Ancient Forces Collection (21 page)

Becka’s heart drilled against her rib cage with the force of a jackhammer. She knew exactly what was going on.

She had seen this behavior before.

Stacey was possessed.

Becka also knew what she should do to stop it. But for an instant, she hesitated. She couldn’t help but think back to the way Laura, acting on orders from Brooke, had held a knife to her throat several months ago, just as Stacey was currently doing to Laura.

Turnabout was fair play, right?

Why should Becka stop what Laura and Sarina had started? After all, everyone had spent this evening tossing their little jabs at her for confronting Sarina at the bookstore. Why get involved now? Sarina was a big-time TV star, right? And when it came to being a Wiccan, she talked a good game. Why not let her handle things her way? They’d just get what they deserved. Here was Becka’s chance to be rid of at least one of her antagonists.

As if in answer to her questions, a single word surfaced in the back of her mind:
earplugs.
Becka sucked in a quick breath. Z had given her earplugs with a note. What had Z written? She strained to remember. Not five seconds later, it hit her.

Be careful little ears what you hear
.

Z must have known that the devil would try to fill her mind with doubt. Maybe even with the idea of revenge — of getting back at Laura for all the pain she and The Society had caused Becka ever since she and her family moved to town. The earplugs suddenly made sense. They symbolized her need to block out the lies of the enemy.

Becka closed her eyes for half a second and prayed,
Forgive
me, God, for letting my guard down. I’m embarrassed to think I
actually listened to the voice of the devil and considered letting
Laura get hurt. You love Laura . . . and Stacey too. Be with me now,
Lord, and may you have the victory here. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Becka was about to swing into action when Sarina waved her arms through the air.

“RELEASE HER,” Sarina commanded, her voice resonating as in an echo chamber. “By the power of the lord and the lady, I command you to cease your attack of darkness in this place.”

For a quick moment, Stacey locked eyes with Sarina. Stacey’s upper lip curled into a snarl. A low, hollow growl escaped her twisted mouth. “SILENCE! This is not your fight.”

Sarina took one step forward, her eyebrows knotted into an angry line. Her right arm shot out. A long, slender forefinger jabbed at the space between them. “I call upon the air, the earth, the sea, and the fire to banish you — you spirit of barbarity — to outer darkness.”

That brought a long, wicked laugh from the depths of Stacey’s being. Still holding Laura by the neck with a viselike grip, Stacey placed the knife on a table and, with inhuman strength, seized a chair with her free hand and hurled it at Sarina.

Sarina brought her arms up to cushion the blow. On impact she yelped like a wounded puppy. The force of the airborne chair knocked her back several feet. Staggering, Sarina reached out to steady herself against a table. A vase of flowers toppled and crashed against the floor.

Stacey barked, “Be gone! This is not your fight. Now,
GO!”

Sarina huffed, visibly shaken. As if on cue, she turned and marched to Demi. Sarina snatched up her coat, pulled it around her shoulders, and, seconds later, she disappeared through the door without saying another word.

Krissi dropped into a chair and buried her face in her hands. She started to cry. Julie and Rachael moved to stand near her, as if to share comfort in the confusion.

Becka turned and quickly studied the situation.
Laura’s dad, Les, was still slumped in a pile on the floor. No help there. In the confusion, she couldn’t see exactly where Julie and Rachael were. Hopefully they’d head outside and away from danger.

Stacey’s blonde mane, matted with sweat and food particles, framed her enraged eyes. She stood motionless, her stare lingering on the spot where Sarina had just left. Her fingers squeezed deep into the flesh of Laura’s neck and showed no signs of easing up. If Becka didn’t act fast, Laura would surely pass out — or worse.

Stacey blinked. She turned and shot a blast of fire at Becka with her eyes before her gaze moved to the fireplace.

