by Spear, Terry
“I wouldn’t be here.” Alana toyed with her napkin.
“What?”
Lifting a shoulder, Alana repeated, “I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t done it.”
“Oh.” Tears formed in her mother’s eyes—which was so not like her! Not that she didn’t have feelings, but she never let anyone know how hard things were for her when it got bad. Her mother quickly averted her eyes and leaned back in the chair, distancing herself from Alana, her whole body language shouting, I can keep it together if I have my space! “I don’t know how to tell you this without just coming right out and saying it.”
A million scenarios raced through Alana’s mind, but when her mom spoke again, not one of them came close to her proposal.
“I want you to live with your Uncle Stephen for the summer.”
Alana’s mouth gaped for a moment before she gathered her wits and could think how to respond. “No. He’s a neat-freak!”
“Alana—”
“He can’t stand kids, especially teens. And…and he’s totally inflexible. Everything is by the book, no deviation.”
Her mother frowned. “Alana, dear—”
“I thought I’d go insane after spending two weeks with him last summer. All summer? No way.” Alana crossed her arms in a huff.
“He believes you’re capable of a higher level magic than me. If you are, you need a master to train you. I’d never be able to help you develop your potential—”
“Mom, no. I refuse to stay with him.”
“It’ll just be for the summer.” Her mother wrung the napkin through her fingers.
Alana could see her normally persuasive powers over her mother were having no affect, and she wondered if her mom had some other agenda. “Why?”
“It’s as I’ve said.” She pursed her lips like she always did when she wasn’t about to reveal the truth.
Alana hated to do it but considering the trouble she could be in… “All right,” she begrudgingly said. “Uncle Stephen is more powerful. And when the Matusa comes after me, maybe between the two of us, we can fight him.”
“I’m so sorry, honey.”
She wished her mom would quit saying that. “Yeah, well, you didn’t bring that demon into the world, but I’m afraid your magic and mine won’t be strong enough against him.”
“I still don’t understand how you know about the different kind of demons.”
Alana chewed on her bottom lip. “I think it’s like an imprint. My dad’s genes must have given me the knowledge. Anyway, what’s frustrating is I don’t know what kind I am. If I could see him, I could tell. I don’t know why I can’t tell from looking at myself in a mirror.”
Her mother’s brow furrowed. “But this business with the portals—I don’t understand how the demon saw you. You said when you went to them, nobody could see you.”
“Yeah, well like everything else in my life, my abilities are changing again. So when some idiot summons a gateway close by, I’m dragged to it. The Dark Ones kill the summoner. If a lesser demon is brought forth, the summoner controls them. Unless someone can release them, they’re doomed to stay here as the human’s slave. That’s what I see.” Alana let out her breath. “You always said we were given a purpose in this world. Yours is to free lost souls and send them on their way. What am I supposed to do? I see a horrible situation, and I can’t do anything about it.”
“I want you to listen well to your uncle. Learn all you can from him. I packed your bags while you were at school. They’re in the trunk of the car.”
So much for giving Alana a choice. How long had Mom been contemplating this? As much as she loved her, Alana could never understand why her mother kept things from her. Not when Alana never could keep a secret from her. Even when she wanted to.
“Can’t you come with me this time?”
Her mom’s face brightened, and she gave a short laugh. “That will be the day. I never could stand the way Stephen is so obsessive-compulsive about being neat and orderly.”
“Good. I thought I was the only one he drove crazy.” But she knew her mother’s animosity for her brother went deeper than that.
Her mother’s voice turned ultra-serious. “Besides, I can’t leave my work right now. Listen, I can’t impress upon you enough, Alana, I want you to learn all you can from your uncle.”
“I know. Learning every bit of magic can mean the difference between life or death, freedom or enslavement—for someone like me.” Alana couldn’t shake the nagging in the back of her mind that her mother was up to something or knew more than she was letting on. “I’ll do my best. But couldn’t you come with me for a couple of days?”
“I have to exorcise a ghost at the Holloway Mansion and Trendy Donuts called about a poltergeist.”
Alana tapped her fork on the table. “Do you think some of the demons summoned into our world are responsible for the plague of ghosts recently? I mean, most people don’t believe in them, but the increased sightings even hit the local news channel.”
When she didn’t answer, Alana assumed her mother agreed with her that demons were stirring up the poltergeists. Anything to terrify the human population, as if they were playing some sort of demonic game.
Alana didn’t know how she could manage, but every part of her being screamed at her to fight the Matusa and free the lesser demons. Maybe her Uncle Stephen could teach her how.
All she had to do was convince him that demons were real. That’s all.
Chapter 2
“John, can you take out the trash?” his mother hollered to him from the living room.
“It’s Hunter,” he yelled back from his bedroom, determined to get his mother to accept his new name. Though he’d tried to train her since he’d turned fifteen, three years had passed without any success.
He read the newest email from Jared: Demon sighted, Holiday Excursions Inn, room six. Be careful, Hunter. It’s one of the Dark Ones. And there’s another one, but I’ll give you the location after you take care of this one. Jared.
Two? What’s going on? I’ll call you as soon as the first job’s done. Hunter.
