Page 130 of Summoned
“Bo…” I soften my tone.“I’m sorry I haven’t been a great friend. Honestly, I think you should be more selective with the people around you. Step back from the fake stuff. And from emotionally unavailable men.”
She blinks.
“Oh, and stop using words you don’t understand. It doesn’t make youlook smart, but ridiculous.”
Her mouth opens, and her eyes glaze over.
“Well, well, if it isn’t the Little Baroness herself, Nicole Vrancheva! We thought you’d vanished!”
I turn around. Misha and Marie are coming toward me in perfect sync, drinks in hand.
“We were just talking about your absence,” Marie purrs with a sugary voice. “Everything all right in…construction paradise?”
They exchange glances after the last line, satisfied with their small metaphor. Boyana looks at them with a blank stare.
I offer a slow smile. “You know, I’ve always thought you two were a pair of airheads.”
Their faces fall faster than the crowns I toppled off their birthday cake. I raise an innocent eyebrow—the way Gaetano would before he lets words detonate in a room. “You were right not to like me. But for what it’s worth, every one of your boyfriends liked me just fine.” They glance at each other again. “And yes, I did ruin your birthday cake.”
With that, I leave them and weave through the crowd. I step into the warm August night and walk aimlessly until I find a quiet bench.
The air tastes different. Not because the world has changed, but becauseIhave. Whatever mask I used to wear, it’s off, and I’m no longer putting it back on. No force in this world will erase who I am. Not anymore. My character was forged in years of silence, pressure, and the lack of support—both at home and in the world around me. At least moving forward, for however long I live, I’ll stay true to myself.
44
Gaetano
Earlier That Evening
It’s almost too good to be true. The thought flickers faintly as Nicole’s taxi pulls away to the event where she’s supposed to gather our guests. But just because it’s too good doesn’t mean it can’t becomethe only unwavering truthI have.
The misty, invisible tether between us stretches taut the moment she moves out of range.
Only a little longer to go. I’m a powerful witcher. If anyone’s capable of casting a spell of this magnitude—taking eleven souls at once—it’s me. I’ve done it before.
Back then, there was no emotional stake, whispers the voice of fear in my mind. ‘Rage feeds black magic, love weakens it. It clouds your mind, dulls your senses, steals from your power.’ That’s what Madeline always said. I hope she was wrong.
The moment I step into the castle, the cold rushes over me, crawling through my skin like icy waves. It’s become a common presence lately. If not for Nicole, I might have seen it as a warning. Now I realize it’s just my blood racing faster, filled with anticipation and the tension of what’s coming.
It’s complicated, yes, but it’s not impossible. I force my heart to stay still, even as it threatens to swell with visions of a future with Nicole. There’s so much I could show her. I could give her the world, drown her in love—and gold—or whatever the hell her heart desires. But not yet. Not until it’s done. My mind needs to be sharp. Besides…
Every part of me turns to ice. A mirror stands in the center of the main hall. Tall, upright, resting on two clawed feet. Solid black wood, twisting into countless serpentine patterns, forms its frame. I edge toward it on unsteady legs. From its surface, a ghost gazes back—my own face, pale and drawn.
For years, I’ve fortified myself with wards and defenses, and now, at the very end, I’ve become careless. I thoughtshehad forgotten me. I used my magic to buy more time with Nicole… instead of protecting myself. Protectingus.
Power stirs feebly in my fingertips. I’m spent. And honestly, would my magic make a difference, pitted against the mirror’s owner, now that she’s arrived?
“Madeline…”
An invisible wave moves through the room. The mirror’s surface ripples. A thin crack runs across the center of my forehead in the reflection. Gradually, it widens, as if someone on the other side is tearing it open from within.
The crack expands into a black abyss, with Madeline seated at its center. My lungs turn to ice as I take in her image, perched on a cracked stone throne, its back as tall as a gravestone. Her hair flows like cobwebs down her bare torso and vanishes into the folds of her orange skirts. Dark runes cover her skin. They’re more than I recall, denser too, resembling lesions rather than simple markings.
In her right hand, she clutches a staff made of living roots. Her left arm dangles from the throne’s armrest, holding the severed head of a wolf. Its fur looks scorched, its eye sockets empty. Bile rises in my throat.
I force myself to look at her face. The features are the same—high cheekbones, a sculpted nose, and that sharp curve of her lips that once could break a man’s will. But now, lines stretch from her temples down to the cornersof her mouth. Gray shadows hollow out the area beneath her eyes. If it were just old age, Madeline could reverse it in an instant. This isn’t age. It’s decay. Magic has started to consume her. A fate we witchers whisper about, never believing it could happen to us one day. Madeline knew how to protect herself, yet magic managed to gnaw at her, anyway.
“Aren’t you happy to see me, Gaetano?” Her voice slices through the air, echoing from every direction in my castle.
