Witching Hour (11 page)

Jordan mumbled something in her sleep, drawing his attention. Her lips pursed into a delightful pout before she sighed, kissing his chest in her sleep as she snuggled closer. Cal closed his eyes. His skin tingled where her lips had touched him, leaving him feeling as if the room was spinning. God help him but the little minx was surely going to be the death of him. And he knew he’d go willing if it meant another taste of her skin, or to feel her body give as he joined with it. He was going under, and he didn’t want to be saved.

The thought made him smile and he drifted off, the steady rise and fall of her chest against his grounding him. The occasional sound of big rigs passing on the highway played in the background, the constant heat from her body pulling him under. It wasn’t until he heard a distant click that he roused himself enough to open his eyes. Moonlight gleamed through the far window, the warm glow casting a wedge of light across the foot of the bed. A swirl of cool air breezed over his skin as he blinked, shaking off some of the fuzziness.

The room was quiet, the soft rustle of sheets as he shifted on the bed sounding strangely loud. He scrubbed a hand down his face, wondering what was scratching at the edge of his awareness when he realized Jordan wasn’t in the bed. He furrowed his brow. He considered himself a light sleeper and generally woke up at the slightest disturbance. Yet she’d managed to climb out of the bed without even rousing him.

He turned his head, staring at the adjoining bathroom. She’d probably just gotten up to relieve herself. No reason to think she’d snuck out on him. But no sooner had the thought registered than he heard the front door close. The sound of the bolt tumbling in the lock sent a stab of fear through his gut.

Cal yanked back the covers and jumped from the bed, ignoring the stinging cold on his feet as he darted into the other room and headed for the door, rattling it when the handle refused to turn in his grasp. He cursed, shouldering most of his weight on it when movement beyond the window caught his attention. He darted over, pulling the curtain back as Jordan walked past the glass, her gaze focused straight ahead. He pounded on the window, yelling her name, wondering what the hell she’d done to the door when she turned, her eyes flashing a dull red.

She stared at him, her gaze distant, before taking one step closer to the window. “You’re the reason he’s dead. It should’ve been you.” Then she spun around and headed solemnly toward the stairs.

Panic clawed at his senses, her words ringing in his head, but he was already moving, picking up his clothes and shoes off the floor and pulling them on. He snagged his bag, digging for supplies, cursing himself for not tying her to the bloody bed. He should have known something was off. Hell Brandon had said it to his face. But he’d been too preoccupied with the easy symmetry of her face and the way his pulse tripled at the sight of her to consider that she’d been compromised. That she was still compromised. Anger and fear warred in his head as he removed a bottle of holy water and drizzled it down the door.

The wood crackled and hissed, tendrils of smoke rising from the handle. He slipped his cuff over his hand, using the fabric to protect against any lingering heat as he tried the doorknob again, finally breaking the hold over it as he barreled through, knocking into the railing in his haste. She was already down the stairs and across the parking lot, casually slipping into the driver’s seat of her car. Cal shouted her name again as he took off, running along the corridor and taking the stairs at a full sprint. He practically fell down the first flight before he palmed the railing and launched himself over the side, landing in a cloud of dust on the gravel lot. Pain flared through his feet, but he ignored it, racing toward the car. But he’d barely gotten halfway there when she pulled out of the lot and swerved onto the road, spraying a layer of dirt and mud across the pavement.

“Fuck. Jordan!”

His voice echoed in the darkness, nothing but the glow of her taillights shining against the black. He slammed his hand against his thigh as he removed his phone, running back toward the room. The line rang twice before a voice sounded on the other end.

“Salem police department, non-emergency line.”

“I need you to patch me through to Deputy Brandon Peters. It’s an emergency.”

“I’m sorry. Deputy Peters isn’t on duty, sir. But if you give me your location and a description of the situation, I’ll send a unit over to assist you.”

“It’s personal. I need Deputy Peters. Can’t you forward this call to his cell?”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t do that.”

Cal looked skyward, doing his best to reign in his fear. He needed to think, or he’d lose Jordan, and not just from
his
life. Permanently. “I realize this is an odd request, but my brother, Dylan Smith, served with Brandon in Afghanistan. Delta Force, B squadron. You can check if you need to. Dylan’s with the SFPD SWAT detail. I can give you his badge number if you want. But if you’ll just contact Peters, I’m certain he’ll take my call. Or I can give you my cell number, and you can have him call me back. Either way, it’s imperative that I talk to him immediately.”

