Smoke and Summons (Numina Book 1)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  Together, Sandis and the stranger hoisted their patient onto the roll. Sandis cringed at the bloodstain he’d left on the hardwood.

  The man left again, then came back with an assortment of medical supplies, some Sandis had never seen. “Bullet’s probably still in there. Stupid kid. Here, roll him onto his other side and keep him from moving.”

  Rone mumbled something unintelligible.

  Sandis bit her lip, looking between Rone’s pained face and the stranger’s sure one. “Will it hurt?”

  The man laughed. “Of course it will hurt! No more than he deserves.”

  Another groan. Sandis squeezed Rone’s bicep.

  The stranger pulled out a long pair of tweezers.

  Sandis looked away.

  Sandis awoke feeling groggy and stiff—both in body and in clothing. She had no idea how long she’d slept, thanks to the lack of windows in the too-warm space. The first thing that caught her eye after blinking clear her bleary vision was the candle, burned down to a quarter wick. Was this the first candle the man, who’d introduced himself as Arnae, had lit, or had he replaced it with a second? Sandis was sure she’d slept at least half a day. She felt like she’d been possessed again.

  Ireth. She swallowed and pushed herself onto sore knees. She’d never before had a vision like the one that had assaulted her in that records room. It was the same horrific being she’d seen in her dream, but she’d never experienced such a thing while awake.

  Kolosos. She felt it in her bones. That was Kolosos.

  Ireth was afraid of him, and he was trying to send her a message.

  She closed her eyes. Ireth, what should I do?

  The fire horse didn’t answer.

  A moan drew her attention to the other side of the room, to Rone’s bedroll. Forgetting her sore muscles, Sandis hurried to his side. Felt his forehead. No fever. Thank the Celestial—Arnae had said it would portent badly for him if he developed a fever.

  “Rone?” she tried. A line appeared between his eyebrows, and she rubbed it smooth with her finger.

  He cracked one eyelid. Took a deep breath. “You’re still here?”

  Sandis flicked his temple.

  He waved her away.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like I got shot.” He tried to roll over, winced, and gave up. “What time is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Rone fumbled with his hands until he pulled the amarinth out of his pocket. He spun it. The gold coils fell lifeless to his stomach.

  Sandis gaped. “You’re going to check the time with that? Isn’t it a waste?”

  Rone pocketed the artifact. “When it resets, I can spin it and become immortal again. Mortal wounds cannot exist on an immortal body.”

  Sandis sat back on her haunches. Tingles crawled up her arms. “It heals.”

  He nodded.

  Sandis rolled her lips together. “Rone.”

  He winced like her voice annoyed him. She hoped it didn’t. Maybe he had a headache. “What?”

  “You could save lives with that.”

  He groaned.

  “Rone.” She inched closer until her knees pressed into his arm. “Can you imagine? Going to a hospital, to a sickbed . . . Someone with no chance for life could live again—”

  “And then everyone would know about it.” He winced, but from his injury or the thought of giving up the amarinth, she wasn’t sure.

  Sandis pressed her lips together. Yes, in the wrong hands, the Noscon charm could be used for wrong. But in the right hands . . .

  People could live. Sickness, dissolved. Injuries, swept away. Suffering, eliminated. Surely there was some way—

  She looked at the golden loops clutched in Rone’s hands and pulled herself back to reality. Without the amarinth, they’d both be dead. Or waking up in Kazen’s lair.

  Sandis swallowed. “If the grafters didn’t know about the amarinth before, they do now.”

  He looked at her.

  She readjusted herself to a more comfortable position. “It’s something Kazen would want. He’s talked of them before.”

  “It’s something anyone would want.” He looked at her pointedly, as if reminding her that if she hadn’t stolen the thing in the first place, he wouldn’t be lying on the floor with stitches in his hip.

