Ancient Forces Collection (23 page)

“They already did.” Demi spat out the words.

Becka felt like crawling under the table.

“Obviously, you don’t get it, do you?” Demi said, still looking over the top of her glasses. “Sarina Fox is an international phenomenon. She’s the hottest thing going on television. She’s worth millions. And last night she was upstaged by . . . by a kid. No offense, mind you.”

Becka’s head hurt. Her neck ached. The room started to spin. She wanted to cry. It wasn’t as if she had planned to wreck anybody’s career. She didn’t write the article that sparked the whole controversy.
This is so unfair
, she thought.
What am I supposed
to do now?

“Just tell me this, young lady. What did you think you were doing last night?” Demi said.

“I . . . I was saving a friend’s life.”

“By the looks of it, you were trying to make a name for yourself at the expense of Sarina.”

Becka shook her head. “No way. Besides, what was I supposed to do?”

“That’s obvious,” Demi said with a sneer. “You should have left well enough alone — ”

“And let Laura die?” Becka could no longer hold back her feelings. She started to choke up. “You’re being unfair. Both of you. And, frankly, I happen to think Laura’s life is way more important than your career, Sarina —
no offense, mind you
.
”
Becka stood to leave.

Sarina removed her sunglasses. She took a drag and then snuffed out the cigarette butt in the ashtray. “Hold on, hold on. I can see this isn’t going anywhere. Have a seat . . .
please.”

Becka hesitated. What was the point? Why hang around and get blasted? Becka looked at Sarina’s dark, hollow eyes and saw something. But what? Sadness? Regret? Anxiety? Fear? Somewhere inside, Becka felt the gentle nudging of the Holy Spirit.
Be patient. This isn’t about your feelings, Becka. It’s about Sarina’s
life.
She sat down.

Sarina said, “Thank you.” She reached inside her purse for a fresh cigarette. “There are a couple of things I need to know . . . about last night.”

Demi shot Sarina a look of warning.

Sarina waved her off. “I trust her, Demi.”

Demi pulled off her glasses and tapped her teeth with the end of one earpiece. “You’re making me nervous, Sarina.”

“Not to worry. I can see it in her eyes. She’s trustworthy.”

Becka was unsure whether or not to believe her. Maybe this was part of a trap to get her to say something they could use against her. She took a deep breath. This was going to be harder than she expected. And although Becka had lost her appetite the moment she arrived, she wanted something to do with her hands. “May I?” she said, pointing to the muffins.

“Heavens, yes,” Sarina said. She lit her cigarette. “Before I go on, I need you to promise me one thing.”

Becka took a muffin, placed it on her plate, and looked at Sarina.

“Promise me that nothing we discuss leaves this room,” Sarina said, tapping a finger on the table.

Becka nodded. “Sure thing.”

“I’m serious. Not a soul.”

“I understand.”

Sarina held the cigarette in front of her mouth as she spoke. “For starters, I am
not
a witch. I don’t really believe all of this Wicca stuff.”

Becka’s ears burned at that piece of information. “Excuse me?”

Sarina tilted her head. “That’s right. It’s just a part I play. I’m an actress, right?”

Becka couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “No offense, but how can you live with yourself?”

“Welcome to Hollywood,” Sarina said, brushing away a strand of black hair from her face. “That’s the way it is in show business.” She took a hard, long drag and then blew the smoke through her nose like a fire-breathing dragon.

“But . . . what about the book? What about the spell at dinner? What about — ”

“Just smoke and mirrors.” Sarina waved her cigarette in the air. “It’s all part of the act.”

13

W
hat’s wrong?” Sarina said, peering at Becka through a cloud of smoke.

Becka, still trying to process Sarina’s revelation, reached for her glass of orange juice. She paused, holding the glass in midair. “Sorry . . . I guess I’m kind of in shock.”

“What’s the big deal? I’m an actress. I happen to play the part of a Wiccan,” Sarina said, tapping the ash from her cigarette into the ashtray. “I could play Bozo the Clown. What difference does it make whether or not I’m really a clown?”

Becka considered this. “For starters, you don’t have the nose for it,” she said with a nervous laugh.

Sarina cracked a half smile.

“Besides, Bozo isn’t messing around with the spirit world,” Becka said as she sat back against her chair. “People who watch
The Hex
don’t know whether or not you actually believe in it. With time they could easily start to think it’s all true.”

