Spell of Summoning (8 page)

All those thoughts of Holden must have conjured him from the ether. His Jeep sat across the street. Buster barked hello.

When Holden saw her, he slowly climbed out wearing the same clothes and UNC cap he’d had on yesterday. He had a lot more beard stubble, too.

“Morning.” What a strange guy. There could not be two of him in the world. Not two tall, claustrophobic, blue-eyed necromancers with hyperactive dogs for best friends. “When did you get here?”

“I never left.”

Rebecca faltered halfway across the narrow lane. “You slept in your Jeep? All night?” The vehicle didn’t have leather, reclining seats, or climate control. It was no better than sleeping on a park bench.

“Something could happen.”

With her. Holden was waiting for her to demonify and go nuts. “What would you do if something did happen?”

He glanced over his shoulder, and Buster wagged his tail at him. “I’ve been working on the answer to that all night.”

Rebecca’s heart went out to him. “You didn’t sleep?” She looked him up and down. Unbelievably, he was even sexier today, all sleepy and scruffy.

“No. I did research on my laptop.”

“And no one called the police?” She eyed the dark windows in the apartment buildings flanking the street.
Good job, y’all.
She’d have to talk to management about the complete lack of a neighborhood watch.

“No, but Carl walked his dog through here last night and told me all about his tomatoes.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “Anyway, what did you learn?”

“Uh.” Holden scratched the stubble along his jaw, making her wonder how rough it would feel against her fingers. Or against her mouth. He said, “I was reading up on our worst-case scenario.”

“Which is?”

“The necromancer finishes his spell.”

“And puts a demon into me.” Yeah, definitely worst case. She swallowed past a dry, dry throat.

“I might be able to pull the demon out of you, but I’d have to put it somewhere else. Somewhere safe.”

“Like a dog or something?” She glanced at Buster. No. Not cool. Maybe something smaller like a gecko or a goldfish. Yes, an evil fish. That should be easy to handle.

“I’m still working on it.”

“Well, I’ve got to get to my office. One of my properties is in trouble.” Rebecca checked her watch. “I have a couple of hours before we drive to Springfield.”

“Okay.” Holden climbed into his Jeep.

She unlocked her car, and it took her two seconds to realize Holden wasn’t going anywhere. Why not accept the ride?

“Can you stop by Starbucks?” She hopped into the passenger seat and tucked her bag between her knees, not trusting Buster to be a gentleman. Their truce wasn’t that rock solid. “I need the biggest, hottest cup of coffee they make.”

“How did you sleep last night?” he asked.

“Great.”

He gave her a look.

“Oh.” Honesty. Right. Becca scratched Buster good and long before answering with the full truth. “Awful. I had nightmares, and my headache is back.”

Holden handed her his cap, still warm and smelling of him. Like earth and male.

She pulled it on. “Will you know the person who’s doing this on sight? Will they have a flashing aura or something?” She chuckled, though none of this seemed very funny anymore. If it ever had been.

“Not unless he’s cast a spell on himself. But he probably won’t be that stupid.”

“If only we were so lucky.”

“Grams might be able to sniff out something from other spirits, especially ones that he uses for power. But that’s a long shot. There are a lot of spirits in the world.” He grunted as he shifted into first and pulled onto the street. “Do you have a string of enemies in your past?”

“You mean do any of my former clients dabble in the dark arts?” Rebecca smiled. “Sorry. No. I have business rivals, sure, but no enemies. I have a few friends, but nobody who harbors a grudge. Not that I know of.” And that was 100 percent the truth.

“Well, think harder.”  Holden turned onto Marine Boulevard and headed downtown. “Because someone out there wants to destroy you. Not just kill you,” he said and glanced at her, “but turn you into a monster.”

After a coffee run, Holden parked in front of her office and walked Buster toward the entrance of the Rebecca Powell Realty Group.

She’d always been so proud of her business. Not caring of the cost, she’d hired an interior designer who’d chosen the muted color schemes, brought in comfortable and stylish furniture, and designed the work space to be open with no walls or barriers. It was her absolute pride and joy. If Rebecca could have taken a photo and kept it in her wallet the way other people kept photos of their children, she would have.

But now? She was closing the doors on May 1. Twenty-two days. And she wasn’t even sad about it.

