Page 19 of Summoned
In the fifteenth century, when I was still free of the curse, I enjoyed visiting taverns. We called them “alehouses” at the time, and there was no place more fitting for a joker to unwind. Alcohol didn’t affect my immortal body, but as a witcher, I could enchant it to produce a more intoxicating effect.
Drinking, however, was far from my single amusement. I could spend hours playing cards—sometimes for pleasure, sometimes for profit, and often just to see how long I could cheat until anyone caught on. It was quite a while.
I was no stranger to female company either, especially when I grew tired of schemes and tricks.
But then the damned leader of our coven cursed me, trapping me inside the castle she crafted through magic for me. (Oh, the honor!) Now, to materialize in an establishment—or anywhere else—one of my harvests must be nearby. In fact, the only way I can leave the castle at all is when I have an active contract with a harvest, because of the invisible thread connecting us. It lets me track a harvest and use a portal to reach them, while also serving as a channel they can use to summon me. Most of them never do.
Thanks to the Little Baroness, I get to enjoy dinner at a restaurant tonight. After our first encounter, I expected to find her locked away in her room, face buried in her hands, trembling with sobs. Yet, here she is, out on a romantic date.
Unexpected, but not unwelcome.
I debate whether to show myself and watch her panic, butthen a better idea occurs. I cloak myself in an illusion that bends light around my body. The effect makes me practically undetectable. In my invisible form, I drift past the booths until I spot my harvest in a dimly lit corner. Her chin rests on her curled fist, lashes fluttering, while the rich boy across the table drools over her as if he’s already picturing her naked.
I sit myself between them, equally distant from both. Unaware of my presence, Nicole keeps recounting some ordeal from her last exam session. I’m already bored, but I’ll give the man credit because he acts interested. I’d believe him, too, if he didn’t keep glancing at the enormous television screen behind her.
I settle back in my seat and tune in again just as the Little Baroness shifts the conversation elsewhere. “So, you work at your dad’s firm? Honestly, I wouldn’t have guessed you’re a lawyer.”
He leans forward. “Oh yeah? What would you have guessed?”
“Porn star.”
Both I and Mr. Porn Star raise our eyebrows at the same time.
He laughs, shaking his head. “Wow. Okay. I was prepared for a lot of answers, but not that.”
She adds in an innocent tone, “Not that I’ve ever watched porn, of course. Just… rumors. They say the actors are hot.”
He lifts his glass, spinning it between his fingers without breaking eye contact with her. “I think you just lied to me, Nicole.”
She smirks, then peers over the rim of her glass. “Are you happy working with your dad?”
The sudden change in topic makes him hesitate. He shrugs. “Sure. I mean… I’m learning a lot. He’s got connections. One day, the plan is I’ll take over the entire practice.”
Her earlier playfulness fades from her face. “That’s what you want?”
“Yeah.”
A shadow passes across the Baroness’ expression. “Ever thought about building something yourself? Starting from scratch, making your own rules.”
“You sound like your dad,” he says.
Her lips part in surprise. “You’ve heard my dad speak?”
“You told me he’s the Construction Baron. I read this interview with him inForbesa while back.”
“Oh, right…”
The smile that follows says more than the words that preceded it. Smugness, yes; pride, too, but tinged with a layer of regret. I’d bet her father’s name is a title that weighs on her shoulders. Yet, one she wouldn’t dare take off.
Mr. Porn Star, however, has no interest in digging deeper. “Your dad’s one of the biggest developers in the country. You probably can’t wait for the day he starts building your designs.”
“Actually…” She glances down. “That’s not the dream.”
His gaze lingers on her lips for a beat. “Then what is?”
A ray of light touches her face, softening it. “An exhibition. I want to showcase my paintings. That’s the real dream.”
“You paint?”
