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The cigar box that held my summoning implements rested on the oak table. I opened the lid, let the comforting scents wash over me, then lifted the knife out. Edge keen and bright, hilt as familiar as my own hand. For over a decade my identity had been wrapped up in the contents of this box and everything it represented.
Summoner. Arcane practitioner. Powerful. Special.
I replaced the knife in the box, closed it and carried it upstairs. In the laundry room, Fuzzykins lay on her side in a nest of towels while her kittens eagerly nursed. She gave me a soft brrrump and only one dubious look when I pulled down the ladder to the attic. As soon as things settled a bit I’d coordinate with Idris to send the cats to the demon realm.
Though my last trip to the attic had been several years ago, the single light bulb still worked and filled the dusty space with clear, white light. My attic had a sturdy floor and shelves that held a miscellany of items once deemed worth saving and mostly never touched again. I found an empty spot next to a stack of old board games with missing pieces and tucked the cigar box into it. No grief or regret or sadness welled. The box and its contents were mementos worth treasuring, but I was more than a mere summoner or arcane practitioner. I had skills and savvy and experience. Powerful. Special. I was Kara Gillian, damn it.
A few minutes of searching turned up the pop-up hiking tent I’d bought on a whim half a decade ago and used exactly zero times. I climbed down the ladder and headed to the kitchen, dropped fruit and cheese into a resealable plastic bag, grabbed a bottled water, retrieved two blankets from the linen closet, then carried everything to the backyard.
Rhyzkahl frowned as I chucked the food, water, and blankets onto the trampled grass near him. I pulled the tent out of its bag—relieved when it popped into shape as advertised—then slid that into his “orbit” as well.
“You might want to put the blankets in the tent so it doesn’t blow away,” I said, calm and settled. “Oh, and don’t mistake my mercy for weakness.”
He regarded the tent with scorn and barely hidden uncertainty. “I do not mistake your weakness for mercy.”
“You can be an ass if you want, but be aware there’s no one else here who would show you a fraction of this weakness.”
“You expect me to ingratiate myself to you?” His mouth twisted in a sneer, but I sensed that he clung by his fingernails to what little stability he had.
“No,” I said. “I gave you food, water, and shelter because I have no desire to make anyone suffer.” I paused. “Even you. But I want to be sure you understand that, if you fuck with me or anyone I care about, you’re going to be sleeping in the rain and eating bugs.”
He turned his back to me and stalked off. Good. Glad that was settled. As soon as he was a quarter of the circle away, I looked toward the nexus. The glow rippled as if beckoning me forward, and I was happy to oblige.
Unfortunately, I’d underestimated Rhyzkahl’s desperation. The instant I reached the middle of the trampled grass, he spun and charged me, face vicious. Though his powers were diminished, his lordly speed was not, and before my brain registered the danger, he’d closed half the distance.
I’m fucked. The thought flashed through my head as my human-slow reflexes kicked into gear. Rhyzkahl reached a hand toward me like a claw, ten feet away, five, two—
Blue-white lightning lanced from the edge of the slab to Rhyzkahl, spiderwebbing over his body in an instant. He cried out in agony and fell back, writhing as the arcane power crawled over him.
I drew a shaky breath. Of course Mzatal would think of everything. “Thanks, Boss,” I murmured. As soon as my pulse slowed to a less frenetic pace, I continued to the slab. The moment my foot touched the stone, the lightning vanished, leaving Rhyzkahl twitching on the grass. I ignored him and gave the nexus my full attention.
The surface appeared smooth as glass, the silvery strands perfectly flush with the obsidian. I froze at the edge of the slab as nightmarish memories stirred.
Endless black glass plane. Tilting. Rhyzkahl’s voice. Elinor. Identity slipping. Confusion. Rowan. Fear. Cold. So cold.
No. I shook my head to dispel the memories. Warmth. Solid footing. Wholeness. Rhyzkahl, bound.
Mzatal’s silvery mark repeated in uncountable fractal patterns in the black glass. I smiled a smile that began in my core and worked its way out to fill my entire being. “Kara Gillian.” My name, rich and full on the night air.
Like balmy beach sand, the nexus called to me. I stripped off my shoes and tossed them to the grass, breath catching as pleasant warmth radiated through my bare feet to my knees. The silvery filigree of the sigils shimmered like liquid starlight, and in the center of the nexus the delicate outline of a circle flared a brighter silver-white, captivating. I took a step toward it then flinched in surprise as the strands within the six foot circle went dark. No. More than dark.
Gooseflesh shivered over my skin as I approached the circle. I knew that utter darkness. What seemed like a lifetime ago, I faced the maw of the void atop the basalt column in Mzatal’s realm and clung to the stone like a lost kitten in the rain.
The void can consume the resolve of even the most stalwart. Mzatal’s words.
I swallowed. The darkness whispered to me, tugged at my essence. Unknown. Unfathomable.
“Turn away. There is no shame in it.” Rhyzkahl’s voice rippled through me like gossamer silk. Gentle. Persuasive.
Wise to flee the black. Easy to turn away.
“No.” My voice rang out clear and strong. Sweat pricked my armpits. Mzatal’s sigils warmed the soles of my feet. I sank to my knees beside the circle, leaned over and gazed into the lightless void. No frightened kitten this time. I extended both hands, lowered them toward the surface.
“Kara! Do not touch it.”
I hesitated an inch from the black, trembled. “You will not consume my resolve,” I told the darkness. “I am Kara Gillian!” My palms met warm obsidian. Pitch black gave way to the shine of stone.
Rhyzkahl made a strangled sound behind me.