“Go on.”

“Well, take Laura,” Becka continued. “She said it herself . . . she got into Wicca because of what she saw on the show.”

Sarina bristled. “Don’t try and pin her decision on me.”

Becka flushed. “You’re right. She made a choice, so that’s on her. All I’m saying is that it’s not a game. You can’t just play around with this stuff. At least that’s what God says in the Bible.”

Sarina puffed away for a long minute.

Demi’s phone rang again. She got up and walked to the corner of the room to answer it.

“I need you to explain something,” Sarina said after another minute.

“Sure. At least, I’ll try.” Becka sipped her juice.

“What I don’t get is,” Sarina said, “last night I invoked a spell, a spell which, mind you, I didn’t really mean.”

Becka nodded.

“But after that woman — what’s her name?”

“Stacey . . . Stacey Young.”

“Right. After Stacey got possessed, no matter what I said I wasn’t able to undo it,” Sarina said. “Seems it should work both ways, right?”

“Not really,” Becka said, shifting in her seat. “At least, according to the Bible, only Christians have authority to cast out demons. And only in the name of Jesus.”

Sarina didn’t appear completely convinced.

“Okay,” Becka said. “I’m not an expert, but demons in the spirit world are always looking for an invitation to break through to our world. When you and Laura cast the spell, you guys just happened to open the door.”

Sarina tilted her head. “Let’s say for the sake of argument I buy that. Then why couldn’t we just send them back?”

Becka remembered an example her dad used back in Brazil. “It’s sort of like toothpaste. You or I can squeeze the tube and the paste comes out. But only the manufacturer can put it back in.”

Demi returned to the table. “That was the producer from
Oprah
. What did I miss?”

“We’re talking about toothpaste,” Sarina said with a touch of sarcasm.

Becka blushed. “Okay, so it’s not the best example.”

Sarina waved her on. “I’m just messing with you. Go on.”

Becka swallowed. “Well, it’s like the demons are the toothpaste. Once we release them, only God’s Spirit has the power to put them where they belong.”

Demi cut in. “I hate to do this, but Sarina’s got to catch a plane in a hour.”

“I do?” Sarina said, genuinely surprised.

“I agreed to do
Oprah,
Sarina.”

Sarina started to protest. “Wait a second — ”

“No. Listen to me, darling,” Demi said, putting a hand on Sarina’s arm. “I’ve thought of a way to spin this story. Trust me. We’ll end up smelling like roses — and selling a ton of your books. Get serious. We’re talking
Oprah
here. And if we don’t come out and address the situation, I promise this story won’t go away anytime soon.”

Sarina took a long drag and then snuffed out the cigarette. “She’s the boss.” She put on her sunglasses, grabbed her purse, and started to rise.

Becka’s heart pounded. She was forgetting something. But what? Yes. That’s it. Scott had said Z wanted Becka to ask a question. But what was the question? She strained to remember.

Demi signed the bill for breakfast with a scribble. She tossed her Palm into her purse, slung the bag over a shoulder, and then stood.

Becka didn’t move. “Um, Sarina?”

Sarina paused and checked her watch. “What’s up?”

“I know this is gonna sound crazy, but do you know a guy by the name of Z?”

Sarina went pale. She lowered herself back into her chair. “I . . . I haven’t heard that name in years. You know Z?”

Becka nodded. “Sort of. Anyway, for some reason he wanted me to ask you about the mission field. Does that make any sense?”

Sarina removed her sunglasses. Her eyes narrowed. She focused intently on Becka’s face. Slowly, she nodded. “In a way it does. My dad was a missionary most of my life. I guess you might say I was raised in a Christian home.”

Becka hoped she didn’t look too stunned. “Really?”

A faraway look clouded Sarina’s eyes. “About nine, maybe ten years ago, my dad and Z had to rock climb their way to reach a tribe in the jungle with medical supplies.” She swallowed. “On the way back, my dad fell about thirty feet. His harnessing, or whatever, broke loose. Z carried him on his back several miles.”

Becka noticed even Demi seemed mesmerized by the story.

“I never knew this, Sarina,” Demi said.

“Yeah, well, Dad died several days later from internal bleeding,” Sarina said, looking away.

Demi circled behind Sarina and placed her hands on Sarina’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry. Really I am.”

