Free Carry On Wayward Son by Cate Dean Page A

between her and the room. She knew it was illusion—she felt the tug of power even as the heat wrapped around her, and the sand inched closer. Wind whipped through her hair. She smelled spice, and the sweet, woody scent of frankincense. Sand and wind surrounded her, erased the room—and shoved her into the whirlwind.
    With a gasp she covered her face, tumbled across a hard floor and on to a thin carpet. Silence replaced the constant keening. Uncurling herself, Claire lifted her head. And looked straight into a nightmare.

TEN
     
    “ A guardian angel.” Eric finished bandaging Simon’s hand. “Are they actually real?”
    “I never met one, but then I didn’t think a ghost could completely take over a living body until I met you all. I’m inclined to believe.”
    “Okay, then. Next question: how do we get in to do the banishing?”
    Simon looked over at the big Victorian. The alien power pulsed now, power he understood he’d never seen before because he had never encountered angels, in any form. Until Claire. She dragged more impossible into his life in so short a time he was surprised his head wasn’t spinning.
    “Last try got us blasted across the lawn.” Simon ran his left hand over his cropped hair, his right hand smarting from the splinters Eric yanked out of his palm. The bandage made him feel clumsy, but blood dripping down his arm would be a deterrent. “Claire seems to think as long as I can get close enough for this guardian to hear my voice, the banishing will work.”
    Theresa crossed her arms. “Do you know a banishing spell?”
    “An old one. Don’t look so surprised.” He smiled when she raised her eyebrows. “I have and do read every obscure text I can get my hands on. One of them had a banishing spell. It was in Latin, so I practiced by memorizing it.” With a sigh, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Now all we have to do is get me, or my voice, close enough.”
    “What if we project your voice, like over a loudspeaker?”
    Simon shook his head. “Santa Luna seems to attract more than its share of the supernatural. I don’t know what this would do to any—thing, that may be in striking distance. So that’s out.”
    Eric threw in his two cents. “If we got you close enough to the house and created some kind of distraction—”
    “Blasted across the lawn.”
    Eric blew out a breath, “Right. What if—”
    “I can be the distraction.” Theresa’s quiet voice had them both looking at her. Simon laid one hand on her shoulder, opened his mouth. “I can do this, Simon. He hasn’t seen me, so he won’t know I’m with you. I can keep him occupied long enough for you to do what you need.”
    “No, Theresa.”
    “Why?” She jerked out of his grasp. “Because I’m not capable? Because I let you down and ran away when you and Claire needed me?”
    A combination of grief and remorse clutched him. “Theresa—”
    “Let me help you now. For Dad.” Tears filled the dark brown eyes, but didn’t spill over. That hurt him more than if she simply cried. “You can trust me, Simon. I won’t let you down.”
    “I wasn’t—”
    “Yes, you were.” She smiled. He’d forgotten how much her smile could light up her face. “And I don’t blame you. Look—we’re eating up valuable time. I go to the front door, be the neighbor, or—someone. I’ll think of who by the time I get there. You go around back—there has to be a back door in a house this size.” She waved her hands at them. “Go on—I’ll take care of the keeping him occupied part. You take care of the sending him back where he came from part.”
    “I know you want to help, sweetheart, but—”
    “Cut her a break, Simon.” Eric stepped up, surprising him. “She can give us the time we need—”
    “I won’t jeopardize her, not when we have other options—”
    “What options? We can’t even get close to the damn place, as you so delicately pointed out.”
    “So we’ll find another—shit.”
    Theresa was