  Sandis glanced at the door. “Who is Arnae?” He had seemed so familiar with Rone, mocking him in such a familial way. He’d asked after Rone’s mother. Sandis had given him the unfortunate news.

  Rone snorted. “He must like you to have given you his first name.”

  That made Sandis smile.

  “Arnae Kurtz. He’s my old teacher.”

  “What did he teach?”

  “How to throw a punch.”

  Sandis blinked. “Oh.”

  Rone sighed. “When I was a kid, I worked sewers and cleanup in this area. Kurtz offered to tell me stories if I would clean the sludge off his flat. I thought it was a pretty stupid trade, but I did it anyway. He got sick for a while, but I kept doing it because I liked wasting my time.”

  “Because you were being nice?”

  Rone rolled his eyes. “Anyway, apparently it impressed him. After he recovered, he offered to teach me seugrat—the old form of martial arts used by Kolin nomads. I was here almost every day until I found . . .”

  He didn’t finish, but Sandis guessed he meant to say, the amarinth. The relic’s power had allowed him to become this Engel Verlad figure.

  “He’s nice,” she said.

  Rone massaged his forehead. “He’s all right.”

  “He saved you.”

  He grunted.

  Sandis watched the candle flicker for a moment. “What do you do? As Engel?”

  Rone lowered his hand. “I think the more important question is, What the hell, Sandis?”

  Her breath caught somewhere above her heart.

  Rone tried to push himself up on one elbow, winced, and fell back onto the bedroll with a sound of frustration. “I’m right, aren’t I? Everyone knows grafters are all about the occult, and you’ve got dozens of them after you. You’re a vessel.”

  She shifted her focus back to the candle. “Keep your voice down.”

  He cursed. Was silent for a moment. “You know that’s illegal.”

  She glared at him. Rone’s activities weren’t exactly legal, either. She’d seen him break and enter and beat up that man. She was half tempted to say as much.

  Silence filled the room instead.

  She swallowed. “I didn’t choose it.”

  Rone rubbed the scruff on his jaw. “I suppose this Kazen guy did.”

  She licked the back of her teeth. “When I was fourteen . . . I lost my brother. I went looking for him, and two slavers grabbed me.”

  “In Dresberg?”

  She nodded.

  “Doesn’t sound right.”

  She shrugged. “They did, and Kazen found and bought me a little while later. Said I was special. Turned me into . . . this.”

  “A vessel.”

  She nodded. “Not anyone can be one. There are requirements—good health, no piercings, virginal—”

  Rone grunted.

  “—an open spirit—”

  “A what?”

  “Open spirit,” she repeated, though she knew he had heard her clearly. She didn’t look at him while she spoke—she’d never talked about this to anyone before. For years, her sole companions had been the other vessels, and they all knew as much, or as little, as she did. “It’s . . . I don’t know how to explain it, but it makes you receptive to the ethereal plane.”

  “And the demons.”

  “The numina, yes.” That vivid image of Kolosos crossed her mind. “Kazen has a special sort of insight. A way of seeing things about you that you fail to see in yourself. Part of me is glad he took me; the slavers weren’t . . . kind. Kazen is at least decent, if you follow his rules.”

  Rone pressed his lips together. Looked away.

  “But he is also
evil. Not the way the slavers were . . . a darker, more manipulative way. It’s an evil that reaches out and draws you in. He made us a part of what he was doing. But it was easy to pretend, you know? Pretend it was all right. Most of the time. But after . . . I always knew it, but after . . .” Her throat constricted, choking off her words.

  “After what?”

  She steeled herself. “He wanted to—wants to—summon a numen called Kolosos. Something powerful. Something . . . awful. I’ve seen glimpses of him.” She shook her head. “The night I ran away, he tried to summon Kolosos into another vessel named Heath. It killed Heath. Violently.”

  A curse soft as a feather flowed from Rone’s lips.