When Sarina looked up, tears watered the edges of her eyes. “I was so hurt and mad. That’s when . . . ,” she said, wiping at the tears with the napkin. “That’s when I stopped believing in God. I just didn’t understand how God, if he was really loving, would take my dad. But what would you know about something like that, Becka?”

They stared at each other for several seconds.

Becka fought back tears of her own. “Actually, Sarina, I know plenty.”

“How’s that?”

“My dad died on the mission field too.” Even as she spoke the words, Becka couldn’t help the flow of tears that started to stain her cheeks. “He died last year. And believe me, I’ve had those same thoughts about God.”

Sarina’s gaze softened. “I’m . . . sorry, Becka. I had no idea we had that in common.”

“Yeah, but . . . there’s one big difference between us.”

Sarina waited.

“I’m still placing my faith in Jesus.”

Sarina’s eyebrows narrowed. “I don’t get it. Why?”

“Where else can I go if not to God?” Becka said, dabbing at her tears. “And the way I see it, Sarina, God is reaching out to you. Maybe that’s why he brought us together.”

Sarina shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I could be way off here,” Becka said. “Maybe he’s giving you another chance to come home, you know?”

Neither spoke for a minute.

For her part, Becka was dying to ask Sarina a million questions about Z. What was his real name? What did he look like? How did they meet? Where did they meet? Who did he work for? How old was he? And most importantly, did she still know how to get in touch with him?

Demi broke the silence. She spoke softly. “Sarina, we really need to get a move on.”

Becka bit her bottom lip. There was so much more she wanted to say. So much she wished she could talk about, especially about Z. After all, she and Sarina had so much in common. Time was slipping away. It was extremely difficult, but Becka forced herself to put aside her agenda and focus on what God would have her say in the seconds that remained.

“I know you’ve got to go, Sarina,” Becka said. “But you’ve got a choice to make. You can go back to what your dad believed . . . or keep messing around with the counterfeit.”

Sarina swallowed. “I’m not prepared to make that choice,” she said, lowering her voice a notch. “At least not yet.” With that, Sarina stood to leave. As she came around the table, Becka reached out and touched her briefly on the arm.

“I’ll be praying for you,” Becka said.

14

B
ecka was thankful to be back at home later that morning. Sure, it wasn’t as fancy as the Ritz. Nobody was playing the piano, and she wasn’t surrounded by flowers and chandeliers. But Becka was convinced that nothing compared to lounging around in track pants, her feet up, at the kitchen table eating an early lunch with her mom. At the same time, a sadness settled on her heart.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Mrs. Williams said, standing at the stove and looking over her shoulder.

“I’m not real sure,” Becka said.

“Does this have to do with Sarina?” her mom said, walking to the table. She set a dish of spaghetti in front of Becka.

“I guess,” Becka said, poking at the noodles with her fork. “I just wish Sarina had decided to change her heart.”

Mrs. Williams sat down with her plate. She reached for the family Bible. “You know what, Becka?”

“What’s that?”

“Let me read you something,” she said, turning the pages. “Here we go. Listen to this. The apostle Paul gives Timothy, who was — ”

“A young believer.”

“Right,” Mrs. Williams said. She put her finger on the page. “Paul warns Timothy, ‘The Spirit clearly says that in later times some people will abandon the faith and follow deceiving spirits and things taught by demons.’ ”

“Really? That sounds familiar. Where’s that?”

“First Timothy four, verse one,” she said, closing the Bible.

“Wow, it’s like he’s talking about Sarina, huh?”

“Who’s talking about Sarina?” Scott said as he bounded into the kitchen. He swung open the refrigerator door and foraged around for something to eat.

“The apostle Paul,” Becka said, cutting her spaghetti.

“Wow, he knew Sarina?”

“Never mind,” she said, shaking her head. “Anyway, Mom, I guess I’m also thinking about Laura.”

“In what way?”

“Last night, for the first time, my heart went out to her,” Becka said, putting her fork down on the plate. “It was as if God used that whole thing to cut through my . . . well, my anger toward her for what she did to me in the park.”

Mrs. Williams smiled. “I’m so glad to hear that. How is she?”

“She’s got a long road ahead of her, but she’ll make it. I don’t know what’s going to happen between her parents though.” Becka took a bite. A moment later she added, “I was thinking that maybe I could bring her some flowers in the hospital this afternoon.”