by Anna Abner
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.”
The headache—her constant companion—returned, a thunderstorm sweeping her skull. “I had an appointment with a potential client.” Except Holden didn’t have interest rates or termite reports on his mind. “Guess I forgot to tell you.” She forced a laugh. “But, uh, I need a favor.” She’d had her share of freaks take a shine to her, but Holden seemed different. He’d put his hands on her.
“Sure, boss. What is it?”
“Run an unofficial background check on Holden Clark. Anything you can find.” She read Jessa the home address he’d given during their initial phone conversation.
“I’ll do it right now.”
“Besides that, though, we still have to, um…” Rebecca couldn’t recall the conversation she and Jessa and her personal assistant Derek Walker had before she left to meet Holden. It was that headache’s fault, the one squatting full time at the back of her skull. The one making her so lightheaded she’d almost passed out into the arms of a lunatic.
“The Havers Street house? I’m on it,” Jessa said. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you looked awful. Take the rest of the week off. Drink a lot of water and sleep in. Whatever. I can handle the office. It’s not like we’re swamped right now.”
No. Rebecca was closing her office in Auburn, North Carolina in twenty-three days and moving to the much-larger, much-juicier market in Raleigh.
Rebecca would always have a soft spot in her heart for Onslow County, the city of Auburn in particular. She’d been told from the moment she got her real estate license that if she wanted to be successful, she’d have to move to Wilmington. Or Greenville. Or Charlotte. Or Raleigh. But this was her home.
Yes, the city was rough around the edges and had more strip clubs, er, gentlemen’s clubs, per capita than most towns, but Rebecca had become the unofficial champion of Auburn. She’d built her million-dollar business from scratch right here despite all the warnings and dire predictions. She’d been born here. Her father still lived here. It was her home, and she wanted to see great things happen for the town.
That’s why she’d stayed this long.
Now all she had left were two properties to get into escrow. Havers Street and Lane Street.
Mr. Clark’s house would have been a cherry on top, a good-bye gift to herself. He owned an adorable farmhouse in the rural town of Richlands. Unencumbered. Three bedrooms. Two stories. Ten acres of land. She could sell it for above market value blindfolded. Hell, she could handle that sale in her sleep.
But Jessa was way off. Rebecca didn’t need a vacation. She needed work to do. She couldn’t sit around for days lost in thoughts of demons, vibrating storerooms, or tall, blue-eyed necromancers. She needed projects, jobs, and to-do lists coming out of her ears.
“What about Lane Street? It has to be staged for the open house.” Rebecca’s assistant Derek handled all the interior design, but she supervised.
“Derek is doing it now. I told him to prep them for a Saturday-Sunday blitz.”
That’s right. She’d forgotten. “What about the offer on the Havers property? Have you—”
“Look, honey.” Jessa sighed into the phone. “Take a break. We’ve got it covered.”
She hadn’t taken a vacation in ten years. She didn’t even know what that would look like. She’d worked through birthdays, weddings, hurricanes, and even a weekend away with Brian back when they were still dating. Before he’d left her.
“But—”
“You need it.”
She’d never had a break. She started to panic. “Jessa—”
Rebecca’s phone chimed, signaling another incoming call. She checked caller ID. “I’ll talk to you later, Jessa. Derek’s on the other line.” She switched over. “Hello?”
“How’s your headache?” he greeted. “Jessa said you were ill. Are you okay?”
“I’m taking a personal day.” God, that was hard to say. Even harder to follow through on.
Silence. “A what?”
She changed lanes and blew through a yellow light. “I’m dealing with some personal stuff.”
“You’ve never taken a personal day. Are you sure you’re feeling all right? Can I bring you chicken soup or something?”
“How did it go with Kent and Laurie?” Becca asked. Derek was supposed to be removing ugly furniture and swapping in tasteful, framed landscapes and throw pillows from Becca’s storage unit.
“Fine. The house is almost ready. I convinced them to move out about half of their stuff and repaint the dining room.”
“Good. But what I really need you to do is pick up my dry cleaning today by five. K?”
Derek had dreams of being a big-shot Realtor with an office of his own, but he’d failed the real estate licensing exam. Twice. He still acted like an agent, though, and sometimes she had to remind him he was her assistant, not her partner.
