Page 47 of Summoned
The car stereo suddenlyblares, and I jump in my seat. Branimir fumbles with the console, pressing buttons until the music stops. “Fucking hell, that radio nearly gave me a heart attack,” he mutters, frowning.
Every cell in my body braces for impact. This can’t be a coincidence, not when the whole car smells like him. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the flicker of lights—the yellow and red turn signals of the vehicle. Branimir and I watch as the headlights start flashing in rhythmic pulses, sweeping the empty field beside us. He leans around me, reaching for the lever on the steering wheel to turn them off. Instead, he hits the indicator, and the cabin fills with a constant clicking.
“What the hell’s wrong with you now?!” Branimir exclaims. He jabs at the levers again, but instead of stopping, the hazard lights join in.
My gaze sweeps the empty space of the back seat.
Branimir starts the engine, then shuts it off. Nothing changes. “Never had this happen before. And they call this an upgrade…”
He helps me into my seat, then opens the door and steps outside, moving to stand in front of the headlights. The chaotic strobe of lights washes over his face.
“Reminds me of a book I read in school!” He tells me through the windshield. “About a car possessed by a spirit. The guy who owned it called her Christine. She could repairherself after every crash. Had a mind of her own. Jealous. And vicious…”
He chuckles, shaking his head, but I can’t return the smile. My ears are ringing. My nerves are as taut as harp strings.
And just when I think it can’t get any worse, the engine growls.
My head whips toward the steering wheel.
“Branimir!” I scream the instant the tires screech, kicking up a cloud of dust by the doors. The car surges forward at breakneck speed. No longer blinking, the headlights’ twin beams illuminate Branimir’s startled face.
I scream and throw myself toward the driver’s seat (hours later, I’ll realize I should’ve grabbed the handbrake). But before my foot hits the pedal, the car jerks to a stop, and the sudden force throws me forward. I push off the steering wheel, jump out, and run to Branimir, who’s frozen in place—just inches from the front bumper.
“Fucking hell…” He exhales sharply, staring at the minuscule distance between his knees and the car’s metal hood. “Fuckinghell!”
He runs a hand through his hair, as if his brain is trying to catch up with what just happened. “How thick do I have to be to leave the freakin’ car in gear?!” he growls, more to himself than to me. “Thank God it was you… One more second and—”
He shakes his head while his fingers clutch the edge of the hood. I take his hand and pull him aside. The car wasn’t in gear. And I didn’t even touch the brakes in time.
Branimir offers a smile, though tension still pinches his expression. “Hell of a night, huh?”
That sweet, bitter scent crashes into my nostrils again and clings to me like smoke. The song returns, blaringfrom the speakers.
“For fuck’s sake!” Branimir snaps out of the earlier daze. With a few long strides, he reaches the door, yanks it open hard enough to nearly rip it from its hinges, and silences the song with an aggressive twist of the volume dial.
This time, neither of us manages even a nervous laugh.
Branimir slams the door shut behind him and faces me. He runs a hand over the back of his neck, then rests it on my shoulder. “I wanted tonight to be…” He pauses, then, “Better, I guess. Instead, my stupid car decided to make me look like a lunatic.”
I struggle to focus on him, but my attention keeps slipping into the shadows that gather around us. Silence stretches between us. Eventually, I have to admit it—the date is over.
“Shall we postpone it to another night?” I offer.
“Yeah…I think that might be best. I don’t know about Christine, but this one”—he gestures at the car—“is getting her computer system reset first thing tomorrow.”
I attempt a laugh, but the sound that escapes me is strained.
The drive home feels never-ending. Only once I’m safe inside my house do I allow the fire of fury to consume me.
“Gaetano!” I cry out the moment I’m back in my room. I don’t dare scream his name the way I want—with every bit of my lungs—because I imagine my father is still in his study. So I plant myself in the middle of the room, fists clenched. “Show yourself, you vile son of a bitch! Or are you such a coward you won’t even own up to what you’ve done?”
The air thickens, saturated with his scent. Then comes the static, rushing over my skin like a ripple through silk. The fine hairs on my neck stand up one by one. Adrenalineflows through my veins, readying every part of my body for battle.
I don’t see him, but I know he’s here.
Too late, I sense a shift. My wrists are seized from behind me. My body crashes onto the bed, pinned by brute force.
“Gaetano!” I hiss as he twists my arms upward. Tension shoots down my spine, flaring through my thighs to the tips of my fingers. The hem of my dress gathers around my waist, and my cheek presses into the mattress. The coolness of the fabric contrasts with the heat of my skin, but nothing can quell the firestorm burning inside me.
