All the Rules of Heaven (All That Heaven Will Allow #1) - Amy Lane Page 0,115

froze. Oh please oh please oh please…. Then came a terrible scream, ripped from the throat of a desperate man. “Noooooooo!”

Josh got to his feet and lurched forward, every movement a tiny war, every muscle fighting itself in a knock-down, drag-out bitch-fight of wills.

Well, Conklin may have won that battle, but it was obvious that Josh was still in the fight.

Nevertheless he was getting closer, and the ghosts, no longer put off by Angel’s imposing presence, were beginning to group on the edges of the pentacle. Oddly enough, they respected the unfinished boundary, and Tucker thought they could use that, but he didn’t know how.

“Rae, he’s getting close.”

“One more,” Rae panted, yanking at the spool of wire so there’d be enough for the last leg before she snipped it.

The crowd of ghosts had converged, surrounding the shape wrought in the earth, glaring at Rae in the middle of the figure, and at Tucker, who was protected by the aura of the pendant around his neck.

Tilda offered him a hand up—she’d finished her task and only needed to get to safety now. Tucker groaned and lurched to his feet, scanning the phosphorescent crowd.

He saw the face he was looking for—the familiar one, the one that broke his heart. Saw five more, in fact, and gave a faint moan. “Go, Tilda,” he said, thinking about how young she was and how letting Conklin have his way would be unthinkable. He turned away from her and stumbled back toward the silverwork. As he walked, he grabbed the pocket full of rags Rae had given him and started mopping at the mess at the back of his head, staining one at a time.

“Tucker, come on!” Rae yanked at the wire from the spool on the ground, and Tucker wandered to the center of the next figure, wiping blood off his head as fast as he could. He shoved the wet rags back in his pocket and grabbed the spools, standing up and giving her some slack to work with.

“Rae, you might not have time—”

“I’ll have time,” she said grimly. “He’s coming from this direction. We are almost done.” She began her frantic sprint, and Tucker watched as the ghosts tested the boundaries of the trap.

He’d expected the wire to keep the spirits out of the finished pentagram—but what was happening was even better. The ghosts near the open leg of the figure were pushing their hands against what was going to be the border and stopping, as though thwarted by invisible walls.

“How’s that working?” Rae asked after a brief glance up.

“The kids—your witchy kids—must have had a solid idea of what we were making here. They saw it as real. You’ll have to tell them how awesome they are when you get into the van with them.”

“Tilda!” Rae called.

“Running now!” Tilda called back. She was almost at the minivan. The ghosts had parted for her and didn’t seem to begrudge her leaving, thank God. No, they were saving all their venom for Tucker and Rae.

“Send Angel back,” Rae called. “And get that thing the hell away from here! Take the kids home—not to the mansion, you hear me? Keys in the car!”

“Call me,” Tilda shouted, and then she opened the driver’s door and hopped in. Angel came sprinting out from the other side, heading toward Tucker and Rae.

“What in the hell!” Tucker demanded. Rae should be in that car! “What are you—”

“I can take care of myself, Tucker. She’ll get them to our house. They’ll be safe there.”

But what if Conklin wins? What if their father takes this vicious spirit to the place he loves most?

He didn’t say it. He didn’t even want the thought out there.

There was only one thing to do—one thing he could say to do, think to do, make happen.

They had to win.

“Tucker! Tucker, we’re here. You can’t ignore us. We’re here!”

It was the first time their voices coalesced, and Tucker looked up to the familiar ghosts and muttered, “Oh hell.”

Damien looked back at him, his eyes filled with rage.

“Tucker!” Rae snapped, yanking at the wire. “Stay with me here.” She paused. “Are you passing out on me?”

“Yes and no,” Tucker mumbled. His head ached, his wrist was on fire, his words were raspy, spoken through a raw throat, but he would have endured all of that a million times over rather than see the bitter recrimination in Damien’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said to the apparition. “Damie, I didn’t mean to. You just… you wanted me, and I’d been