“I was planning on driving by the Havers Street house,” he said, “with the new disclosure forms.”
“Jessa can do that. I need you to do this errand for me. Or I won’t have a dress to wear Saturday night.” To the annual Chamber of Commerce casino night fundraiser. In past years she’d sponsored a table and donated her services in the silent auction. One year she and her entire office staff had dressed as cowboys and saloon girls, right down to their matching leather boots and spurs. This year, though, with so little time left in Auburn she was attending as a guest and nothing more.
“Oh. Okay. Um, are you sure you’re all right? What happened after I left?”
“Migraines,” Rebecca said as if it were no big deal. “Take care.” She hung up before he could ask any more questions.
Becca pulled into her latest apartment complex on Gum Branch Road with its heart-stopping view of the filthy gas station next door. It wasn’t the kind of place she’d imagined she’d live at this point in her life. Her real home was one of those big old Colonials by the river, but it had become unlivable about three months ago. She’d swallowed her pride and sold it for less than the listing price. Something she’d never admit to anyone.
As she fumbled with her purse and keys on the way up an exterior stairwell, a familiar piece-of-crap Jeep parked right on her bumper. Holden hopped out and dashed up the stairs, Buster ambling after.
This guy didn’t quit. It wasn’t enough that he’d lured her away with a BS story about selling his house and taken an hour out of her day to explore his theories on demonology? Now he was following her home?
She needed time to process what had happened and, or if, it fit in with everything else going on. If she didn’t get rid of him, she’d be too distracted by those baby-blue eyes and the way his jeans hung perfectly on him, like he was a living, breathing store display, to focus. Was it wrong to get goose bumps over a man like him? Too bad such an outwardly normal guy talked to dead people and believed in magic.
Time for him to go.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Clark, but I’m taking some me time. Call my office tomorrow.”
He reached the landing as Becca forced the key in the lock.
“I want to talk to you.”
Unbelievable. Did he not understand? “I’ve never met a man so eager to talk in my life.”
Uncertainty crept into his expression, and he moved down a step. “If you want me to leave, fine. I can’t force you to accept my h
elp.”
She’d almost passed out today. Rebecca had never felt so out of control of her own body. Before he fled and she never got the chance to know for sure, she asked, “What happened back there? What did you do to that place?”
“The demon reacted to Cole’s spells.”
Buster climbed the final step and, with a mighty leap, jumped on her so hard she slammed against the railing. She gasped, shielding her stomach with both arms. On his second bounce, his claw snagged on her cardigan and tore a thread loose.
“Sorry, he’s not usually a jumper.” Holden pulled his leggy behemoth off her.
Buster barked in outrage, his claws scrabbling on the landing.
“Yeah, well, can you keep him off me? Please?” She examined the damage to her sweater. Yep, ruined. God, what a day.
“You don’t like dogs?” Holden could not disguise his distaste. Not even a little.
“I’m not good with animals.” Despite a childhood spent yearning for a pet to love and care for, she’d never been around one long enough to feel comfortable.
“He senses the demon,” Holden said, tying Buster’s leash to the railing. “Some animals are sensitive to spirits and magic.”
“Right.” Of course. It couldn’t be because the dog was an ill-trained monster.
“Buster. Sit.” The dog stretched out on his belly and laid his chin on his paws. Not exactly a sit, but close.
She smiled a little, but not even Buster’s antics could distract her from the memory of the chaos in Cole’s storeroom. Or the icky feeling in her belly when those cardboard boxes had leapt off the shelves by themselves.
Becca turned her back on the dog. “Cole’s spells?” she repeated. “That’s ridiculous. Magic doesn’t exist.” The pat declaration just slipped out and lay there between them like the lie it was. Memories crept in. The chairs. The picture frames. The lights. The weird noises at night.
“Of course it does. It’s all around us.” Holden inhaled, leaning one hip against the railing. “My Grams died when I was nine. She fell asleep in her armchair with her knitting in her lap and never woke up. But she’s not gone. She’s with me right now. In fact—” He made a face, “—she won’t stop pestering me about helping you.”