Page 34 of Summoned
I scan the room. The other guests stand frozen in place. No one moves. No one breathes. They have turned into sculptures—icebound, rigid, caught mid-motion like figuresin a macabre gallery.
I raise a hand to my lips. “What… did you do?”
“Nothing yet.” The Black Joker steps closer and takes my wrist. His fingers are warm, in stark contrast to the freezing air. I try to pull away, but my body refuses to respond—my legs feel like jelly, and my mind is paralyzed.
I don’t protest when he drags me into the middle of the dance floor.
Everything stills and dims.
Until fire erupts all around us.
11
Nicole
The flames rise high, creating a ring that blocks the rest of the ballroom from view. The heat licking my skin offsets the chill from earlier, but my father’s stunned face remains in my mind. I look for my parents’ outline among the inanimate figures behind the fire.
They’re made of ice.Realice.
While fire rages everywhere…
The Black Joker’s fingers tighten around my wrist. “As long as you dance, the flames stay here. The moment you stop, the fire will spread. And you know what happens when heat meets cold.”
“You’re lying,” I hiss through my helplessness.
He pulls me close. I collide with a body as hard as a rock, and the breath rushes from my lungs. Fear paralyzes my muscles, but somehow I manage to lift my chin. His face is inches from mine, and up close, his features are sharp and unforgiving—as though carved from the same stone as the rest of his body. His black irises are saturated with countless pinpricks of light, holding me captive in their glow.
He arches his sculpted eyebrow. “Are you willing to test that?”
Before I answer, the air fills with dark notes. Heavy music vibrates through my chest and pulls me into its rhythm. I glance at the orchestra beyond the curtain of flame. The musicians’ bodies are rigid, but the strings of their instruments quiver, guided by invisible fingers.
The Black Joker spins me around. My legs give way to him, as if I’m a rag doll. The turn is smooth, and somehowthe soles of my shoes find the rhythm that now rules the ballroom. The fire around us pulses with the beat of the music. Its light dances across Gaetano’s face, softening his features or casting them into shadow.
Past his shoulder, I search for someone—anyone—who might help. I can’t make out the faces beyond the flames, but I know where the table is, the one where my father’s statue should be. With the next turn, I catch a glimpse of his unmoving figure through the fire.
That’s my father.
That’s my father.
Another wave of terror crashes over me. I stop dancing, rigid like the icy statues around us. The Black Joker releases my hand and steps back. The warmth on my skin vanishes, replaced by a chill in the air. The flames that once encircled us are pulling away, creeping closer to the figures.
His words echo in my mind.‘As long as you dance, the flames stay here.’
It’s like I’ve wandered into the heart of a witch’s ritual. And even if the potential victims of the fire are the human statues around us, it still feels as if I’m the one about to burn at the stake.
I summon all my willpower and force my body to move. My muscles tighten with resolve, and my legs twitch before they start to shift. Hesitantly at first, then with increasing certainty.
Gaetano steps forward with a predator’s grace. His fingers curl around my hand. More flames flare up, but the proximity of the fire is a harsh reminder that the frozen figures are safe. At least for now.
With every beat of the dark melody, Gaetano’s moves grow fiercer, until I’m pressed against him. My chest brushes against his solid torso, and his heat seeps into me,sending sparks skittering down my spine. The sensation is so overwhelming that I stiffen, if only for a moment.
He leans in. “Relax. A dance can be a delight… or a punishment. The choice is yours.”
His breath brushes my ear, warm and infused with that familiar bittersweet scent.
The arrogance in his words snaps me back to my senses. “Do you honestly believe I could enjoy dancing with you?”
With a near-rough motion, he pulls me into a sidestep, then into a pirouette that ends in his arms. One hand glides down my spine, from my shoulder blades to the small of my waist. His touch burns against my skin, and my muscles clench in a desperate bid to stay composed.
