Summoner Rising Read online

  I bolt the door behind me as soon as I get inside. Tears form in the corners of my eyes, but I quickly wipe them away before they can fall. I look around at the tiny room; there’s no way to escape. I should’ve ran out of the arcade and walked home, because now I have to face them all again when I leave; worst of all, see their pity.

  I walk over and place my hands on the sink. “You’re not going to cry, you’re not going to cry,” I repeat watching myself in the mirror like some outsider. Something moves behind me, and I spin around. I thought I was alone.

  The two stalls behind me are empty. There’s nothing else in the room except me, a hand dryer, and a crappy painting of some irises. I think the artist was trying to mimic Van Gogh, but obviously lacked talent. I guess that’s why they’re hanging in a bathroom and not a museum somewhere.

  I run my finger across the painting’s surface. It’s actually painted and not just a print. Surprising. The flowers by my finger begin to move. I step back. Nothing happens. Great. Now I’m going to start seeing paintings move; maybe I’m losing my mind after all. I start to turn away but suddenly, between the stems, a small grotesque face pops out of the painting.

  I almost trip on my feet as I step backward. The creature leans forward, his head like some wild three-dimensional trick, with its long nose leading the way as its large ears follow suit. It eyes me up before looking around the room. “Are you the one who let me out?” the creature squeaks.

  I can hardly open my mouth to answer, let alone form words.

  It pulls the rest of its body out of the painting with two hairy claws, and jumps to the bathroom floor. The painting hangs skewed on the wall, and the flowers look undisturbed.

  The creature leans toward me, as if he’s sniffing my pant leg, forcing me to step back against the cold bathroom wall. “So, what are the rules?” it asks. “Back by midnight? Don’t steal any little children?”

  Adrenaline crawls across my skin. “What are you?” My voice rushes out.

  “An imp.” It scuttles toward the bathroom stalls and pokes its head under each. “Are you sure you’re the only one here?”

  I nod my head.

  It shoots me a mischievous grin. “Well then, it’s my lucky day. Catch you later!” The creature climbs up the wall next to the painting, and disappears between the bars on the window. I turn, unbolt the door, and step out into the arcade. Sophie waves me over, but I can’t even manage a smile in her direction. Did they slip something else into my drink?

  Brennan steps in front of me. “Sophie told me Chantal was bugging you. Are you okay?”

  I move past Brennan, toward the exit. “No, I am definitely not okay. I’m going home.”

  “Hey, Dacie, wait up.” Brennan chases after me and puts his arm in front of the door. “Don’t go. I want you to stay.”

  Pushing him out of the way, I walk out into the crisp autumn air.

  The ocean breeze follows me home, sneaking into my sweater and sending shivers through my body, but it’s the last thing I’m worried about right now. I need to clear my thoughts and wrap my head around what just happened. That creature in the bathroom acted as if I should know it. What the hell is going on here?

  Even worse, the alcohol continues to play tricks on my eyes—shadows are slinking about everywhere, playing in the trees that line the road as I make my way home. I pull my collar up high and hide as much of my face as I can inside. I wish I were home where I could hide.

  Half an hour later, I’m walking up the broken sidewalk to our old house at the end of the street. The lights give me comfort in the knowledge my sanctuary is close. Constantine is still outside, trimming the hedges this time. He nods as I walk past, but I don’t meet his eyes. Instead I duck inside, and run straight to my bedroom.

  “Daciana?” Katya calls out. “Is that you?”

  I close my bedroom door and throw myself on my bed. How am I supposed to tell anyone what I saw? They’ll think I had a breakdown, after what happened to my mom. Who knows, maybe I am?

  “Daciana?” Katya says from the other side of my door.

  “Go away.” My pillow muffles my voice. I could speak louder, but I know Katya does not understand boundaries. That’s something Mom and I had established well.

  “What’s wrong?” She opens my door. At least she hangs back.

  “It’s nothing,” My face is still down on my pillow.

