Page 103 of Summoned
33
Nicole
Day 15
The portal opens on my home street. Dusk still clings to the corners of the buildings. Our house sits a short distance from the sidewalk. Far enough for me to run away. Close enough to go back. The silence isn’t just because of the early hour. For the first time in two weeks, the world settles down. No more demons lurking in the shadows, no ghosts haunting me.
My body shakes with silent sobs as every cell inside me gives up. With leaden legs, I drag myself to my house. I punch in the code at the front gate. The moment I step into the garden, the alarm blares. I don’t have a phone—not even a bag, for that matter—to turn it off.
Like a criminal caught at the scene, I freeze on the path. My father emerges from the house, dressed in his usual designer suit. Not a hair out of place. Seeing him, I can picture exactly how his day went:he woke up at five, had his coffee, and got ready for work.
His missing daughter was never a reason to disrupt his routine. He probably didn’t even notify the police that I was missing, since it would’ve exposed what happened at the Deliberovs’ dinner, and he’d rather chop off his leg than deal with public embarrassment.
He pauses in the doorway, one hand on the frame. Without a word, he silences the alarm with a swipe of his phone. His cold gaze fixes on me. “Get inside!”
I obey. A shackle coils around my heart, tightening until it hurts beyond words. It craves more misery. More ofeverything I feel right now. So when the door seals us off from the world, and the first slap burns across my face, I rejoice. My body flinches, tears flood my eyes, but those are just physical responses. My soul screams, begging for more. Anything to stop the pain of knowing the truth about Gaetano.
“Don’t…” A whisper creeps from behind my dad. My mother stands on the stairs. Unlike him, she’s got her hair in a messy bun, and wrinkles all over her nightgown. “It’s enough that she came back alive and safe…”
“Enough that she came back?” my father shouts. “What about the mess she made? Who will clear my name before the Deliberovs? Shecame back…So, what now? Should I throw a banquet in her honor? Pretend nothing ever happened?” He slaps me across the face. “You think those party magic tricks will save you now? That guy’s a worthless con artist! Who is he?”
I clench my jaw, preparing for the second blow to come when Dad realizes I’m not answering that. Instead, he hisses, “You know what? I don’t give a fuck, because you’re not seeing him ever again! Upstairs!” He digs his nails into my bare shoulder and drags me up.
My mother vanishes into the darkness of the hallway before we reach the last step. Father yanks the door to my room open and shoves me inside, as if I’m something filthy. “You’ll stay here until you learn how to act like you’re part of this family!” He slams the door shut. The lock clicks from the outside.
I collapse onto the bed, sobs wrecking me, my nose running. My skin burns from the slaps, but the physical pain isn’t enough. The real pain is inside.
I press my fists against my chest, trying to hold myself together. My whole body trembles, as if it’s about to comeapart at the seams. I curl up…and something presses against my upper thigh.
My breath catches. Fumbling, I lift the fabric of my dress and trace a thin strap. A tiny dagger, barely half the size of my hand, lies flat against my skin. I take it out and examine it.
The blade is black, with a surface so smooth that it reflects the faint light in the room like a mirror. My fingers brush against it until they settle on a fine inscription:
If you need me, speak my name to the blade. Portal.
I never felt him slide it there!
My skin cools, the chill sinking all the way to my bones. I grip the dagger harder, its edge pressing into my palm. Tears blur my vision. I rip the strap off and hurl it along with the dagger across the room. It spins through the air, strikes the far wall with a metallic crack, and vanishes into the shadows behind my desk.
Good. It’s out of sight. And I hope it’s lost forever.
I bury my face in the pillow and scream.
34
Gaetano
Inever once doubted I would complete Madeline’s curse. From the very beginning, the ending was only a matter of time…and souls.She shaped it in a way that guaranteed my victory—if I allowed the darker parts of myself to win. Parts that existed long before I met her.
Madeline always acted with a purpose. Not because she wanted to see me succeed. She loved watching me fall under the weight of my own power, wrestle with my inner shadows, crumble and then rise again in the same damned body. My struggle has perpetually been with myself. Witcher’s blood versus human nature. Black magic versus white magic. Good versus evil.
She haunts my thoughts as I wander through the castle—her monstrous creation. How did a witch like Madeline forge such a majestic entity?Iam the one who creates; she’s the destroyer. But here, everything is built to perfection. Stone and witchcraft intertwine in every intricate detail, forming a trap the Devil himself might envy.
And yet, Madeline miscalculated. By turning me into the Black Joker, she ensured I became a person who never loses. Not even against my creator. That thought takes me five centuries back, to the first time I found myself inside the Black Joker’s castle.
It took days before I accepted that the castle’s boundaries were impenetrable. And longer until I started calling itmycastle.
When the haze of Madeline’s spell wore off after the last ball, I was curled beneath a massive stone wall. My eyessearched its surface for any sign of history—scratches, cracks, cobwebs, the bite of moisture. It looked sterile, frozen in perfect stillness. As if time didn’t exist here. The worst part? It wasn’t an illusion.
