Summoning the Night Read online

  MAGICAL TRICKS. DEMONIC TREATS.

  After narrowly escaping her fate as a sacrificial scapegoat, Arcadia Bell is back to normal. Or at least as ordinary as life can be for a renegade magician and owner of a tiki bar that caters to Earthbound demons. She’s gearing up for the busiest day of the year—Halloween—when a vengeful kidnapper paralyzes the community. The influential head of the local Hellfire Club taps Cady to track down the fiendish bogeyman, and now that she’s dating red-hot Lon Butler, the Club’s wayward son, she can hardly say no.

  Cady and Lon untangle a gruesome thirty-year trail of clues that points to danger for the club members’ children. But locating the person behind the terror will require some metaphysical help from Cady’s loyal bar patrons as well as her potent new Moonchild powers—and she’d better figure it out before the final victim disappears and her own darkest secret becomes her biggest enemy.

  “A SERIES THAT PROMISES TO BE EXCEEDINGLY ENTERTAINING!”

  —RT BOOK REVIEWS

  “JENN BENNETT HAS DEFINITELY MADE MY ‘TO BUY’ LIST!”

  —ANYA BAST, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT

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  BILL SKEEL

  JENN BENNETT is an award-winning visual artist. She is also the author of Kindling the Moon, the first in her critically acclaimed new urban fantasy series featuring irresistible heroine Arcadia Bell. She lives near Atlanta with her husband and two pugs.

  “The talent pool for the urban fantasy genre just expanded with Bennett’s arrival.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  The first book in Jenn Bennett’s brilliant and sexy urban fantasy series . . . will cast a spell on you!

  “A great off-beat debut novel with a likeable heroine and a fun, original story line.”

  —Karen Chance, New York Times bestselling author

  “Rocks like AC/DC on Saturday night!”

  —Ann Aguirre, national bestselling author

  Available from Pocket Books

  Praise for Jenn Bennett and Kindling the Moon

  “The talent pool for the urban fantasy genre just expanded with Bennett’s arrival. This is an impressive debut, which opens the door for a series that promises to be exceedingly entertaining. . . . Plenty of emotional punch, not to mention some kick-butt action. . . . Bennett appears to have a bright future ahead!”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Without a doubt the most impressive urban fantasy debut I’ve read this year. . . . The writing is excellent, the characters are charming, and the romance is truly believable. . . . Flawlessly original!”

  —Romancing the Darkside

  “For the love of things that go bump in the night, this book was FABULOUS! It was the perfect blend of action, intrigue, tension, and the supernatural.”

  —Reading the Paranormal

  “I was hooked from the first page. . . . The story was fun and original. . . . The twists and turns came at every intersection. . . . I can’t think of one thing I didn’t like about the book. I didn’t want to put it down.”

  —Urban Fantasy Investigations

  “I was smitten with this book right from the beginning. . . . A fantastic debut to a new series I am very excited over, and a must-read for all lovers of urban fantasy.”

  —Wicked Little Pixie

  “Bennett creates a world that is interesting and all its own. . . . Her characters are crafted with precision, and the writing is so good that readers won’t be able to stop themselves from becoming invested in the story. . . . One of the best series openers I’ve read.”

  —The Spinecracker

  “Jenn Bennett has written a great off-beat debut novel with a likeable heroine and a fun, original storyline. . . . I thoroughly enjoyed it and am eagerly awaiting a sequel—hopefully to come out soon!”

  —Karen Chance, New York Times bestselling author of Death’s Mistress

  “Kindling the Moon rocks like AC/DC on a Saturday night. This book has it all: great writing, action, romance, a strong heroine, a unique hero, and the best teenager ever. I can’t wait for the next one.”

  —Ann Aguirre, national bestselling author of Shady Lady

  “Kindling the Moon engaged me from page one. I loved it! I immediately adored the heroine, Arcadia Bell. This book is packed from cover to cover with unpredictable twists, heart-pounding action, and heated sexual tension. . . . Jenn Bennett has definitely made my ‘To Buy’ list, and I’m looking forward to the next book in this series.”

  —Anya Bast, New York Times bestselling author of Cruel Enchantment

  “Debut author Jenn Bennett takes the familiar ideas of magic, demons, and mythology, and she gives us something sexy, fun, and genuinely unique in Kindling the Moon. Arcadia Bell is a sassy, whip-smart addition to the growing pantheon of urban fantasy heroines, and Bennett is an author to watch!”

  —Kelly Meding, author of Three Days to Dead

  “Fantastic magic, non-stop action, and hot romance make Kindling the Moon a not-to-be-missed debut. Arcadia Bell is a tenacious and savvy heroine who had me hooked from the start.”

  —Linda Robertson, author of Arcane Circle

  “Delicious characters, fun twists, and fiendish risks. . . . This smart, stylish debut really delivers. Loved, loved, loved it!”