  “I can tell you’re lying,” she says. Her footsteps creak along my floorboards as she crosses the room. “Why are you back so soon?”

  I spout it out before I can consider the ramifications. “Did you use to run around town, telling people you saw ghosts?”

  “You heard about that, did you?” Still, she doesn’t hesitate, sitting next to me on my bed.

  “Well, were you?” I lift my head, wanting to see her reaction.

  “No,” she says, “it wasn’t like that.”

  “That’s what people say.”

  “I don’t care what people say,” Katya looks me in the eye. Her gaze is like ice, void of any humor. “Simple-minded people gossip when they don’t understand things.”

  “I hate it here,” I say. It’s the truth.

  “Give it time,” she says. “This is where we’re meant to be for now.”

  “Where are we supposed to go next?” I never wondered until now if we were going to move around a lot as Mom and I did. Will anywhere feel like home?

  “We wait and see where we’re meant to be,” Katya says. “Right now all signs point to Maine.”

  “Argh,” I say, grabbing my pillow and holding it over my face. “You and Mom are the same in many ways. She was vague all the time. It would be nice just to know where my life is going.”

  “Come with me.” Katya stands, and my bed moves in unison. “Let’s go to the studio again.”

  I reluctantly follow her down the staircase, running my hand along the dark wood of the banister. Katya’s studio is nestled in a room that lies partially under the stairs just off the kitchen. Inside she grabs the same painting with the tree and holds it up to me.

  “Focus on this tree,” she says. I roll my eyes—not this again. “Just humor an old lady.” Katya winks.

  I look at the painting again, focusing on the detail in each stroke. Then my eyes play a trick on me again, and the leaves slightly move. I look back up at Katya.

  “Try harder.”

  I stare at the center—the heart of the tree—ignoring my peripheral vision. The trunk is a combination of colors, representing the texture of the bark. Each flame formed by the turn of a paintbrush, the imagery so lifelike it starts to dance in front of my eyes as the hues begin to flow together. I can almost hear the cracking of the fire and the leaves rustling in the wind. Suddenly, the fire jumps out of the painting at me.

  “What was that?” I scream as I jump backward.

  “That is your destiny,” Katya says.

  “My what?”

  “Your destiny. Your tea leaves speak of secrets. I cannot hold this one from you any longer. You will be seventeen on the eve of the autumnal equinox. It is not fair for you to find out everything then.”

  “How did that painting move?” I ask, still breathless.

  “You summoned it.” Katya stares back at me.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You summoned what hides inside it,” my great-aunt says more firmly. “The power is in your blood.”

  I stare at Katya, wondering if maybe Chantal was right: she’s not all there.

  “It means you are finally learning your heritage. This is what you were meant to be.”

  “You’re crazy.” I step back from Katya. “The town says you’re just a fool. Mom always said her family made stuff up; that’s why she kept me away from all of you. The entire family must be a bunch of liars!”

  “That is not correct,” Katya says, unyielding. “Your mother ran from her destiny, yet it haunted her to her last day. Like her,
you are a summoner. Had she embraced it, she may still be here today.”

  “Shut up!” I yell. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” I run from the room up to my bedroom and slam the door. Just to be safe, I drag my dresser in front of it.

  I look around the room for some way to protect myself. A summoner? What’s that supposed to mean? And what does it have to do with that painting or my mother? The urge to flee overtakes me. That’s what’s in my blood: the ability of flight. I need to get out of here. If I tell the authorities my great-aunt is senseless, maybe they’ll send me back home to California where nothing is stable, but at least it’s familiar. But I know that’s not true. They’ll simply send me to another long-lost relative, or some crappy foster care. I have no idea what I’m going to do. No. I need to take care of myself. I open my bedroom window, as a quiet knock raps on my door.

  “Go away,” I yell.

