Page 64 of Summoned
My chest rises with my next breath. A thrum of triumph rolls beneath my ribs like a silent victory cry.
He looks down at me, his lips curling into a slow, expansive smile—one that makes butterflies flutter in my stomachandmakes me want to run in the opposite direction. “Over the next fortnight, I shall drag you through Hell and back. Try not to break again, Baroness…or I may well grow bored and harvest your soul.”
And then, with his usual flair of disappearing, he vanishes into thin air, taking the knife and the mirror with him.
I’m left on the ground, too overwhelmed by emotion to move.
I have no notion how much time passes before I manage to rise to my feet.
Now all I must do…is figure out how to return home in this state.
20
Nicole
Day 8
Deliberov’s funeral features a procession of luxury cars trailing the hearse. At the cemetery, I bow my head beneath my baseball cap. I don’t need some unwelcome paparazzo capturing the emotionless look on my face. Beside me, my mother wipes her eyes with a tissue every time one of the Deliberovs glances our way. My father hides behind his sunglasses, crossing himself along with the priest as if he’s forgotten his favorite line: “The only god in this world is money.”
Thinking of that brings back the unwelcome memory of yesterday. My fingers itch with the urge to rub my forehead, and the rather unmissable “G” hidden by the visor of the baseball cap.
“G” for Gaetano.
My heart races. I endured the most humiliating hour of my life—and I hate admitting it—but it was also the most vulnerable. Having to get my naked ass in the car, drive to a secluded parking lot, and call Boyana, of all people, to bring me a change of clothes was nothing short of chaotic. I’ve always had everything at my fingertips, but this time, I was at someone else’s mercy. It sucked. Even worse? I had to sneak into my house like a thief in the night, praying I wouldn’t run into my parents so they wouldn’t see the blood on my forehead. At least Boyana was naïve enough to take it as “the new trend” and believe the dress tore because of its cheap material.
At the end of the day, Gaetano is unharmed, and I’mright back where I started—living in dread of him appearing and wrecking more chaos in my life.
Oh, and having his mark on my forehead.
‘Or for God. Whichever you prefer to call me.’
The words creep into my mind, a dark whisper, as ifhe’s here, murmuring them into my ear. But he’s not. I don’t sense that thick, invasive energy that trails behind him. Yet, I still flinch in anticipation, a wave of heat rolling down my spine while I scan the crowd dressed in black, searching for him.
I know what I did to him will carry consequences.
After the ceremony, we gather in the ballroom of a luxury hotel downtown. Tradition calls for a quiet farewell, but the wealthy in this society don’t follow customs even in death. A famous orchestra plays somber music while the guests drift between tall tables, drinks in hand, exchanging rehearsed words about the deceased.
Clustered around one of the marble tables, Boyana, Misha, Marie, and I discuss the details of the twins’ upcoming birthday party. Marie’s fingers toy with a strand of her straightened hair as she ticks off the schedule. “Guests start arriving after seven. The band’s set to kick off at nine…”
“The DJ will keep things going during the breaks,” Misha finishes.
Boyana’s lips freeze on the rim of her prosecco glass. “Who’s the DJ this year?”
Misha gapes at her. “Not the one from last summer who ditched his booth to make outwith youin the pool!”
Boyana winks at me. “One of the best kissers I’ve ever had.”
Marie’s eyes flash, her voice rising. “He ruined our party, Boyana!”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have told him to bring a swimsuit,” I mutter, adjusting my cap.
Marie brushes a speck of dust off her shoulder with a dismissive flick. “Right, because that’s all we needed: him rolling aroundnakedin our pool.”
I laugh under my breath.
“What’s so funny?” She glares at me.
I lift my head. Since when does Marie think she’s allowed to rebuke me?What’s so funny? You and your sister, and your desperate attempts to stay relevant by pouring a truckload of cash into this party.I clench my jaw, swallowing the retort. I have more important tasks at hand.