  —Carolyn Crane, author of Double Cross

  Don’t miss the first Arcadia Bell novel . . .

  Kindling the Moon

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  Pocket Books

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  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Jenn Bennett

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Pocket Books paperback edition May 2012

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

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  Designed by Esther Paradelo

  ISBN 978-1-4516-2053-5

  ISBN 978-1-4516-2055-9 (ebook)

  To my Aunt Erin and Aunt Kitty, who famously blackened out anything objectionable, wicked, or filthy in their fiction. Their Sharpies would’ve run dry before they finished my books.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20 />
  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Acknowledgments

  Jupe pinched himself on the arm and grinned from the passenger seat of my Volkswagen. “Yep, I definitely feel different.”

  I swiped my monthly pass through the card reader at the parking garage entrance down the street from my bar. It buzzed in acceptance, and the gate’s striped barrier arm rose. “Well, you sure do look it,” I agreed, stowing the pass in a pocket on the sun visor.

  “Different how?” Jupe tugged at one of the long espresso curls jutting out around his face. Like other Earthbound demons, his head and shoulders were crowned by a swirling halo of hazy light. His was an alluring spring green that matched his unusually pale eyes and gave off a lightning-bug luminescence in the shadowed interior of my car.

  “You look older . . . more sophisticated,” I teased.

  “Really?”

  I rolled my eyes and pulled through the raised gate into the dark garage. “No.”

  He punched me in the arm.

  “Dammit, that hurt,” I complained in the middle of a laugh, rubbing my shoulder. “See if I ever give you anything again, you ungrateful punk.”

  Jupe snickered as he stretched out long, wiry legs and examined the savings deposit receipt perched on his knee, thoughtfully tracing his finger along the indented ink. The deposit was for $15,000, originally in the form of a check, made payable to me from Caliph Superior, the leader of my esoteric organization back in Florida. The money was payment for the black-market glass talon Jupe’s father, Lon, had bought to help me out a few weeks ago. My magical order was rolling in dough, so I didn’t feel guilty that they had offered to reimburse Lon. But when he refused their check, I couldn’t keep the money for myself, so the only logical solution was give it to his son . . . while Lon was away in Mexico on a three-day photo shoot. Sneaky? Sure. But if you’re going to lie to Lon, you have to do it while he’s away on business. Otherwise he’ll just sense it before you can make it out the door. Jupe taught me that trick. He should write a book, How to Outsmart an Empath. The boy has skills.

  But who knew giving money to an underage kid would be so hard? Jupe and I spent almost an hour arguing with tellers inside my credit union: no, I did not want to put it in some giftable trust fund that Jupe couldn’t touch until he was twenty-one. He already had a fat college fund and enough bonds and CDs to start a third-world country.

  Problem was, the credit union didn’t allow minors on a joint savings account without a parent or legal guardian cosigning, and I was neither. Girlfriend of the Boy’s Father didn’t qualify, apparently. The branch manager couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t wait until Lon was back in town to get his signature. I wasn’t about to tell the manager that Lon would refuse—which he would. After a blue-faced argument, the manager finally, inexplicably, gave in.

  “By the way, I know you still don’t believe me,” Jupe said as he snooped inside the glove compartment, “but I really did do it. Me. I got the manager to make an exception and let us open the account.”

  God, he really wasn’t going to give that a rest. I swatted his hand away from the glove compartment and steered the car down the ramp to the next parking level; the Metropark garage sticks the monthlies in the dregs on the bottom floor. “You’re a charmer, don’t get me wrong.” And he was. Witty, geek-smart, almost annoyingly outgoing, and well on his way to becoming drop-dead gorgeous. Just yesterday he bragged that he’d overheard some girl in his class referring to him as “totally hot.” Did I mention he was cocky?

  “I’m serious, Cady. I concentrated with my mind and twisted his thoughts around. I think it’s my”—he leaned over the armrest and spoke in a lower voice, as if someone could hear us outside the car—“knack.”

  Knack. Slang for a preternatural ability possessed by an Earthbound demon. Most Earthbounds have one, but many knacks fall short of spectacular. A little foresight here, a little nighttime vision there. A whole hell of a lot of psychokinetics, most of them no more than bland party entertainment, unable to lift anything heavier than a freaking spoon a couple inches off the table. Don’t get me wrong: the occasional impressive ability does exist. I’ve met Earthbounds who could pick a lock with a touch, and others who could curse your unborn child. Those weren’t exactly commonplace, though.

  “You’re crazy,” I said, waiting for another car to back out. A large, sparkling jack-o’-lantern clung to the top of its antenna—less than two weeks to Halloween. “For starters, you’ve got a couple more years before your demonic ability will start expressing. And second, you’ll inherit it from your mom or dad. It’s genetic, you know—you don’t just get a new ability out of thin air.”

