Free The Possession by Spikes J. D. Page A

crossed my covers, blaring into my face, and I rose to greet the day. I looked again at my reflection in the oval mirror, the chemise a ghostly cover to my form.
    I understood immediately why stripping down to one spelled trouble. The garment hugged to you. Light reflected perfect shadows of every curve. The light fabric felt . . . sensuous. All these combined could make a woman feel truly beautiful.
    And God help her if her man was nearby.
    With a laugh on my lips, I headed to the bathroom.
    That laugh faded when I entered the kitchen for breakfast. Aunt Dwill was already there and when her eyes lit on me, a definite pall invaded. She motioned toward the stove.
    “There’s an oven omelet, Daphne, and rolls.”
    My mouth closed on my greeting. What was her problem? Her brow furrowed so deeply, I should see bone. “Who died?”
    Yes, my tone was flippant. I didn’t want it to be but couldn’t help myself. You’d think something horrible had happened just because I came in late last night. I thought we’d gotten past that. And she didn’t even know about my second outing.
    I took my place across the table from her and proceeded to eat. My mood had so fouled, I didn’t even look up when she addressed me.
    “I never thought I’d ever have to ask you this, young lady, but I am responsible for you while you’re here.”
    I barely lifted my gaze, choosing instead to stuff more omelet into my mouth. “What?”
    “Are you taking drugs?”
    “No.” I snorted it around my eggs.
    “Are you pregnant?”
    The eggs spewed from my mouth, at least the portion not choking me. “W—” cough, cough, “You aren’t—” cough, cough.
    Aunt banged a water glass to the table in front of me then vigorously rubbed my back. The coughing subsided and I sipped the water before snatching my napkin up to swipe my eyes.
    I am positively, absolutely certain my face ran through every color of red any crayon company ever thought of in their entire existence.
    “How could you, Aunt Dwill!” I demanded. “Don’t you trust me? I can’t believe you asked that!”
    Aunt returned to her seat across from me, her angry glare somehow conveying her concern. “It’s not normal, Daphne, for a seventeen year old to be fainting all the time.”
    Fainting? She surely didn’t know about last night at that hunter’s shed. “It happened once, Aunt. I was stressed. It’s no big deal.”
    Her head tilted, eyes widened under tented brows. They smoothed and she pushed her plate aside. She folded her hands on the tabletop.
    “You don’t even know, do you?”
    “Kn-know what?” It felt like a setup. A very worrisome setup.
    “Where did you go last night, Daphne?”
    “I told you—”
    “No.” Aunt’s hand came up, a stop sign to my oncoming traffic of words. “After we talked at the lighthouse.”
    I lowered my face, keeping my eyes on my plate.
    “Don’t make it worse by lying, Daphne. I know you went out.”
    “You can’t possibly know. I was so careful.”
    Aunt’s arm crossed the space between us, her hand resting on mine. I looked into her face.
    “I heard someone on the porch, Daphne, rattling at the door. When I opened the door, I found my niece, done up in her period costume for the anniversary celebration, asking for her maman .”
    I tried to look away, but she squeezed my hand so hard, I couldn’t.
    “You didn’t know me, Daphne. You shoved past me and ran up the stairs to your room. By the time I got there, you had passed out, half hanging off the bed.”
    It was difficult to breathe. I searched every nook in my brain and couldn’t bring forth anything, not even a moment, from the time I left the cemetery.
    “I think maybe you and Zach should take some time off from each other.”
    “No!” I sprang from my chair. “You can’t make me. And you can’t blame Zach for this. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know, Aunt!” I grabbed the edge of the table, leaning across, in her face. “Last night . . . I did that on my