A frustrated sigh greeted his reply, and he was just about to hang up when the operator told him to hold the line. Cal cradled the phone in one hand as he ran back inside the room, grabbing his bag and hoodie before stuffing the keys in a pocket as he made for the parking lot again. A crackle of static buzzed in his ear before a weary huff rasped in his ear.

“You know, Dylan’s the one who owes me a favor, not the other way round.”

Cal missed a step at the man’s voice, tripping against the railing as relief flooded through him. “Thank god you took my damn call.”

“Not many people pull the ex-army card, and the operators know I’ll take any calls from my buddies, no matter what time it is. Though you’re the first brother to earn the privilege. Now what’s so important you had to call me at midnight?”

Cal glanced at his phone. Shit, he hadn’t even noticed the time. Something twigged in the back of his mind, but he didn’t have time to figure it out now. “Look. This is going to sound crazy, but I need you to come to the Black Cat Motel and pick me up. It’s an emergency.”

“Black Cat?” He breathed heavily into the phone again. “What the hell’s up now? And why don’t you just use Ms. Harper’s car? You
are
still watching over her, aren’t you?”

“Of course, it’s just…shit. This is the part where you send the lovely guys from the mental facility out to pick me up. Jordan’s gone. She took the car and drove off. But it wasn’t really her.”

“Come again?”

“By the time I explain it, she’ll be dead. Now can you please just trust that Dylan and I are definitely wrought from the same cloth and pick me up? I’ll tell you everything on the way.”

“On the way to where?”

“The Winslow farm.”

“Fuck!” The line went quiet, only the sound of Brandon’s irritated breath breaking the silence. “Fine. Hang tight. I’ll be there in ten minutes. But this had better be one hell of a good story, Cal, or I will lock your ass up, and it’ll be for more than just a night.”

“I promise you it’ll be far more than you bargained for.”

Cal hung up, pacing the lot. While he didn’t fully understand what was happening, he’d seen that flash of red in Dave’s eyes just before the guy had Peter Panned out the damn window. And it’d be a cold day in hell before he lost Jordan to that fucking witch. If she wanted Jordan’s soul, she’d have to take his first.

Fear tickled the edge of his consciousness, but he did his best to tame it. Now wasn’t the time to get sloppy because he couldn’t think straight. He was far more prepared now than he’d been back then. If this bitch wanted a fight, he was game.

A flash of lights broke through his thoughts, and he turned just as Brandon skidded into the lot, more dust billowing into the air. Cal waved it away as he opened the door and jumped in, signaling the man to drive.

Brandon shook his head but pulled out, accelerating up to speed. He glanced at Cal out of the corner of his eye, his brow rising in question. “Well, Dr. Smith? And it is doctor, right? A nagging little detail you neglected to tell me.”

“I told you I’d gone to Edinburgh to get my PhD. Besides, no one calls me doctor.”

“But you neglected to tell me you already had it. I prefer to have all the details. Like why the hell I’m heading out to a farm I distinctly remember telling you to stay clear of?”

“As I recall, you said not to go anywhere I wasn’t supposed to. It was merely implied that you meant the farm.”

Brandon chuckled. “Shit. You’re exactly like your damn brother. Bastard used to get me all the time on little technicalities.” He pushed a hand through his cropped hair. “So what’s really going on that you called me and not a taxi?”

Cal took a deep breath, praying the man wouldn’t simply turn the car around and personally take him to the hospital. “When we talked earlier, you mentioned you knew about Jordan’s brother. That he’d died in that same house. Did Dylan tell you everything?”

Brandon nodded, his expression giving nothing away. “He never mentioned any names, just described the incident. But it wasn’t that hard to put it all together when you showed up. I needed all the facts before I asked the judge to release her into your custody, and the accident came up while doing a background check on Jordan. Didn’t take a genius to figure out that was the real reason she’d been at the house in the first place.” He gave Cal another glance. “I’ll admit. It struck me as more than a coincidence that the name the woman wouldn’t stop mumbling was the same name on that report with her brother. File says the man fell out that attic window when the lock gave way. Don’t suppose you kept anything out? Say maybe something you didn’t think would go over well at the time?”