As Stacey appeared to study the flames, Becka tried to speak, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She discovered that her throat was as parched as hot sand. Her pulse maxed out. She tried to calm herself with a slow, steady breath, but her lungs burned as if she’d just finished a marathon.

Stacey dragged the helpless, doll-like body of Laura toward the fireplace. She picked up the fire poker. Still clutching Laura, Stacey stoked the logs until the flames renewed their vigorous blaze.

Stacey looked directly at Becka, flinging her head back as her obscene laugh filled the air.

What’s taking the police so long? Didn’t anybody call for help
yet?
Becka thought. She managed to whisper, “Jesus . . .”

The laughing stopped. Cold.

Stacey dropped Laura’s body on the stone hearth of the open fireplace and spun around. The cut above her eye still bled, and her blackened eyes flared. “What . . . was . . .
that?
What did you say?”

Becka stood still. For a split second, a spark of doubt surfaced in her spirit. Who was she kidding? She was no match for this maniac. Every instinct told her to run. And fast. Becka silenced the restlessness with a verse she had memorized:
“My grace is
sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”

Help me, Lord
, she prayed.
Be my strength.

Becka took a step forward. A piece of broken glass snapped underfoot. She cleared her throat. “By the power . . . and by the blood of Jesus the Christ,” Becka said, her voice growing stronger, “I command you to leave Stacey.”

Stacey’s eyelids twitched and fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. Her body convulsed as the voice within hissed. “I was summoned here,” the demon said through Stacey’s lips. “This is my vessel — leave me. Or must I destroy you too?”

Another bloodcurdling laugh pierced the air.

Becka stood her ground as the words of Romans 8 came to mind.
“For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither
angels nor demons . . . nor anything else in all creation, will be
able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our
Lord.”

Becka said, “You’re a liar . . . just like your father, the devil. By the authority of Jesus of Nazareth, be gone from her!”

The demon hesitated.

“Now!” Becka demanded.

With a tormented scream, Stacey collapsed to the floor like a puppet whose strings were suddenly cut. Becka quickly moved to Stacey’s side and knelt beside her still form. She felt for a pulse along Stacey’s neck. Finding a faint pulsation, Becka looked toward the kitchen and said, “She’s alive! Somebody call an ambulance. Hurry!”

Becka leaned close to Stacey’s ear. “Hang in there. Jesus loves you, Stacey. You’re gonna make it . . . I promise.”

“Becka!” Krissi screamed from across the room.

Becka’s head jerked around. She looked at Krissi, puzzled.

“Laura . . . she’s on fire!”

Becka looked over at Laura, who wasn’t making any effort to get away from the flames. Was she paralyzed? Had she blacked out? Couldn’t she feel the fire burning her legs?

Was she dead?

“Julie,” Becka said, “I could use a hand over here!”

Maybe Julie was in shock. Maybe she was scared. Whatever the reason, Julie bit her lip and didn’t make a move to help.

There wasn’t a second to lose. Rising, Becka sprinted to the fireplace and then pulled Laura by the arms away from the flames. Working as fast as she could, Becka yanked a tablecloth free from under a pile of broken plates, shook it out, and began to roll Laura in it.

Why weren’t the flames going out?

A siren sounded in the distance.

Becka glanced around the room and spotted a table several feet away with pitchers of iced tea. She bolted upright, grabbed as many pitchers as she could carry, and doused Laura’s body with the liquid. With the flames snuffed out, Becka dropped to her knees and cradled Laura’s head in her lap.

Without warning, an overwhelming sense of compassion flooded Becka’s heart. And for the first time since coming to Crescent Bay, Becka felt a spark of love for this adversary. As she stroked Laura’s hair, she couldn’t tell whether or not Laura would make it.

Becka started to pray.
Not now, Jesus, not like this . . . please,
let her live.

10

T
he full moon sent a gentle beam of dull light into the bedroom. With a squint, Becka looked at the radio alarm clock: 2:47. She yawned, stretched her back, and rolled onto her side. Although she, Julie, Krissi, and Rachael had stopped talking an hour earlier, Becka couldn’t sleep. How could she?