  “I know Kazen,” she continued, “and I know he hasn’t given up. But I don’t know how to stop him. For one man to have so much power, especially a man like him . . .” As an afterthought, she added, “I’m one of his strongest vessels.”

  Once again, she found herself thinking that it could have been her in that room, not Heath, standing in that blood. Had she not been so meticulous in following the rules, at being the favorite—

  “What happened with those records?” Rone interrupted her grisly thought. “The ones you . . . touched?”

  Sandis swallowed. How much to tell him? How much did she even know? But she didn’t have anyone else to advise her. And didn’t Rone deserve to know the truth? He’d taken a bullet for her.

  She knit and unknit her fingers together. “I had a vision. From Ireth.”

  “You mentioned that name before.”

  She nodded. “Ireth the fire horse. Strength-seven numen. I’m bound to him. In order for Kazen to control a numen he summons, he has to have the blood of the vessel in his veins. He took mine the same day I left. I don’t know if it’s still there . . . If it is, then Kazen could still use me to summon and control Ireth.”

  Rone had that look again, that shocked expression that did nothing to tell Sandis what he was thinking. “And he has to touch you.”

  “My head, yes.”

  “And you can’t . . . control it?”

  She shook her head. Picked at the wood grain in the floor. “I cease to exist when Ireth takes over my body. Except . . .”

  “Except what?”

  She took another moment to think before meeting that still-shocked gaze. “Except that, sometimes, I remember. Kazen doesn’t know. I’m not supposed to. Ireth . . . Ireth has been communicating with me. Or trying to.”

  Now Rone’s expression was incredulous. “You talk to a fire horse from hell.”

  “He’s from the ethereal plane.” A tiny bit of venom laced the statement. “It’s not his fault Kazen makes him do terrible things.”

  “But you talk to it.”

  “I . . . no. Ireth can’t . . . talk. Or he hasn’t. I just . . .” This sounded loony, didn’t it? Especially to someone who hadn’t experienced it. “I feel it. Him. What he’s trying so say.”

  Rone took his time mulling over that. After what felt like forever, he said, “And what, exactly, is Ireth trying to say?”

  “That Kolosos is dangerous. Ireth is afraid of him. He needs . . . something, but I’m not sure what.”

  Rone shook his head, smiling a strange smile, and stared at the ceiling. “This is farcical.”

  Sandis’s brows knit together. “This is true.”

  “This is a dream. You’re a vessel. When I was younger, I honestly thought the occult wasn’t real, that my father spoke about it to scare us—”

  Sandis perked. “Your father?”

  He dismissed the inquiry with a wave of his hand. “And this guy picked you, of all people, to summon a slagging fire horse into.”

  “There are five . . . four others. You saw one of them yesterday.”

  Rone whistled. “This is insane.” He paused. “And this is why Kazen wants you? Because you’re some special thing that can summon this Ireth?”

  She nodded. “I’m bound to him. So long as I am, no other vessel can host him. And few meet the criteria for vessels. We’re . . . rare.” As far as Sandis knew, there were far more numina than there were vessels. Hundreds of them, though Kazen had his favorites.

  “And can you unbind yourself?”

  She paused. “I . . . yes.”

  That apparently piqued his interest. “How?”

  “Break a qualification, I suppose.” Give herself a permanent injury. Lose her virginity. “Breaking my script would be the easiest. But I can’t.”

  “Your script? What? And why not?”

  She shook her head. Leaned away from him. Rone wouldn’t understand, but she felt the need to clarify. “Because I’ll lose Ireth. I’ll never learn what he’s been trying to tell me.”

  “But Kazen wouldn’t want you anymore.”

  She breathed in deeply, held the air until it hurt, then released it all at once. Perhaps Kazen wouldn’t, save for revenge. He was not a man who relished being cheated.

  “Maybe. But I can’t. Ireth.” She paused. “I have to know what he wants. I have to learn everything I can about Kolosos. I have to . . . stop it.”

