Page 21 of Summoned
What am I?
The riddle is simple—maybe too simple for a first trial. Considering what I’ve planned for the upcoming ones, let’s just say I don’t intend to claim her soul right away. Besides, no one tells them, but it’s the gamesbetweenthe trials that cause the real damage.
I notice the exact moment her jaw tightens and her expression becomes determined. She takes a slow, deep breath, places the phone on the table, and smiles. “It’snothing. My mom’s just texting me some nonsense, as usual.”
“I hope it’s not urgent?” Mr. Porn Star asks.
She waves a hand. “Nothing important.”
Irritation cuts through me.Nothing important.There are countless ways to play this game, but none of them involve me being ignored by myharvest.
I step out of the invisible shadows and position myself behind her. My hands reach for her temples, like two streams of creeping darkness, ready to envelop her mind in nightmares. The warmth of her body intertwines with mine before I even make contact.
She shudders and begins to cough. Mr. Porn Star’s chair scrapes as he leaps up, moving around the table. He reaches for her, clumsily patting her back. I move aside, curious where this will go. Still, in his well-meaning idiocy, he brushes past me. His palm stiffens against the Baroness’ back. He can’t see me, but he feels it—the density, the resistance. My form isn’t hollow. Presence, even cloaked, has weight. They say coming into contact with me in this state is like brushing against a body wrapped in cold air.
The Baroness takes a breath. She’s the first to gather herself, straightening her shoulders and easing the tension with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Mind if we pick this up another time? I’m feeling a bit off…”
Her voice is almost casual, except for the subtle tremor I catch with my trained ear. She masks her fear well. Fortunately, unmasking is one of my specialties.
“Of course. Let me walk you home,” he says, then calls for the check.
While he pays, I use those final seconds to slip a small piece of paper onto the table—the incantation for summoning me. I can remain in the establishment only as long as my harvest stays here, but once she leaves, I have to follow if I want tostay out of the castle.
It would be a wasted opportunity if I didn’t use this time to gather more unsuspecting souls in my net. After all, I need new contracts to add to my portfolio if I want my freedom. Nine more, to be exact.
Harvesting souls has become harder in recent years. People no longer believe in magic the way they used to, and without belief, there’s no desire to offer blood in exchange for calling forth a witcher.
After cursing me, Madeline used to spread the summoning spell among children herself, binding me to the task of claiming innocent souls. She found joy in forcing me to do the unthinkable. But with each harvest, the task became easier, and the end of my curse grew closer.
When Madeline realized I was nearing freedom, she stopped spreading tales of the Black Joker who grants wishes. Now, I must seize every chance to gather new harvests.
After the Baroness, I have one signed contract left to complete—one last soul, destined to ripen on their twenty-first birthday. That’s one of the many inconveniences of the curse: I can’t claim a soul before that age.
I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait to find and sign the final ones, let alone claim their souls.
But I’m a patient man.
7
Nicole
If I continue with life as usual, the Black Joker will vanish.
That was the theory I’d decided to stick to this morning.It has now fallen apart like a poorly built house.
I bolt upstairs to my room, my mother’s irritated shouting fading into the space behind me. My hands are stiff as I slam the door shut. The scent—his scent, no longer just lingering in the air—has soaked into my skin, my throat, and my very bones.
My heart pounds in my ears, each beat echoing like footsteps behind the closed door. I lean back against it, eyes darting around the room. This is my own space, supposed to be my sanctuary. But now,theshadows seem darker than usual. The curtains shake. Or am I just imagining it? Maybe he’s behind them. Or in the wardrobe. Or…
A cold wave spreads through my stomach. For a moment, I’m that girl again.
She’s standing alone in the dark hallway, too afraid to step out into the schoolyard, expecting either mockery or a physical blow. She knows they wouldn’t dare attack her inside the school—that they’ll likely wait until after class to follow her on her way home. Yet, her heart is clenched, and there’s no one to whisper that it was an isolated incident, that they probably won’t strike with anything more than hollow insults. Daria is sick at home again. But even if she were here, Daria doesn’t understand that it’s not the fear of physical pain that paralyzes her. It’s the fear of blows to her dignity. Because the situation has reduced her to a victim,and deep down, she knows she’s a lioness.
If I could go back, I’d tell that little girl to stand her ground and fight with claws out and teeth bared. A lioness doesn’t retreat. Even when she’s outnumbered.
ButI can’t change the past. I can only act in the present moment.
With hesitant steps, I move deeper into the room. “Show yourself.” My voice doesn’t tremble, but it’s softer than it should be. Almost a plea. So I swallow down the fear and grit out, “Don’t hide like some scared little ghost!”
