Page 108 of Summoned
She approaches, her warm hand sliding across my chest. I grip her hips and pull her close. She lets out the same muffled moan I remember. The illusion is flawless. I can have her exactly how I want to.
As long as I don’t look into her eyes.
Just before my lips reach hers, I make that mistake. I meet her gaze. It’s empty—beautiful colors, yet lifeless. I push the illusion aside. She falls to her knees. The pain in my body blends with the contempt crawling through me. I despise what I have to do to Nicole, but if I don’t… What would the last five centuries and everyharvestmean?
The illusionary Nicole kneels before me, head bowed. I place a hand on her hair, just as I will in a few days. Magic flows through my veins, but I can’t bring myself to play out the rest of it—the way my magic will consume her body.
Instead, I give her a mental command, and she obeys. “No one’s ever saved me before,” she says.
I hold her chin. “Say it with feeling!”
“No one’s ever saved me before,” she murmurs, her tonesomewhere between shyness and husky temptation.
“Stand up and undress me.”
She does. Her movements are mechanical and devoid of emotion. When her fingers reach for my belt, shivers run down my spine. I freeze, and she ceases moving.
My blood surges, sharpening my senses. I glance over my shoulder, as if expecting a presence. A fewharvestslurk in the corners, but the castle is otherwise as empty as ever. And yet…The hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
Could Nicole have used the dagger? I lowered the castle’s wards so it would be accessible to her at any time. Could she appear any second now? A strange unease crawls under my skin. My palms start to sweat.
I stare into the dark, but no one’s there. Still, I wait.
Half an hour passes before I even notice the illusion, now standing and awaiting my next command like a marionette. With a flick of my hand, she dissolves into shadows.
An illusion might satisfy my lust, but what I crave goes far beyond that.
37
Nicole
In the morning, I sip my coffee and watch the news. I half expect my face to flash on the screen with a big red banner that reads “MISSING.”
Daria is on the phone, trying to find anyone who might have information about breaking curses, witch contracts, and soul theft. No one knows anything, except those who suggest sheseea psychiatrist.
Around noon, Julieta finally answers, “I already told you—no guarantee and no refunds!” and slams the phone down. We exchange glances, and this time even Daria’s expression darkens with worry.
“Let’s try the library,” she says, her face regaining a flash of resolve.
She forces me into one of her oversized T-shirts and a pair of jeans, then drags me out onto the street. The harsh sunlight makes me wince, cutting through my sleep-deprived haze. Daria suggests we take the bus, I insist on a taxi. I’ll vanish from this world soon, anyway. No point in saving my mom’s money.
In the library, we ask for the occult section. Turns out there isn’t one, but we’re directed toward a maze of corridors filled with esoteric books. The air smells of old wood and forgotten pages. We’re nowhere near prepared for the volume of mystical texts waiting for us.
My eyes land on a dark cover titledA History of Witchcraft in Europe.I open the book, and dust scatters in my face. The print is so tiny, it would take me days to read. I flip to a randompage and find a sketch of a man with horns above his ears and hooves for feet. The caption reads,“Drawing of a medieval witcher.”
Images of my hours in the castle with Gaetano flood my mind. His body, free of illusions. His sculpted muscles. The intensity in his expression. Pain knots through me. Maybe it’s time I admit I’m not broken just because he hid the truth and let me believe I had a chance to win. What hurts even more is realizing I thought what we had was real. No masks, no lies.
Too bad it wasalla game.
I want to collapse to the ground, but Daria is flipping through old tomes with fierce determination. Because of her, I keep going.
I perk up a little when Daria exclaims she’s found a chapter on breaking spiritual contracts. Unfortunately, it ends up being about contracts humans inadvertently make with demons they summon through Ouija boards.
The clack of heels warns us someone’s approaching. The librarian rounds the corner, peering over her huge glasses. She wrinkles her nose, inspecting the room as though expecting damage. “We’re closing,” she announces at last.
“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Daria tells me, trying to sound upbeat.
I don’t say it out loud, but I leave with eagerness. Every mention of magic or witchcraft drags up another memory of Gaetano. As if I don’t already think about him all the time.
