Free The Summoning by Kelley Armstrong

… poltergeist.”
    “Right! I think it’s trying to protect me because every time I get mad, things start flying. I’ve tried to talk to it, to make it stop. But it can’t hear me because I can’t talk to ghosts. That’s why I need you.”
    I struggled to keep my expression neutral. I’d seen a documentary on poltergeist activity once. It usually
did
happen around girls like Liz—troubled teens desperate for attention. Some people thought the girls were playing pranks. Others believed the energy the girls gave off—hormones and rage—actually made things move.
    “You don’t believe me,” she said.
    “No, I didn’t say—”
    “You don’t
believe
me!” She rose to her knees, eyes blazing. “Nobody believes me!”
    “Liz, I—”
    Behind her, the hair gel bottles rocked. Empty hangers in the closet chattered. I dug my fingers into the mattress.
    “O-o-okay, Liz. I s-s-see—”
    “No, you
don’t
!”
    She slammed her hands down. The bottles jetted into the air, smashing against the ceiling with such force the plastic exploded. Hair gel rained down.
    “Do you see?”
    “Y-y-yes.”
    Her hands flew up again, like a conductor hitting the crescendo. A picture leaped from the wall. It smashed onto the hardwood floor, glass spraying. Another fell. Then a third. A sliver of glass shot into my knee. A button of blood welled up and streamed down my leg.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the picture above my bed quaver. It sprang from its moorings.
    “No!” Liz cried.
    I dove. Liz hit my side, shoving me out of the picture’s path. It struck her shoulder. She twisted. We both rolled from the bed, hitting the floor hard.
    I lay on my side, catching my breath.
    “I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “I didn’t mean—Do you see what happens? I can’t control it. I get mad and everything…”
    “You think it’s a poltergeist.”
    She nodded, her lip quivering.
    I had no idea what was going on. Not a poltergeist though—that was nuts—but if she thought it was, then maybe if she thought I’d told it to stop, it really
would
stop.
    “Okay,” I said. “Get the candle and we’ll—”
    The door shot open. Mrs. Talbot’s bathrobed form stood silhouetted in the doorway. She flipped on the light. I drew back, blinking.
    “Oh my God,” she breathed, barely above a whisper. “Elizabeth. What have you done?”
    I jumped to my feet. “It wasn’t her. I—I—I—”
    For once, I wasn’t stammering. I just couldn’t think of more words. Her gaze swept across the room, taking in the glass littering the floor, the hair gel dripping from the ceiling, the exploded makeup painting the wall, and I knew there was no reasonable explanation.
    Her gaze fell to my leg and she let out a squeak. “It’s okay,” I said, drawing my leg up and swiping the blood. “It’s nothing. I cut myself. Shaving. Earlier.”
    She picked her way past me, eyes fixed on the glass-carpeted floor.
    “No,” Liz whispered. “Please no. I didn’t mean it.”
    “It’s okay, hon. We’re going to get you help.”
    Miss Van Dop strode in, carrying a needle. She sedated Liz as Mrs. Talbot tried to calm her, telling her they were only transferring her to a better hospital, one more suitable, one that could help her get well faster.
    When Liz was unconscious, they shooed me from the room. As I backed into the hall, a hand walloped me in the back, slamming me into the wall. I turned to see Tori looming over me.
    “What did you do to her?” she snarled.
    “Nothing.” To my shock, the word came out clear, defiant even. I pulled myself up straight. “
I’m
not the one who told her I could help.”
    “Help?”
    “By contacting her poltergeist.”
    Her eyes went wide, with that same horrified expression as when Simon told her to stop acting like a bitch. She turned away and stumbled into her room.
     
----

Ten
    « ^ »
    THE PARAMEDICS CAME FOR LIZ. I watched her go, asleep on the stretcher, just like I’d been taken from school.