“Let’s make this fast.” Holden held the front door for her.

“Why?” She wasn’t used to being bossed around. She did the bossing. “You in some kind of hurry?” They still had hours before their appointment in Springfield.

Real estate agent Jessa McAvoy, and not Rebecca’s assistant Derek Walker, greeted them from the front desk in the stylish reception area. The other three junior agents had already moved on to bigger and better jobs, but Jessa insisted on staying until the very end.

“Where’s Derek?” Rebecca asked.

“He said he’d call from the road,” Jessa said. “He’s working on the Havers Street property. You heard?”

“I did.” Rebecca led Holden around the desk, noticing two vases of wilting lilies on the side table. “Replace these, please,” she told Jessa. “They look so sad.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll do it right now.”

Rebecca marched through the empty workroom and unlocked her filing closet. It was empty. All the files—every hard copy, every manila folder—were gone.

“Jessa?” she called, panic rattling through her chest. The other woman appeared in the hall like she’d been waiting for her. “Where are all my files?”

“I boxed them up.” Jessa crossed her arms. “And put them in storage with the extra computers and desk chairs. You asked me to, remember?”

She touched her forehead. It sounded logical.

“You told me the unused desks and shelves go next,” Jessa added. “The movers are coming tomorrow. Is that still your plan?”

“Yes, of course. I just forgot.”

She gave Rebecca’s arm a sympathetic squeeze. “It’s okay. You’ve been under a lot of stress, even for you.”

Understatement. “Jessa. Someone is…” How to explain? Maybe half the truth was better in this situation. So she did what she was so good at and spun the story. “Stalking me.”

Jessa gasped. “Are you okay? Have you called the police?”

“There’s nothing to report. It’s more like a few sightings and a suspicion.” Rebecca fiddled with the door lock. “Has there ever been anyone in one of our deals who was super pissed off? At me, especially? Has anyone ever threatened me? In a letter or a voicemail, maybe, that you never told me about?”

Jessa shook her head. “No, Boss. Everyone loves you. Well—” She rolled her eyes. “There’s Charley, but she’d never hurt you. Not physically, anyway.” She laughed lightly.

Charley McGovern, her realty rival, was a sophisticated, skinny social climber who wished she was as successful in Auburn real estate as Rebecca. But she never had caught up. If Rebecca went insane, Charley would have the town to herself. Rebecca could not picture the woman casting spells, though.

“Thanks,” Rebecca said with almost zero feeling. “If you think of anything, though…”

“Oh, sure. Of course.” She handed Rebecca a file folder with a bright plaid pattern on the cover. “The information you asked for.”

Right. The background check on Holden. She accepted the file but didn’t open it. “How’s the Lane Street house coming along?”

“There was an offer submitted last night.”

“What? No one told me. Jessa, that’s unacceptable. I don’t care if we’re closing down. When an offer comes in, I know about it.”

“I’m sorry. Derek called me. I thought he called you, too.”

“No!” Damn them both and their vacation idea. She was a big girl. She could handle one offer. “And?”

“The sellers are considering it.”

“Okay.”

“I thought…” Jessa put her arm around Rebecca’s shoulders. “You were going to take the rest of the week off?”

“I was, but then all this happened.”

“You should go home.”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” Rebecca grumbled. She arranged her two rings, one sapphire and diamond, the other a sterling silver braided band, lining them up exactly parallel to her knuckle bones. She exhaled, feeling a little better.

Leaving Jessa to answer the phones, Rebecca found Holden sitting at her desk typing on her computer.

She arched an eyebrow. Good to know he made himself at home wherever he went. “Can I help you?” she asked, only partly teasing.

“Did you come up with a list?” he asked. “Pissed off clients and business competitors?”

To the truth was, she’d sold her first condo at the age of eighteen and worked steadily closing deals ever since. Add up all those buyers and sellers, the opposing agents on each deal, the loan officers, the home inspectors, and the escrow people, and she could be talking one thousand or more different people that she’d worked with directly or indirectly over the years. It would be impossible to pinpoint one slighted notary public, one disappointed husband, or one pissed off competing agent.

“There’s too many. Ten years of deals…” Rebecca shook her head. “But I’ll check my files. My tablet’s in the drawer.” She rounded the desk, and her arm accidentally brushed Holden’s shoulder. It was a nice shoulder. Strong. Firm. Yet if she ran her fingers over it, the skin would be baby soft.

