Free Midnight Magic by Ann Gimpel Page B

skimming the floor as she ran for the stairs to the attic. Another flash of lightning lit her way. Her panting breath was loud against the silence of the house.
    “Mom, where the hell are you?” she screamed. “There’s no time. Mom! Goddammit, answer me.”
    Surprised to find the attic door shut since she’d left it open, Cassie tugged on the knob. Panic rose hot and grating when nothing happened. She banged on the door as she jerked ineffectually at it, crying for her mother like she hadn’t done since she was a small child.
    Whatever held the door yielded all at once. If it hadn’t been for the staircase railing, Cassie would’ve fallen a long way. As it was, she ended up a couple of steps down, clinging to one of the posts connecting the railing to the risers. Sucking in a raggedy breath, she crawled to the landing before staggering unsteadily to her feet.
    She peered into the attic. What she saw stunned her so badly she fell back a step, one foot hanging over empty air.
    Come on, she urged herself forward. Just go in there and bring her down to Jeremy. No telling how long he can hold Tyler at bay.
    Eleanora sat cross-legged in front of a fire that hovered above the attic floor. The bat was back in residence on her shoulder, its tiny claws twisted in her long hair. Rather than red, the flames were blues, golds, and greens, and there was a hole in the attic roof directly above the small conflagration.
    Had the fire come from the lightning?
    Understanding she’d focused on that because it was easier than assimilating the rest of the tableau, Cassie started forward. An apparition that looked a lot like her father faded in and out on one side of the flames. He held his hands stretched before him, and energy pulsed from them.
    “Mom?” Cassie dropped to her knees next to Eleanora.
    “She cannot talk yet,” the apparition informed her.
    “Father?” Cassie glanced at the ghostly figure.
    “Who in bloody blazes else might it be?” The clipped tones of his aristocratic British accent stabbed her like little darts. “While we’re at it, why didn’t you inform me what happened to Eleanora? I would’ve arrived far sooner than this and in a more corporeal form, I might add.”
    “I did use the stone to call you.” Defensiveness settled over her like a shroud. “Jesus Christ. I have enough problems without getting a raft of shit from you.”
    “You should’ve summoned me months ago. Why didn’t you?”
    “Maybe because I haven’t seen you since I was ten,” Cassie snapped. “Look, my friend’s alone down there with the one I think is responsible for—”
    He waved her to silence. “We already know about that. We’re attempting to sever the linkage. Lend your blood, and I do believe we shall have it.”
    “What?”
    “Blood. Have you gone deaf? Hold your arm over the fire.” He hesitated. When he spoke again, his tone was softer. “We tried your mother’s, but it didn’t work. Yours started this. We need yours to finish it.”
    He’s gone mad. That doesn’t make a whit of sense.
    “I haven’t seen you for fifteen years...” She shook her head. If what he was asking would bring her mother back, it would be worth it. Coming to her feet, she stuck out her arm and pulled her sleeve out of the way. A ghostly silver blade advanced out of the shadows. It sliced deep into the meaty part of her forearm. As her blood flowed into the unnatural flames, they blazed brighter, almost as if blood and fire were kin to one another.
    “I think you hit a vein,” she protested, her voice shaking.
    “Silence,” her father thundered. “I have to concentrate, or all this will be for naught.”
    The room spun out of control. Cassie kept her arm out for as long as she could, but a warm fog enveloped her, and her legs wobbled. The last thing she heard before she passed out was Eleanora saying, “That’s enough, Fran. You’ll kill her. Bind up her wound. I can do the rest on my own.”
    Mother. Mother’s