He turned off the computer, then stalked out of the room. Two Matusa’s. Really not good. The noise from his mother’s vacuuming roared in his ears.
“Oh, John.” His mother switched the vacuum cleaner off. “Remember that old box of junk in the garage. It goes out with the trash, too.”
“Is Dad working late again?”
“Yeah, two more women arrived at the medical examiner’s office. Hope they catch the bastard soon.”
More of the Matusa’s doing, he feared. “I’m meeting Jared at the library after I take out the trash. Need anything while I’m out?”
“Can you take Dara?”
“No.”
“John.”
“Hunter,” he reminded her for the hundredth time. John had died when he took up the hunt.
With a hint of exasperation, she sighed. “I don’t know why you want to change your name. I’ll never remember it. But Dara wants a couple of books, and I can’t ever find the time to go to the library.”
“She can give me a list of the titles, and I’ll get them. Jared and I are discussing our next martial arts demonstration, and I don’t want to drag my eleven-year-old sister around.”
Eavesdropping as usual, Dara ran in from the den and gave him a list. He glanced at it and frowned. “Twelve books?”
She folded her arms. “Gifted class.”
She only reminded him a million times a year.
“My teacher says I’m a voracious reader, and I should keep it up.”
He shook his head and strode toward the garage. “You’ll never finish them before they’re due back.”
“Will, too.” Dara disappeared back into the den where some cartoon was playing too loudly on the T.V.
Hunter jerked open the door to the garage and strode inside. Grabbing the box destined for the trash, he paused when a stained and torn baseball glove caught his eye. His father’s
. Sports like that had never interested Hunter, not like his father had always hoped. He picked up the glove and set it on a shelf with tennis rackets and beach balls. Maybe someday he and his father could spend some time tossing the ball.
Martial arts and kicking demon butt, now that was what Hunter lived for. But his father didn’t appreciate his love of the former and wouldn’t understand the latter.
Thinking he might find something worth keeping, Hunter dug around in the box. Nothing but worn out clothing, rusted tools beyond repair, and…
He pushed aside a pair of grease-stained jeans. A book. Really ancient looking, bound in ivory leather with gold print. The Tome of Summonings. Hunter’s skin chilled. Was this the book his mother had used to call forth the Matusa, the demon who was his birth father? Vowing to destroy it the first chance he got, he set it on the workbench and took out the trash.
Before he left the house, he secured the tome and slipped it between his martial arts books in his bedroom. Which brought to mind his new mission. Find the source of the summoning books and stop the demons from entering Earth world in the first place.
Slamming the door to the house, he headed for his truck. Concentrate on keeping a steady head, his training reminded him. Though his heart hammered with gusto.
Time to rid the world of another dark demon.
Chapter 3
On the flight to Dallas, Alana had rehearsed how she was going to tell Uncle Stephen of her demon heritage. She didn’t know any other way of convincing him she was half demon, except maybe to remove her contacts and show how her eyes glowed red when she grew angry.
She took a ragged breath. Maybe being only half demon meant she didn’t have any other powers, which she was really counting on if she had to face the Dark One.
But the minute she arrived at her uncle’s house, he forced her to practice magic. Even before she unpacked her bags! Which was another reason she didn’t want to stay with him. Who wanted to spend all summer studying?
Using her mind, Alana lifted the vase from the antique side table and held it five feet off the floor while her uncle supervised her every move. She thought Algebra II had been a pain. Why levitate objects when I already know how to? And Uncle Stephen knew she could do it!
The vase drifted lower.
“Concentrate,” Uncle Stephen warned her. “Quit thinking of other things.”
Other things.
How could she not think of other things? Any minute the Matusa summoned in Baltimore could come knocking at the door.
She raised the vase back to its original level. “How long am I going to have to hold up this blasted vase?” she asked telepathically. The zig-zag design and orange and navy colors blurred her vision.
Not replying, Uncle Stephen stood like a statue, his strawberry-blond beard trim and neat as usual, his hair shoulder length and shiny. His blue eyes were as clear as her mother’s, staring at the vase, waiting for her to slip again.
She studied the pattern, getting lost in the maze, until her thoughts focused on the demon with the dark hair and fathomless black eyes in the Baltimore alley. He was beautiful in a cruel way. His lips had curved up, but the smile was an illusion, a hint of sinister amusement. The vision of him grew fuzzy, and she refocused on the hideous vase. It lowered again.
“Concentrate!” Uncle Stephen snapped.
“You know,” she started to say, but the vase landed on the terra cotta tile floor, breaking into a million porcelain shards. She jumped back, looked up at her uncle’s recriminating gaze, and made an irritated face.
“I told you to concentrate. That means you don’t say anything to me either telepathically or verbally.” His jaw clenching, he gave her a hard look.
“Why can’t we use a pillow or something else that isn’t breakable?” She figured that he should have known better.
“The incentive isn’t there unless you have to protect something more fragile.”
“Well, how about at least until I get the hang of this?” Then if she got distracted again—
“You already know how to do this.”
She gave him a withering look.
