Phantasm, book 3

EXCERPT:

I suck at magic.

Had no idea what I was doing. Which was probably why I found myself looking at a six- foot purple flame burning an astral hole in my mom’s living room. Earlier I’d pulled the rug back to reveal the huge pentagram painted on the wood floor beneath. The big Book of Everything lay open on the papasan chair, turned to a page I evidently had no business reading, and I was pretty much trapped between the flame and the fireplace.

Screaming seemed the appropriate thing to do— so I did. Only— no one could hear me.

My name’s Zoë. Martinique. And in the span of two weeks I had lost my mother’s soul, banished my best friend from my life, scared the crap out of my cop boyfriend, experienced crazy erotic dreams about another cop in whom I spent some recoup time (hey— clean thoughts here!), learned I was being stalked by two secret societies, as well as possibly damned my soul for all eternity.

Oh— and the cherry— my great- uncle was responsible for it all.

Period.

All of these things combined have proven one thing to me— I am the winner in the world’s most- dysfunctional- family contest.

Top that! Ha!

Oh, and I’m mute. Not deaf. Though some people tended to think those two were synonymous, so when they discovered I couldn’t talk, they started shouting at me really slow.

Idiots.

Though that word pretty much applied to me at that moment, as I attempted again to get around the flame. But if I tried to move to the right and jump on the couch, the damned thing moved with me. If I tried to fake it and jump to the left, it matched me again. And forget going through it. I’d already tried that and had one hell of a burn working along my right shoulder where the flame touched me. My jacket was still smoking. I had to face it— the flame was stalking me. Literally pushing me up against the fi replace.

Just as I was about to see if a human could climb up a chimney, I heard the bell over the front door chime, as well as felt the vibration on the hardwood floor. Seeing past the flame was getting difficult— I could make out the arch between the botanica where I was pinned, and the tea shop where the front door was. A beaded curtain usually separated the two stores— but I’d taken the damned thing down. Got tired of seeing it move with a breeze and thinking someone was in the house. Don’t ask me where that breeze was coming from— I had no idea. I’d been jumpy— and with good reason. Knowing complete strangers were watching me was worse than not knowing.

As I pressed myself against the mantel of the fireplace, I heard someone call my name, and I screamed out— both with my silent vocal cords as well as my thoughts.

What the hell are you doing? came the voice in my mind. It was a male voice— but it wasn’t Joe’s.

Whoever it was could hear my thoughts. So— I must have overshadowed (slipped inside of their body— kinda like possession but not really— at least not to me) them at some point. Unless it was a ghost?