  “I know all that,” Jupe complained. “Who’s the demon here, me or you?”

  “You are. I’m mere human.” Well, human magician with a few extra skills, but still human.

  “Yeah, and I got the stupid ‘knack’ speech with the ‘birds and the bees’ from my dad when I was eight.”

  “Poor, poor Lon,” I murmured. The car windows were fogging up; it was going to rain. I turned the defroster on and cranked up the compressor fan.

  “All I’m saying is that I know about what’s supposed to happen. But I’m telling you, Cady, I can make people do things. I can get inside their minds and change their thoughts.”

  “Pfft. I’ve never even heard of a knack like that.” Well, Lon could influence thoughts when he was amped up into his transmutated demon state, but that’s nothing Jupe knew about, or would ever know. Not from me, anyway. Besides, Lon’s influence was temporary, and he had to be touching the person. Plus, it was more common for the inherited knack to be weaker than the parents’, not stronger.

  “I think my knack is like”—he paused, as if he knew what he was about to say was going to sound ridiculous, but he just couldn’t stop himself—“a Jedi mind trick.”

  I snorted.

  “I’m serious!”

  “Dream on.” I shot him a sidelong glance as he snuck a couple fingers just beneath the waistband of his jeans and scratched—vigorously, with a teeth-gritting, pained look on his face. That was the third time today I’d caught him scratching. “What the hell is wrong with you? You have ants in your pants?”

  He scratched harder and groaned. “I’ve got an injury.”

  Dear God, have mercy. I held up my hand to stop him from saying more, waving away any mental images before they had a chance to pop into my head. “I don’t even want to know.”

  Affronted, he made a face at me. “Not there. It’s . . . nothing. Never mind.”

  No need to tell me twice. He could discuss it with the school nurse or his dad. Not my job description. I promptly changed the subject. “So, what was all that jibber-jabber earlier about you wanting an Eldorado?”

  He’d talked the branch manager’s ear off, telling him what he was going to do with the savings account. Jupe swore to the guy—who couldn’t have a given a rat’s ass—that he wouldn’t touch his new money until he turned fifteen and could apply for a driver’s learning permit, and buy a car. That’s right: a year from now this ADHD mess of a boy would be plowing down the same roads I drove on. Heaven help us all.

  “Umm, Super Fly, duh. The Cadillac Eldorado is only one of the greatest cars in movie history—the original pimpmobile.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Driven by Youngblood Priest, played by Ron motherfucking O’Neal.”

  I didn’t even bother to curtail his obscenity-rich language anymore. Getting honey out of a hornet would be easier. When I was his age, my parents would’ve slapped me for talking like that. Then again, my parents turned out to be evil, power-hungry serial killers, so what did they know? I mean, these were the people accused of murdering the leaders of rival occult organizations wh
en I was seventeen. They swore they were innocent, and because I believed them, they were able to persuade me to assume a fake identity, separate from them, and hide from the FBI for seven years. When they resurfaced a couple of months ago, Lon tried to help me prove their innocence, but we discovered that they actually had murdered several people and were planning to kill one more: me. They’d conceived me during some crazy sex ritual that granted me the title of Moonchild and enhanced magical abilities that lay dormant inside me until I turned twenty-five—and they wanted to steal those abilities through ritual sacrifice. But I escaped and they were spirited away by a demon into the Æthyr, where, I hope, karma bit them both in the ass.

  So, yeah, compared to them, Lon was parent of the year. That’s why I just stuck to the Butler house rule: no swearing around strangers. Unless Jupe was making an ass of himself in public, he could knock himself out.

  “Yuck,” I complained. “Didn’t Boss Hog drive an Eldorado in the Dukes of Hazzard?”

  His wince told me that I was right.

  “Anyway, I seriously doubt your dad’s going to go for a pimpmobile.”

  He clicked the release on his seat belt several times. “Then how about a 1977 Firebird Trans-Am?”

  The boy was obsessed. He knew the make and model of every car produced in the last fifty years—at least the ones featured in movies or on TV.

  “Oh, hell no,” I said. “Not a Trans-Am.”

  “That’s the Bandit’s car. What’s wrong with that?”

  I puffed my cheeks out and made a puking noise.

  “Hey, you’re talking about Burt—”

  “Yes, I know. Burt motherfucking Reynolds. Put your seat belt on, Snowman—we’ve still got two more levels to go.”

  He refastened the buckle. “Holy shit! I’ve never been this far down underground. There’d better be an elevator. This looks like the kind of place where you get stabbed and left for dead.”

  Ugh. Tell me about it. Parking here was the worst part of owning my bar, but it was better than leaving my car on the street. I once had my window broken and my car stereo stolen while parked in front of the bar. At least the garage had cameras and a guard on-premises 24/7.