Page 2 of Prince of Flowers
Around me the air thrummed with the beating of wings, feathers falling all about my hair, my ears filled with gentle, friendly cooing.
“Thanks for coming,” I muttered, grinning at the flock of doves that had answered my summons. “Let’s do this, boys.”
I pointed at the ravine, my heart pounding against my ribcage as the doves flew alongside me, gathering me up in a cloud of wings and feathers. My foot struck the earth one final time, my cloak rippling behind me like a flag as I very literally threw all caution to the wind.
Dozens upon dozens of doves carried me between the cliffs, my stomach swooping as I caught sight of the raging white river far below. I turned around and stuck my tongue out at the alraune, her teeth bared and her fists clenched as she yelled at me from her end of the gap.
She flung another salvo of thorns toward me, deadly barbs zipping through the air, but the beating wings and reinforced feathers of my little buddies warded them off effortlessly. We touched down on the other side, unhurried, unharmed.
I reached into one of the pouches attached to my belt, casting handfuls of breadcrumbs and birdseed onto the grass. The doves went straight for the snacks, their reward for helping, my hungry boys.
“Until next time, pals,” I said, giving them a small salute as I continued on my way, a smile on my face, a spring in my step.
Yes, I know. Under regular, mundane circumstances, there was simply no way that a flock of doves could deliver a gorgeous, leanly muscular, curly-haired ruffian of a man across a ravine, or protect that same handsome-sounding fellow from a hail of thorny projectiles.
But that was the thing about a summoner and his, uh, summons. When a summoning bond receives enough care and watering, even the most mundane creatures can become imbued with a summoner’s magic, touched and changed by the process. If I tried hard enough, I could make them stronger, sturdier, sleeker.
My doves couldn’t ever fly me from LA to NYC, for example. But in a pinch, the vestiges of my magic that clung to their wings could mystically enhance their feathers, give them just enough power to fly my beautiful body short distances instead of letting it plunge into an angry river.
I took a few minutes to regain my bearings, craning my neck to look for the alraune. No sign of her, which meant I’d need to be especially careful on the trip back. But hey, I could cross that ravine when I got there. The doves were disappearing one by one, popping out of existence as they returned to whichever part of the world they called home.
I unhooked a flask from my belt, checking first to make sure that it wasn’t one of Bruna’s potions before taking a swig of cool, lightly lemon-flavored water. Bruna was an extremely talented alchemist, but I wasn’t in any mood to serve as one of her human guinea pigs. I had an eidolon to catch.
Right. I drew the back of my hand across my mouth, wiping at the wetness. I crept onward, more wary of my movements this time, which was when I caught a whiff of it on the wind. The smell of something supernatural, something I’d never encountered before.
I held the grimoire against my chest. My heart beat against its cover as I reached out with one hand, scanning, sensing. There. The almost immaterial tangles of wild magic, something surging, lurching in the spaces between Here and wherever the hell There was.
You never did know with the Wispwood. It was one of those places that dwelt between worlds, the fleeting glimmer of imagination and anticipation that lingers as you turn another page in a riveting book, the flicker when you blink. Like a thoroughfare of sorts, a crossroads where different corners of reality overlapped. Were these woods in Germany, Peru, or the Bornean rainforest? All of the above, actually, all at once.
The invisible entity’s breath rushed on the breeze, seductive and strong. The faint beat of its heart sounded like the playing of a distant drum. Above all else I could taste the overwhelming power on the tip of my tongue, a palpable flavor of strange, alien magic.
I had to have it. I needed to earn my Summoner’s Crest. It was finally my time. I had to make my father proud, wherever he could be. I thrust my hand out, the grimoire levitating at eye level, pages fluttering in an eldritch wind as it turned to the correct section. The binding, the forging of a powerful contract.
“With iron will and stalwart heart I beseech you, great force of the ether. Make yourself known. Manifest. In the name of the summoners that have come before me, hear my words. Heed my call.”
A new wind swirled at my feet, sending leaves tumbling upward, whipping at the branches. Gooseflesh rose all over my skin, my body’s response to the tingle and thrum of gathering power. Something was here. Something was responding.
Time to finish the incantation, the barest minimum for me to qualify for the Summoner’s Crest. Time to complete the Pact of the Unknown.
“I invoke you, thing of the ether, unseen and unnamed. Grant me time and space enough to bargain and barter, to forge a bond that may yet be fruitful for us both.”
The wind howled, ripping at my cloak, shearing through my hair, screaming into my ears. It was coming.
It was here.
Time to bring it all home.
“Nameless of the ether, dweller in the unknown, I call you. I summon you. Come forth. Reveal yourself!”
Grass, leaves, and petals exploded in a burst from the center of the clearing, filling the air with a swirl of green and gold. I shielded my eyes, watching through the gaps in my fingers. Had it worked? It must have. I said all the words correctly, channeled the torrent of great magic through my soul, my flesh. Nothing short of a god could have resisted my summons.
And there he knelt in the center of the glade, his head low, his neck loose, a powerfully built man wearing leather trousers and little else. He propped himself up by one hand, groaning, rubbing at his forehead with the other, like someone recovering from a hangover. A side effect of the invocation, possibly.
Black hair fell in soft wisps over his brow, across his pale gold eyes. They took their time to focus, then filled with defiance, with wild mischief. He glanced up at me, eyes widening, mouth turning up in anger. But even in fury the man was devastating. That face, those lips, that — oh, gods, that body. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.
And then he opened his mouth.
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