Page 152 of Summoned
The missing individuals are primarily young people aged twenty-one to thirty-five, many of whom are social media influencers or connected to Bulgaria’s elite. According to unconfirmed reports, among them are: Evelin Petrova, daughter of Kiril Petrov, better known as Kiro the Poker, a long-time figure in the criminal underworld with charges ranging from human trafficking and illegal gambling to money laundering; Georgi Velchev, son of Valentin Velchev, owner of a private security empire with interests in the arms industry; and Nicole Vrancheva, daughter of tycoon Dimitar Vranchev, aka ‘The Construction Baron,’ whose firm has been involved in major infrastructure projects over the past decade.
Relatives claim that the last known location of the missing persons was indeed the Hyatt, with their phones switching off shortly after the party started.
Hotel management has pledged full cooperation. Police are not ruling out any possibilities—from voluntary disappearance to orchestrated crime.
Rumors indicate the Italian artist and his Bulgarian partner left the country early the next morning after the incident. Interpol is now involved in locating them.”
Long after the report ends, Nicole is still curled up on our couch, staring at our TV—part of our completelynew, real-life furnishings for the castle. I promised her I’d give her everything, and for the past few days, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. I teleport us from the castle to the stores and back again, bringing home every piece of furniture she sets her eyes on.
I don’t know how yet, but the reality of the castle held. Maybe Madeline was too weak to dismantle it. Maybe it’s something else. Either way, we decided to stay. I used to believethat the moment the final harvest was complete, I would burn the place to the ground. And yet, here I am, a week later, still inside these walls, and I’ve never felt more at home.
I also suspect time flows differently here. Just as I’m untouched by illness and age, so too should Nicole remain protected from such complications beneath the dome of this castle. Not that I couldn’t find other ways to secure her future, now that my own formidable magic has been reinforced.
There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for Nicole. No exceptions.
And yet, a sharp pang slices through my chest whenever I remember the one thing I can’t give her. She was hopeful, right up until the end, that we could bring back those who died at the event. That I’d release every soul I’ve ever taken. That I’d undo the damage.
The three hundred harvested souls remain ever-orbiting around me, though they’re contained and sealed off from us with powerful magic. They’re an army I intend to keep close. In the world of magic, three hundred souls—and corpses—are priceless when negotiating with the Higher Powers.
Often, at night, as I fall asleep with the scent of Nicole’s hair beside me, their faces flash before me like a broken reel on repeat. I’ll carry the weight of guilt if it means keeping us safe. If an immortal war breaks out—the one Madeline warned me about—I need to make damn sure nothing can hurt us.
But I will never forget that true power doesn’t come from what you own. It comes from the heart. And as long as mine is sitting on that couch, just an arm’s reach away from feeling it beat against my chest, I’ll remain the most powerful witcher alive.
In the meantime, I plan to lay the world at the feet of my Little Baroness.
Epilogue
Nicole
Daria never ended up in the investigators’ crosshairs, and for that, I thank fate every day. When I think of her, I remember the silence of those evenings when we would sit side by side, with no words needed. I admire her strength, how she kept trusting in a way out, even when I had stopped believing in anything at all. She showed me that kindness and gentleness aren’t weaknesses, but weapons.
While she was teaching a yoga class, Gaetano and I left a chest full of money in her apartment, along with a one-eyed doll and a few candies. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the joke. I’m not ready to face her yet. But I know that some day in the future, I will.
The disappearance of the Little Baroness gave the twins the perfect excuse to shine. Misha and Marie made their rounds through every media outlet to talk about me—with tears, dramatic sighs, perfectly styled outfits, and the condescending, “She wasn’t herself lately.” They tell a different version each time.
The twins are proof that when someone really wants something, fate reshuffles the deck to make it happen. I don’t even blame them for getting famous at my expense.
After I disappeared, Boyana abandoned the social scene and late-night parties, choosing instead to volunteer at an animal shelter. I don’t understand what prompted this change, but every brave decision deserves recognition. When I saw a photo of her—her hair tied back, dirt on hergloves, a kitten curled on her shoulder, and a kind-looking man watching her as if she was made of stardust—I thought maybe she finally found herself.
After the investigation officially listed me among those who vanished at the “Draw Me in Blood” event, all eyes shifted to my father.
At first, he played the grieving parent role well, making emotional public appeals for justice. Media attention and police scrutiny eventually exposed his carefully guarded secrets. That spotlight revealed an extensive collection of documents and witness statements linking him to illegal activities, corruption schemes, and organized extortion. Now, he’s the focus of a wide-ranging inquiry, facing charges that could put him behind bars for decades.
As much as I want to see him punished, I catch myself hoping he won’t be. No matter how badly he hurt me, he had the strongest hand in shaping who I became.
I often think about my mother. She filed for divorce just days after the police reported me missing and has been staying at my aunt’s place while looking for a house by the sea. One evening, the two of them found a familiar ballerina figurine on the dinner table, next to a note in my handwriting:Dreams come true. One day, you’ll meet mine.
For me, Gaetano isn’t the noble prince I dreamed of as a child. He’s something far better. A dark witcher with a god complex, a love for mischief, and eyes that reflect only one thing—me. Little by little, he’s taught me more about his world, and the sheer magnitude of what’s hidden from most humans.
His refusal to release the souls weighs on my chest from time to time, but that’s his choice. He insists on keeping them as an army, a defense in case an immortal war ever begins. I’ve learned to live with them, though we often keepthem veiled. Their very presence reminds me of my past life—of the people whose souls we claimed.
Sometimes I think that if they hadn’t been so easily influenced by peer pressure, trends, and vanity, they never would’ve fallen for our little trick with the summoning of the Black Joker.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t see their faces in my dreams or hear their shrieks as invisible voices spill their secrets. But I don’t regret anything. In Gaetano’s arms, nightmares lose their power. And one day, they’ll be gone.
“Lost in thought, my Baroness?” Gaetano pulls me from my reverie.
I lift my gaze from the canvas I’m working on and face Gaetano. My heart flutters as if I’m seeing him for the first time. “I’m just thinking that people shouldn’t believe everything they see or hear,” I say.