“Guess that depends on whether the truth will get me arrested for perjury?”

Brandon chuckled. “If it involved ghosts I doubt it. Though folks here are more open-minded with respect to paranormal activity, saying a ghost killed your friend wouldn’t have gone over well…then or now.”

“Not so much killed as aided him in jumping out that window.”

Brandon frowned, finally looking directly at Cal this time. “So all those suicides over the past fifty years?”

“Weren’t really suicides. There’s a spirit in there. A witch to be precise, that seems to enjoy helping people make it to the other side of the veil. I just don’t know why or how to stop her. But Jordan must have found something last night. Something she lost before your officers picked her up. I think it might have some answers.”

Brandon sighed, remaining silent for a few minutes before shaking his head. “Let’s say, for argument sake, I believe you. Why the hell would Jordan go back there alone when you’re here? And what the hell did you mean on the phone about it
not
being her?”

Cal glanced away. He’d been able to temper his fear while discussing other aspects of this case. Having to say his suspicions aloud made his heart thunder against his ribs. “That night ten years ago. Something took control of Dave. From the moment we arrived, he acted weird. Saying things he never would have said. Then when we were up in the attic, I swear I saw his eyes flash red just before he gave us his farewell speech. Then after a while, I guess I thought that maybe I’d only imagined it. But tonight, when Jordan turned to look at me for one moment, I saw the same anomaly. That can’t be a coincidence or me imagining things. Something’s gotten control of her, and I’ll bet my ass it’s that fucking witch. It must have latched onto her energy when she hit her head. She probably blacked out for a few seconds, and that’s all that spirit needed.”

Brandon drove in silence for a few minutes, his gaze focused on the dark road. “So you’re telling me Jordan Harper is possessed by the spirit of a witch?”

Cal ran a hand through his hair. “I know how it sounds but…trust me on this one.”

Brandon frowned. “Fine. I trust you. But why didn’t any of us notice it before? Shouldn’t she have been acting strange since the moment she regained consciousness?”

“Honestly, I have no idea. It’s like the possession is latent until something sets it off.” He banged his head into the seat. “I never should have fallen asleep without assuming something like this might happen.”

Brandon snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause possession by evil spirits is quite popular this time of year.” He punched Cal in the shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot. This…shit, this is something else altogether.”

Cal dropped his head forward, trying not to count every second that passed, but it was futile. Jordan had ten minutes on them, and the likelihood that they’d arrive too late hung heavy on his soul.

Brandon slapped his arm, pointing off to the right. “There’s the house. And it looks like your girl just arrived. Guess this witch doesn’t speed. Once we get there, then what?”

“Can you call the station? Tell them not to send anyone out to investigate?”

“Sure, but isn’t it wise to have backup?”

“And give this thing more bodies to possess? Trust me, our best bet is to get in and out as quickly as possible, with as little interaction as possible.”

“You keep telling me to trust you, then you mutter something about ghosts. You’re not making this easy, Cal.” He sighed then nodded. “Fine. I’ll call it in. But again, this had better be good.”

Cal barely heard the man’s comments as he watched a lone figure step out of the car and head for the stairs. A flash of white glared off the side of the porch, illuminating Jordan’s silhouette as she climbed the steps, pausing once to glance back at them as Brandon turned down the long driveway, the headlights pinning her in a circle of light. Cal didn’t even wait for the car to roll to a stop before grabbing his bag off the backseat and shoving the door open, jumping free. Brandon yelled at him, but he was already halfway across the yard, staring at Jordan as the door opened and closed behind her. He growled and increased his pace, reaching the walkway when a whirling white mist appeared in front of him, the familiar face of a woman glaring at him.

He skidded to a stop, dodging to his right just as the ground around him exploded in chunks of grass and mud, knocking him off his feet. He landed hard on his shoulder, pain shooting up his arm as he rolled to his knees, reaching for his bag. The zipper hissed as he pulled it open, scrounging for something to ward off the damn spirit, when the ghost materialized a foot away, its pale fingers pointing at him. She chanted something he couldn’t make out as he grabbed some salt, tossing it at her only to have his body shoot backwards.