You are something else, buddy.” Rebecca pulled a pirouette and untangled herself. Buster watched, doing his best imitation of a goofy smile. She couldn’t stay mad at him. He wasn’t jumping all over her, and that was marvelous progress.

Becca led Buster to room seven, unlocked the door, and released him. He explored the very small room that smelled faintly of dirty socks, sniffing the king-size bed and the bathroom floor.

Exhaustion rolled over her. She didn’t care that it was 1:00 p.m. She needed a nap. So she pulled back the comforter and flopped on the bed while Holden brought in her bag.

“Good night,” she mumbled, flopping on her side and punching the lumpy pillow.

“I’ll be back for your suspect list.” He whistled for Buster, and left her dozing to the hum of traffic.

* * *

Holden didn’t particularly like the Bull Dog Inn, either, but it was only for one night. Two, tops. He quietly closed the door to room seven and took Buster outside to use the lawn next to the pool. His little buddy relieved himself, practically sighing afterwards, and Holden hurried back to room eight. He threw his bag on the bed and unlocked his side of their connecting door.

Softly, he knocked. “Rebecca? Open up.”

No answer.

He knocked louder and gave the door a little push. “Rebecca!”

Nothing. Not a rustle, not a “be right there.” Nothing.

He’d screwed up the whole situation the second she left his sight. Like he screwed up everything.

Holden banged on the door.

“Fuck it.” He sucked in a breath and kicked the damned door down, rushing into her room and expecting the worst possible scenarios. Blood. Possession. An empty room.

He did not expect Rebecca to be sitting up on the bed, her hair tousled and her cheeks pink.