Page 25 of Summoned
Her blank face remains unmoved, but her pink lips part, drawing my gaze. Their fullness is tempting. They hold in a half-curve, and I know she has seen what I wanted to show her.
“Are those… are those people?” Her whisper is so faint it nearly dissolves into the air.
“Souls, Baroness. But don’t be fooled into thinking they’re anything special. They’re nothing more than a reminder of the cost of failure.Look at them. They were once like you.”
“Stop! I don’t want to see anymore…”
“Just a moment…” I say, before offering her a glimpse ofmy wall.The inscribed numbers. The countdown.
290.
I withdraw my hand from her forehead, breaking the magic’s hold. She blinks several times, seeming unable to believe that everything has disappeared. Then she straightens her shoulders, trembles as she adjusts her hair, and lifts her chin. “Was that thing with the voices the first trial?”
My lips stretch into a wide smile. I can smell the fear pulsing through her veins, despite her efforts to maintain composure. Watching their courage melt away when they come to understand there’s no escape amuses me more than anything.
“The first trial is the riddle I sent you for your birthday.”
She frowns. “But that’s not fair. I’ve already overcome one trial!”
“That was merely to reclaim your voice. I never forced you to do it.”
She clenches her fists at her sides, and her chest rises. I welcome the anger of my harvests. It adds a particular flavor to our games.
“I expect your answer in four days,” I say.
I recognize the spark of resolve in her features. It’s the gleaming fire that accompanies the first spark of self-deception. When most begin to believe they have a chance. That they can overcome my tasks. Might even outsmart me.
Excellent.
The thrill of the game to come rushes through my veins. I want her frightened enough to fight for her freedom.Deluded enoughto believe she could defeat me.
I want her to play along. Otherwise, it gets boring fast.
Before she can say more, I teleport away. Every type of magic needs occasional recharging. Following the harvest bond and stepping into the world drains a great deal of mine. I already feel the weakness creeping in as I head back to the castle.
My first task is to check whether the protections around the realm are holding. I scan the area with my senses, tuning into the threads of magic. The wards are intact.
I wasn’t entirely truthful when I told Nicole that only I and the souls could access the castle. Madeline knows how to find it, too. After all, she created it with her curse. And to ensure she never crosses its threshold uninvited, I built something of my own—magical wards designed to keep her out.
The only drawback is that they demand a significant portion of my energy to hold. The exhaustion is worth it.The witch might’ve stopped caring about me long ago, but I can’t risk her discovering how close I am to the end.
* * *
I’m greeted by shadows drifting in chaos. If I peer into the blurred outlines of their bodies, I might recognize their faces, the beings they once were, before I stripped them of everything.Every soul harvested is a drop in the chalice of my liberation.
But today, the only thing I see in them is Nicole. I imagine drawing strength from her soft skin, erasing the girl in that photograph—the person she was before life messed with her and she became the Baroness. I imagine her as just a silhouette inside my castle.
As I picture myself taking her soul, another image comes to mind. Her eyes, a molten caramel, a flame I will extinguish once and for all.
Madeline forced me to become this: a man who extinguishes fires rather than stoking them.
I brush the thought aside. This is how it starts—with distraction, with flashes of weakness.
It’s either me or them.I touch the cold wall with the tips of my fingers, as though it were a lover I’m trying to cajole with a caress. My mind drifts back five hundred years to a different castle, and the instant the curse fell upon me…
A living wave of laughter and revelry swept across the walls, filling every corner of the castle. The grand hall trembled with dancing, the flames of a thousand candles bathing it in light.
Madeline insisted on leaving a mark on her guests—not amemory, but a legend of a feast. That’s why she always kept me at arm’s length. The man who transformed ordinary nights into spectacles.