“You have to get into the right frame of mind first. Then we go from there, like practicing your A, B, C’s, then working into words, and from there, sentences. But your mind is somewhere else. What are you thinking of? Some cute warlock you left back at your high school?” He gave a disgusted snort.
“For your information, I don’t have any friends, boys or otherwise.”
His brows arched. “No witches or warlocks around?”
“No.” Not when her mother made sure she attended a school where there were none. And why? Her mother had never confided in her, until the demon issue came up. The fact Alana was half demon wasn’t the problem, but that she wasn’t full witch. She hmpfed at the thought. If she’d had a warlock for a dad, then things would have been different. Not that she really cared anything about having a dad. She’d seen how controlling so many of them could be. Best to live alone with her mother.
She straightened her shoulders. “Not only that, Uncle Stephen, but I’m—”
The phone rang and her uncle stalked off to the kitchen.
“I’m half demon which kind of puts a damper on relationships,” she muttered under her breath. “Then there’s this other problem with drop-dead gorgeous who wants to rip out my heart.”
She cast a collection spell and lifted all of the vase fragments, then sent them into a wastepaper basket nearby with a tinkling crash. Her uncle peeked out of the kitchen, phone to his ear, a brow quizzically raised.
She pointed to the clean floor.
Taking a ragged sigh, he said, “Yeah, she got here safely, but now she’s wrecking the place. Levitation. Broke a vase. Well, she might be all right at your place, but her mind is somewhere else. You want to talk to her? Okay.”
He held the phone out to her.
Great. Alana crossed the floor and took the phone from her uncle. “Hi, Mom.”
“What did you promise?”
She quashed the urge to roll her eyes. “To learn all I could.”
“Are you having visions again?”
Alana looked into the kitchen where her uncle was pouring water into the teakettle.
“Alana?”
“For heaven’s sakes, Mom. I just got here. Why can’t I have a week off from school at least?”
“You said one of the Dark Ones would try to locate you soon.”
Her mother had her there.
“Did you tell your uncle?”
“What? He doesn’t believe in demons!”
His gaze shifting to her, Uncle Stephen paused to set two coffee mugs on the counter.
“Alana, I told you I’d leave it up to you to tell him when I sent you off, but he has to know if one is coming after you.”
“He doesn’t even believe…”
Uncle Stephen watched her, but when he caught her eye, he walked over to the cabinet and pulled out the decaf coffee.
Alana left the kitchen entryway and returned to the living room. “He doesn’t even believe how you became pregnant. He’s certain it was that guy you were going steady with who dumped you.”
“Andy Carver. Yeah, I know. Our parents thought the same thing. How could they think otherwise? He was the only guy I’d been dating.”
Alana flopped onto the couch, sinking into the squishy cushions, then leaned forward and ran her fingers over a crystal ball sitting on her uncle’s oak coffee table. “You could have summoned good old Dad back.”
“I couldn’t. He didn’t want to live in our world, even if he felt something for me.”
“Nothing permanent, apparently.”
The teakettle whistled.
“Tell your uncle, Alana, before you go to bed. He has to know. He can teach you some important protection spells. Maybe he can figure out a way to help stop the visions you’re having, too.”
Uncle Stephen walked into the living room with two steaming cups of coffee.
“Okay, Mom. Love you. And be careful with those ghosts. They can be nasty. Especially,” she said, then gave her uncle a pointed look, “if demons stirred them up in the first place.”
“I’ll be careful. Love you, honey. I’ll call tomorrow.”
Alana hung up the phone. She ran her hand over the soft velvet stripes of the brown and white couch cushions, preparing herself to speak again to her uncle about the other half of her family roots.
Her uncle sat on a wide-winged chair across from her and cleared his throat. “Demons? Don’t tell me your mother’s been filling your head with nonsense like that all these years.”
No, just very recently. “We recognize another side of our world that most humans won’t accept despite all of the legends about us. So why not demons? I thought witches and warlocks were supposed to have more open minds.” She gave him one of her superior looks.
“Open-minded, certainly, but the next thing you’ll be telling me fairies exist in the flower gardens, and Santa Claus is real.”
“Okay, Santa Claus is real. He was a 4th Century Christian bishop in Turkey who tossed gold coins in through a poor nobleman’s window to provide dowries for his three daughters. I had to do a paper on myths and legends and how they are based on some truth. So see? If Santa Claus is based on a real person, and witches and warlocks are real, why can’t demons be? I’m not sure about fairies. I’d have to do some research on that. But let’s pretend for a minute.” She took a sip of her coffee and choked on the bitterness. “You forgot to put sugar in it.”
“Sorry, I forget your mother likes cream and no sugar. You like cream with sugar.”
She rose. “Be right back. But I’m not letting you off the hook about being more open-minded.”
When she returned, her uncle wasn’t in the living room. She heard him in the guestroom where she always stayed and climbed the stairs to join him.
Leaning against the doorframe, she watched him lay one of her suitcases on the dresser, the other on the bed. Even though she wasn’t happy to be here, at least the room was decorated in all sky blue, her favorite color, and paintings of Texas fields of bluebonnets filled the walls. A television, stereo, and computer made it a teen’s haven, if she didn’t have to study spells every waking hour of the day.