Spell of Summoning Read Online Free PDF

in this room. I won’t downplay it. Because I think you already know that.”
    Becca clasped her hands, her fingers strangling each other. “Yes.” It wasn’t a brain tumor. It was magic. And real.
    “I’d love to come back in a day or two with my equipment and try to contact the spirit. It won’t cause any fuss for you, but it’ll sweep the apartment.”
    She cleared her throat and repeated what she’d said to the first two psychics to knock on her door. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.”
    “Actually,” Holden spoke up. “Let’s do it. As soon as possible. When are you free?”
    Up went her eyebrows again.
    “Wednesday night. Nine thirty. Will that work?” Damian asked.
    “No, Wednesday night—” Her shoulders slumped. Of course. Her one night off. “Fine.”
    Damian shot Becca a sympathetic look. “Your husband is smart to be concerned.”
    Husband. What a strange concept. She imagined a potential future with Holden Clark—sharing a sofa with him late at night, her feet curled up under an afghan and his strong, warm fingers kneading the back of her neck. Despite it being so far out of reality her fantasy might as well come with complimentary 3-D glasses, it sent a twang of regret through her.
    “He’s not my husband.” Her voice emerged a monotone. “We met today.”
    “Oh.” Damian blushed the color of pasta sauce and stuttered, “Excuse me, ma’am. Will Wednesday night be all right with you? Because we—”
    “It’s fine.” She moved toward the bedroom door. Today was Monday. That gave her two days to, most likely, call and cancel. “I’ll walk you out.”
    Becca said good-bye, closed the front door behind Damian, and then leaned against it.
    Holden appeared in the hallway.
    How had a complete stranger talked his way into her home? She was slipping up lately—forgetting conversations, dropping things, letting potential mental patients into her apartment.
    “Look me in the eyes,” she said, “and promise me you’re not a con man.”
    Holden didn’t answer right away, but when he did he sounded amazingly sincere. “I’m telling you the truth. You felt the summoning spell. I know you did.”
    “Then what does Damian Arasmus have to do with anything? Are you two working together?”
    “No. But maybe it’s not a coincidence he showed up today claiming to know all about your problem.”
    Becca straightened. “You think he’s trying to possess me?”
    “Maybe. It’s my best lead right now.”
    Ridiculous. “My dad hired him. You heard. He hired two others exactly like him.”
    “Then I need you to write down their names for me. Just in case.”
    “Sure.” With no shame, Becca examined Holden from his Converse shoes to his light brown hair in need of a trim. “And what are you again?”
    “A necromancer. I see spirits. And communicate with them.”
    She scanned the poorly decorated room from the frayed sofa to the plastic, potted ficus in the corner, unable to fathom it full of hazy ghosts, demons, and angels.
    “Like your grandmother?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then why aren’t you performing the séance?”
    “I’m not a very good necromancer.” He added, “I don’t have magic, myself, but I’ve been touched by the other side, and I can—I don’t even want to say control because that’s not what it is—I can call spirits and borrow their power to do spells. If I wanted to, I could pull off a mending spell or a locator spell. Maybe.”
    “Have you done one of those before?”
    “No.”
    “What have you done?”
    “Not much.”
    Becca’s confidence in Mr. Clark nose-dived. “So, you’re all potential.” Like a foreclosed fixer-upper. She sighed. “What is your plan?”
    “Cole gave me the number of a witch in Springfield.”
    “And a witch is different than a necromancer?”
     “She was born with her own power.” Holden explained. “She doesn’t have to borrow anything. It’s all hers.”
    That sounded promising. “Can she see spirits,