Book 3 in the Allie Beckstrom SeriesAllison Beckstrom’s magic has taken its toll on her, physically marking her and erasing her memories-including those of the man she supposedly loves. But lost memories aren’t the only things preying on Allie’s thoughts.
Her late father, the prominent businessman-and sorcerer-Daniel Beckstrom, has somehow channeled himself into her very mind. With the help of The Authority, a secret organization of magic users, she hopes to gain better control over her own abilities-and find a way to deal with her father… from the author's site.
Allie and Zayvion are going on a date. their first since she recovered from all the trauma from the factory in book two. Allie sees something in the dark. They check it out and it's some thing. Not a man - not a monster.....and it's after Allie. It wants Daniel's essence from her. This is an interesting story with lots of action.
Rush hour traffic below my apartment window breathed a deep note behind the rise and fall of winter wind. Rain tapped like pinpricks against glass. The only noise besides my own rapid breathing was the cold water pouring into the bathroom sink.
That, and my dead father’s voice.
“Allison.” My father’s voice again. Distant, as if he strained to pitch it across a crowded room, a crowded street, a crowded city.
I was the only one in my apartment. And my father was really dead this time.
I’d gone to his funeral this morning and seen him buried–literally watched as his body was lowered into the grave. There was no mistake, no corpse stealing, no weird magical rituals this time. This time, he didn’t have a second chance, third chance. He was well and truly gone. “Allison.”
“Oh, for cripes’ sake,” I said–yes, out loud–to my empty apartment. “You have got to be kidding me. What the hell, Dad?”
The bathroom mirror in front of me showed my panic. I was still a little too pale from the hospital stay, which made the opalescent mark of magic look even brighter where it wrapped from my fingertips up my right arm, shoulder and on the edge of my collarbone, jaw, and temple. My dark hair was messed from kissing Zayvion Jones a few minutes before in the kitchen, but even though one eye was obscured by hair, a shadow stained my eyes. That shadow, I knew, was my father.
He wasn’t in the room. He was in me.
This was going to put a crimp in my date tonight.
You must, my dead father said in my ear, less than a whisper, more than a thought.
Must nothing. Not this time. Not ever again.
“No. No way,” I said. “No to whatever you were about to tell me. Listen,” I said, cool as a 911 operator talking someone down from a ledge, “you’re dead. I’m sorry about that but I am not going to let you possess me. So follow the light, or go to the other side, or hang around your own house and haunt your accounting ledgers or something. You do not get to stay in my head.”
But I knew my dad. Nothing was not a guarantee he was gone.
How did one dispossess oneself, preferably before one’s hot date in a few hours? The only thing that came to mind was vampires and thresholds and not inviting them across. I doubted vampire stuff would work on my disembodied father. He might have been a soulless bastard, but he was not an actual vampire, since vampires, as far as I knew, did not actually exist.
And even though I was putting up a brave front, it was hard to ignore the fist-hard thump of my heart against my ribs, the salt of cold sweat on my lips.
“Daniel Beckstrom,” I said, putting all my focus and concentration on the words, giving them the weight of my will, “Leave my mind, leave my body, and leave me alone. I do not give you permission to be a part of me.”
Sweat ran a line down my temple. I watched my eyes. Watched as the shadow drew away from my pinprick pupils, dissolving outward like clouds retreating from the sun, until a thick ring of night edged my familiar pale emerald irises.
I blinked, and even the ring of darkness was gone.
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