  “Daciana—”

  “Please just leave me alone.” I crawl out the window, onto the roof of the front porch, and sneak to the side of the porch. There I climb down the vine-covered lattice, slipping out of the house onto the front lawn. It’s an epic escape as far as I’m concerned.

  As I peek about for my next route, I see Brennan’s truck driving toward me. The last thing I need is to have to Brennan trying to question me with Katya. I duck onto a small path that runs between our house and the neighbor. I want to be left alone—by everyone.

  The path takes me into the woods that run behind our street; they sit between our neighborhood and another one a few blocks away. It looks like it was the town’s attempt to integrate nature into the community. The fall hues of orange and red intermingle with the green foliage yet to change, and those that have fallen, crunch under my feet with every step.

  The paths here are strategically placed and made from crushed gravel. I decide to make my own path through the trees, and veer off to the right. I’m tired of trying to fit in, and it’s only been one day.

  After walking for a few minutes, I’m a little calmer and can think more clearly. If what I saw in Katya’s studio was real, then what I saw in the bathroom was real. That means I summoned that little creature at the arcade. But what does that mean, summoner? I wish I were back at the house to ask Katya more questions.

  Up ahead something moves, and I instantly think about the creature. Could it be here? Is it following me? More importantly, is it dangerous? I creep up to a tree and peer around its side to get a better look at what I’m dealing with.

  What I see is not a tiny creature, crawling about, spying on me, no, not at all. It’s Tryan executing some exercises between the trees, and he’s not wearing a shirt. I watch him for a while, his muscles tensing with every action, his movements precise and filled with purpose; it’s almost intoxicating. That or the whiskey is still settling in.

  I shift my feet and snap a stick in the process. It cracks through the silence, like a tree falling. I stand still, frozen in place, as Tryan stops moving and looks straight at me.

  “Did you get a good look?” he asks, walking over to me.

  I shake my head, meaning to say no, but I’m too embarrassed to speak.

  He stops in front of me. “Well, here you go.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Look all you want.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “So you weren’t spying on me?”

  “I thought you were something else.” I spin on my heel and start to walk away.

  “Wait,” Tryan says, putting his hand on my shoulder. “What are you looking for? Something not someone?”

  “It’s nothing,” I say, facing him. He has stubble on his chin, unlike most of the boys I’ve seen. His isn’t sparse either, and it runs up his chin line to the end of his jaw. Something inside of me lets out a tiny sigh. “I was just trying to find somewhere to be alone.”

  “It doesn’t sound like nothing,” he says quietly, staring down at me. “But are the dark woods a good place for a girl like you to be alone?”

  He tilts his head, looking at me with faint amusement, and his lips slightly curl on the one side. His lips—I can’t stop staring at them. There’s a pull between us, nothing I’ve ever felt before. Is Katya’s reading coming true? Is this my romance? But it feels stronger, as if we’re tied together, and tiny strings are pulling me closer to him. Suddenly, I lean forward, press my lips against his, and a spark goes off like earlier, only this time it’s on the inside.

  “Whoa,” Tryan says, pulling back. “What are you doing?”

  The strings between us snap, and I can’t think. My face flashes hot, and my hand jumps to my lips, which are still parted and reverberating from the sensation of his mouth. Seconds pass and the spark slowly dies.

  Ohmygawd. What am I doing? I turn again but this time break out into a run through the woods. My legs can’t carry me fast enough.

  “Wait, Dacie!” Tryan shouts after me.

  But I don’t stop running.

  Brennan’s truck still sits outside of my house. I keep to the shadows until I’m out of view of the front window, then eye up the roof of the porch, contemplating how I might get back up without alerting anyone inside.

  “It’s not as easy getting up as it is getting down.” Constantine’s voice makes me jump out of my skin, as he comes up beside me. It’s also the longest sentence I’ve heard him string together since we met.

  “I was considering taking a different route to my room.” I eye him up, waiting to judge his reaction. He doesn’t flinch.

