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I took a deep breath, allowing myself to bask briefly in the rich and warm contentment that I found in summoning. I was in control during a summoning ritual. If something went wrong, I had no one but myself to blame. I knew what the consequences were, and even though they could be dire and extreme—especially if a demon’s honor was somehow impugned—the end reward of having a demon at your service was worth the risk and occasional pain. Performing the rituals and dealing with the demons was headier than any drug—something I knew from brash experience, unfortunately.
But this summoning tonight was a straightforward one. Not even a tenth as difficult as the one from last night. I knew better than to be cocky—I bore a few scars from summonings that had not gone well—but I was quite familiar with Rysehl, and I knew what to expect from him.
Taking a deep, calming breath, I lifted my arms and began, my voice echoing off the wood-paneled walls as I spoke the words. Working carefully, I began by laying the shields on the room itself, then progressed to setting the wards on the diagram.
I kept my arms up as I chanted, finishing the wards, then starting in on the bindings, setting them carefully so that I could trigger them with the merest thought. Those could not fail. Demons were bound until suitable terms could be reached—an agreement on an offering in return for the demon’s service. Once terms were set, a demon’s honor wouldn’t allow it to break the agreement, but until that time the bindings kept me safe from claws and teeth and arcane perils. This was especially important when summoning the higher-level demons—the reyza and syraza and zhurn—where you had to be utterly certain that the terms were set before releasing the bindings. The higher demons did not like being summoned. In fact, some utterly despised it, submitting only after intense and protracted battle with the bindings that the summoner had in place.
Finally I lowered my arms and assessed. The first phase—the protections—was finished. I could see in my peripheral othersight the bindings and wards that wove throughout the room.
That was the easy part.
Now to summon the demon.
I took a deep breath and began to chant. There was no turning back now.
A wind rose from nowhere, swirling about my legs and teasing my hair. The fire jumped and popped in the fireplace but I continued to chant steadily, holding my concentration. The diagram began to glow more brilliantly, until the light from the floor rivaled the fireplace.
The wind grew cold and swirled angrily around the room, whipping the words from my lips and flinging them into the forming portal. The light from the chalk patterns gleamed fiendishly, near blinding in its incandescence. The wind shrieked as I raised my voice, nearly shouting the words, never stopping or pausing. If I stopped, the portal would consume me, sucking me into a nether region of neither death nor life. The wind swirled into a screeching crescendo, then hovered there.
I spoke the demon’s name.
“Rysehl.”
The instant the name left my mouth, the wind and the light vanished, as if they had never been. The name of the demon leaped out harshly into the sudden silence as my eyes burned with the afterimage of the glowing diagram. The fire still cast its light, but after the brilliance of before, I felt as if I was staring into pitch blackness.
I invoked the bindings quickly, then lowered my arms. I cautiously tested the protections, letting out my breath in satisfaction as I sensed a presence within the circle. My vision slowly cleared as I held the bindings carefully, ready and waiting for the demon to test me, to try to escape me. Rysehl never put up more than token resistance, and I already had the offering for it ready and waiting—a six-pack of Barq’s root beer. The lower demons seemed to enjoy being summoned—like kids on an adventure—and their taste in offerings ran to simple items that they found unusual and interesting. Offerings for higher demons were never simple. The razor-thin scars on my forearm were a testament to that.
I blinked furiously, peering into the circle, trying to pick out the small canine figure of the demon.
I heard a low growl and I tightened my grip on the bindings reflexively, bracing myself for a tussle with the scrappy little demon.
The growl repeated, resonating throughout the room, and was far different than any sound I’d ever heard come from any level of demon.
“Who … dares …”
I nearly jumped out of my skin as a stab of shock and confusion speared through me. That was not the voice of a luhrek. This was a voice filled with power. A voice filled with menace. A voice that promised pain and suffering and a lingering death.
My heart began to slam in my chest as I looked upon the crouched figure in the center of the dark diagram. This obviously wasn’t Rysehl. I’d screwed something up, and somehow a higher-level demon had come through. I don’t understand! I thought I did everything right! My thoughts whirled in a brief burst of panicked chaos before I was able to force myself into enough focus to be able to think. The bindings. Those are still in place and intact. A sliver of calm returned. I’m fine. It’s going to be fine. It would take me only a moment to send this creature back, and I could figure out later what the fuck had gone wrong. I just had to finish the binding, close and ground the potency, then reopen the portal. I scowled blackly. If that damn burglar hadn’t come last night, I’d have known how to reverse the portal without going through all this bullshit.
“I am Kara Gillian,” I stated clearly as I rewove the potencies, naming myself as part of the binding process. I had no intention of completing terms and releasing the bindings, but the forms still had to be followed. “I have summoned you to serve me—”
The laughter stopped me—a cold sound that cut through my words and sent a chill up my spine.
“Serve you?” The voice flowed from the crouched figure, serene and vicious. “I will rend the flesh from your bones and scatter your blood to the wind.”
Oh. Shit.
I frantically gathered power to me. Screw the forms. I wanted that portal open now. This was feeling worse and worse, and I had no desire to find out what kind of patterns my innards could make on the floor. I gabbled out the chant for a dismissal.
In one fluid, graceful motion, the demon stood, and the light from the fire illuminated him fully.
I stared, slack-jawed, my words dying away. I had seen many startling things as a summoner, but not this. Never this. I hurriedly checked for signs that it was some sort of illusion or glamour, but there were none. There were twelve levels of demon that could be summoned. This was most certainly not any one of them.
He was beautiful. Angelic. White-blond hair hung in a satin-smooth fall down the length of his back. His skin glowed in the firelight, so perfect as to be ethereal. He was well muscled and tall, and the insanely incongruous thought came to me that he was probably about the same height as Captain Turnham. But this … being … wore nothing as mundane as a dress shirt and khakis. A shimmering white silk shirt hung on broad shoulders that tapered down to a narrow waist. Leather breeches the color of fresh cream fit snugly to well-muscled legs. He had the body of an Adonis.
And he looked human.
Only his crystal-blue eyes told me that this was a creature of deadly and terrifying power. Eyes that were deep and ancient, full of a dominance and strength that belied the angelic beauty of his face.