He turned, his mouth inches from hers. “Am I in your way?” His breath smelled like mint gum, and she, irrationally, wanted to taste it firsthand.

“No.” Becca snatched up the thin, leather case. “I’m good.” She clutched the tablet in its case and his background check to her chest, tightening her grip until the cardstock pressed into her flesh.

“Try to narrow it down.” Holden clicked quickly through at least three different occult sites. “This spell is new. Think of when the possession started and go back from there.”

“I moved out of my house three months ago.” When the unexplained stuff had gotten out of control. Chairs sliding across the hardwood floor in an empty dining room. Lamps flickering on and off like disco lights.

“What happened six months ago?”

She’d been planning her move to Raleigh—giving notice to her leasing agent, scouting for a new office in the city, and breaking the news to her employees and loyal customers. Maybe one of them…

 “Well. Ready when you are.” Holden collected a fistful of pages from her printer and took the case and the manila folder off her hands before leading the way outside.

“Lock up, Jessa,” she called on the way out. “I don’t plan on coming in again this week. Take care of everything for me.” It felt so good saying that aloud. A little scary, but good.

“Sure thing, Boss.”

Rebecca wandered across the lot as Holden walked Buster to a grassy median near the Jeep.

Someone wanted to hurt her. Maybe someone she knew. Charley McGovern scowled in her mind’s eye. Was she capable of this? A week ago she’d have said no. But now… Everyone she knew or worked with was a potential mortal enemy.

Holden stowed their things in the back of the Jeep.

“I have a suspect,” she admitted.

Chapter Six

Holden pulled back the tarp in the rear of his Jeep and found a duffel bag stuffed with stun guns and Tasers. Cole had come through, after all. Holden replaced the tarp and tucked Rebecca’s electronic tablet and file folder between the bulky mass and the tailgate.

He texted Cole, “Thanks again.”

Holden glanced at Rebecca and realized she hadn’t told him her suspect yet.

“Who?” he repeated.

“I won’t say until you tell me exactly what you plan to do.”

Rebecca didn’t trust him. Well, that was fair. He wouldn’t trust him either.

“There might be a spell. Or a test or something.” Holden started the Jeep. “So, you keep the name to yourself. That’s fine. But the next time I ask you, you’re going to tell me.”

His cell beeped. Cole’s text read, “You owe me. Even the crazies looked at me funny when I left the store.”

It was a forty-five-minute drive to downtown Springfield from Rebecca’s office. They took a left and found the Happy Trails Child Care Center situated across from the Piggly Wiggly and sharing a strip mall with a Bojangles’ chicken and biscuits joint.

Holden rechecked his notes. He’d never met a witch, but he hadn’t expected her to work here. If she had magic, why did she have to work at all?

“This is where your big, fancy witch hangs out?” Rebecca scoffed. “Our savior changes diapers and wipes spit-up for a living?”

He didn’t admit he was thinking the same thing. Instead, he tied Buster to the steering wheel, squared his shoulders, and strode for the front door. It was heavy-duty metal and locked.

He rang the buzzer. “Holden Clark to see Dani Ferraro.”

The door clicked open, and they entered a foyer with a large, curved reception desk at the opposite end. It smelled like puke and hand sanitizer, and sounded like chaos incarnate.

“Dani?” he asked, approaching the woman at the desk.

She shook her head. “She’s on her way.”

A door opened, bringing with it a cacophony of children’s voices, babies’ cries, and some happy-happy sing-along music. A woman with long, wild, black hair appeared. Directly behind her the ghost of a little black girl with bright, friendly eyes watched him. But witches couldn’t see or interact with spirits. The girl was here for someone else.

The door shut, dampening the noise and cutting them off from the spirit.

In his mind, Holden had built Dani into some fantasy movie stereotype with white eyes and fire shooting from her fingertips. Instead, she was a woman in her twenties. About five feet five inches tall, a little shorter than Rebecca. She’d have fantastic hair if she styled it. But there was absolutely nothing remarkable about her at all. In fact, Rebecca easily trumped her in a pretty pink dress and black coat, her blonde hair soft and curled around her shoulders.