  Up this close, I can see his leathery skin, broken apart by hundreds of lines from years of working in the sun. The crow’s feet on either side of his eyes indicate he knows how to smile, though it’s not something I’ve seen much of since I met him.

  “Not in the mood for pleasantries?” he asks, raising one eyebrow.

  “Not at all.”

  “Then I’d recommend a partner,” he says, cracking a smile between his peppered goatee. “Let me usher you in, and I will deal with your great-aunt.”

  “I’d rather climb back up,” I say sheepishly. “I kind of barricaded my door.”

  He lowers one brow, then nods and motions for me to follow him around the side of the house. The garden runs along here, reaching toward the back, where the yard disappears into the woods that sit behind the house.

  He disappears into his workshop, and I glance inside. Along the interior wall hangs a variety of garden tools. A shiny one flashes at me from the sunlight. Hold on—was that a sword? He reappears with a ladder, blocking my view.

  “Here,” he says, passing me one end of the ladder as he closes the door behind him and locks it. I help carry the ladder to the front porch, where he holds it secure for me.

  “No more climbing on roofs, okay?”

  I nod and scramble back into my bedroom window.

  “Daciana?” Katya calls from downstairs, as I stumble onto my floor. I hear Constantine come inside and say something as I climb onto my bed.

  I lie back and think about Tryan; I can’t believe I just kissed him. I’ve only ever kissed one other boy, and that was when I turned thirteen. My friends and I thought it would be a great idea to get drunk, so I stole a bunch of my mom’s booze. I hardly remember the kiss, let alone the rest of the night; I was lucky more didn’t happen. Mom was livid when she went to pour a drink the next morning, and her bar was dry. She made me sleep it off on the balcony and then we moved the next week. I wish we could move now, so I didn’t have to face Tryan again.

  Brennan’s truck starts up, and I jump out of bed just in time to look through my window as it drives away. At least I don’t have to deal with awkward conversations now.

  A quiet knock interrupts my thoughts. Maybe I spoke too soon.

  “Your friend has left,” Katya says from the other side. “May I come in?”

  “We need to discuss some things first.”

  “I feel terrible,” she says, from the other side of my door.
“That was an awful way for me to show you our powers; I apologize.” She bursts into tears. “Oh please, Daciana, I don’t know how to do this. I’ve never had children. I’m trying my best.”

  I pause, holding in the harsh words I had prepared for her. She never hesitated once when it came to taking responsibility for me—she deserves my respect. “Okay,” I say, folding my hands on my pillow on my lap. “I’ll open the door, but you have to stay out there.”

  “Agreed,” she says, sniffling.

  I push the dresser away and take a deep breath before opening my bedroom door. “You have five minutes.” Katya flashes me a weak smile. I notice she’s holding a small box in her hands. I step back into my bedroom and sit on the edge of my bed, facing her.

  “What did your mother tell you about our family?” she asks.

  “That none of you are safe.”

  Katya nods in understanding. “That can be true. What else?”

  I try to swallow past a dry lump in my throat. “She told me not to trust any of you.”

  “Do you feel that way about me?” she asks. I shrug. “That makes me sad.” She looks down at the box in her hands. “I knew your mother when she was young. She was my sister Bianca’s daughter. Bianca would have been your grandmother.”

  “I’ve never heard of her,” I say.

  “That’s because your mother ran away the day your grandmother died,” Katya says, looking at me seriously. She motions to the box in her hands. “May I?” she asks. I nod.

  She opens the box, and pulls a photo out from inside and holds it out to me. “Here is a photo of your mother, grandmother, and me. You may recognize the house in the background.”

  I slowly stand and take the photo from her, then return to my bed. It’s a younger version of my mother, long before I was born. On one side of her is a younger Katya, though not so different looking than she is today. On the other side of my mother is a stern-looking woman with similar features to Katya, but broader. She must be my grandmother, Bianca.

  Katya walks into my bedroom and joins me on the edge of my bed. “I am so sorry to upset you with all of this. That was not my intention.”