The events of the day remained painfully fresh in her mind. The chaos. The paramedics. The police.

Becka actually found dealing with the police quite amusing. How do you explain a completely trashed upscale restaurant, three wounded bodies, and a missing TV star to police when, at the center of the investigation, was demon possession?

Who could they arrest for the damages to the restaurant?

Even now, she pictured the team of paramedics as they raced into Caesar’s. Stacey had been the first to be carried out on a stretcher, while another team inserted a tube into Laura’s throat so she could breathe before they transported her to the hospital.

Les was the last to go. According to the phone call she made to the nurses’ station at the hospital before hitting the sack, Les had suffered a minor concussion and several scrapes. He had been treated and released. Becka figured he’d have a lot of explaining to do to his wife. She sure didn’t want to be in his shoes.

Becka was especially thankful to learn that the burns to Laura’s legs weren’t as bad as anticipated. True, there were first-degree burns over 20 percent of Laura’s legs, but that was minor compared to the damage to her vocal chords. Had Stacey’s grip, under the demonic influence, remained much longer, the doctor was certain Laura’s esophagus would have collapsed. Laura would be in the hospital at least several more days.

As of midnight, Stacey, however, remained in intensive care. Her situation was touch and go. Even after her vital signs stabilized, she’d have reconstructive work to undergo for the gash on her face. She’d most likely have to have psychiatric care, and she’d have to deal with the police as well.

Becka shuddered at the memory of Stacey’s face.

Becka herself suffered only minor scrapes. The gauze wrapped around her left hand was uncomfortable, but she’d handle it. She was just glad the day was finally over. And after finally catching a quick phone call with her mom, Becka was happy to know that her mom would be heading home from the retreat early Saturday morning. They’d hook up around lunch. To think that it all started with that note and picture of Sarina from Z.

At the thought of Sarina, Becka cracked open her tired eyelids and spied the moon through the window. She was still unsure what Z had wanted her to do about Sarina. It wasn’t like
the two sat down for a quiet chat. Quite the contrary. Whatever it was, Becka was fairly certain she’d never see Sarina again.

But, hey, that’s probably best
, Becka thought.

She adjusted her pillow and closed her eyes.

Through the fog of exhaustion, Becka thought she heard a voice calling her name. There it was again. Closer now. Louder. Urgent. Pleading. Was she dreaming? Who would be calling? Didn’t they know she had been up half the night? Couldn’t it wait?

“Becka . . . telephone.”

“Huh?” Becka rolled over.

“The phone. It’s for you, Becka.”

The voice sure sounded like Julie’s. Becka blinked the bedroom into focus and noted its robin’s egg blue walls. She squinted against the brilliance of the morning sun.

“I’m . . . ,” Julie started to say. “Hey, I’m sorry to get you up, but it’s Demi. On the phone.” Julie, still wearing her pajamas, held out the cordless phone.

Becka pulled herself upright and then ran her fingers through her hair. The fog in her head started to lift. “What time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

“Uh, Demi who?”

Julie plopped down on the bed next to her. “She’s Sarina’s agent person or whatever.”

Becka took the phone and brought it to an ear. “Hello?”

“Becka? It’s Demi. We met last night.”

“Oh, right,” Becka said. “Hi there.”

“Listen, I’m sorry to call so early. I got Julie’s number from the guest list last night and — ”

“It’s okay.”

“Have you had breakfast?”

Becka chuckled. “I don’t think my stomach’s awake yet.”

Demi was all business. “Great. Then you must join Sarina for breakfast . . . we’re at the Ritz.”

“Me?”

“Just you, yes,” Demi said. “Can you be ready in thirty minutes?”

That got Becka’s attention. Suddenly awake, she felt her heart doing jumping jacks. “Sure thing, but — ”