  Her own words surprised her. Stop Kolosos? Stop Kazen? Even if she could control the fire horse, Ireth was no match for Kazen’s monster. Sandis had felt Ireth’s fear. And she was certainly no match for her former master.

  Maybe Kazen wouldn’t succeed. Maybe he’d try over and over again until he had no vessels left and he gave up on the venture. Maybe Sandis wouldn’t have to do anything.

  Her muscles felt too tight.

  “This . . . thing you summon is that important, huh?” Rone’s voice had an edge to it, but she couldn’t tell if it was an edge of wonder or judgment.

  She nodded. “Ireth is . . .” A messenger. A guardian. A friend? “He’s like . . . family.”

  Sandis knew the declaration was absurd, and yet it didn’t feel far from the truth. Ireth was not human, and certainly not related to her. She’d never, technically, met him. But she had a growing affection for him similar to what she’d felt toward her brother. He was a burning presence in her breast. He felt like . . . missing someone. And he cared about her. Unselfishly. He needed her.

  She had so little of that in her life, especially now that she was separated from the other vessels.

  “Can you fake it?”

  The question broke Sandis from her thoughts. “What?”

  “Fake it. I mean”—he gave her a wolfish smile—“how does he know you haven’t broken a qualification? You know, with me?” Sandis’s cheeks heated, and Rone let her stew in the flush for a moment before adding, “Or done one of the other things.”

  Sandis considered. Her mind traveled back to her old room in Kazen’s lair, to the horseshoe ring of empty cots.

  “The others.”

  The space between Rone’s eyebrows crinkled.

  “The other vessels. We’re not all bound. Kazen would try to summon Ireth into one of them. If he failed, he’d know I still have him.”

  Rone was quiet again, this time for longer. Sandis stood and looked over the shelves. Her stomach growled; she ignored it.

  “What script?”

  She turned back to Rone, who had successfully propped himself onto his elbow. His eyes watched her, dark and oddly genuine. Not accusatory. Not disgusted. It kindled an odd kind of strength in her.

  She touched the base of her neck, her fingertips lingering just above where Ireth’s name was tattooed in their mingled blood—blood taken from her before the summoning, and him after. “All vessels have a script on their backs; it allows the numina to possess them. Noscon magic. I don’t understand it.”

  “That’s why you wouldn’t take off your coat.”

  She nodded.

  Rone paused a moment. “Can I . . . see it?”

  She hesitated. Glanced at the closed door Arnae had disappeared through some hours ago. Licked her lips. Her heart beat faster, but she turned away from Rone and began undoing the buttons of his torn shirt.

  She let the dirt
y, stiff material fall off her shoulders and heard Rone gasp. She could perfectly envision what he saw, for she’d seen it in the mirror and imprinted in the skin of other vessels. A long brand of Noscon writing that stemmed from the top of her spine to the small of her back, the width of a grown man’s hand. Gold leaf burned into the characters. Above it, a black bar of smaller Noscon letters spelling out Ireth’s name.

  She pulled the shirt back up and fastened the buttons.

  When Rone spoke again, his voice was softer, without its interrogative edge. “Does it . . . hurt?”

  She turned back to him, studying his pale, shocked, and concerned face.

  No one had ever asked her that before.

  The door opened. Sandis jumped. Arnae Kurtz stood in the doorway. His hard gaze focused on Sandis, and for a moment she was sure he would berate her, grab her, throw her into the street and summon the scarlets, or perhaps the Angelic himself.

  His focus switched to Rone. “This is grave, Comf.”

  Rone grumbled. “Did I mention,” he said, without breaking eye contact with his teacher, “that my master is a terrible eavesdropper?”

  Sandis’s heart sank into her stomach. She took a step back, then another. Telling Rone was one thing; telling this stranger was . . . dangerous.

  Arnae held up a hand, stilling her. “I won’t hurt you, Sandis.” Then, to Rone, “The occult is not all the Celesians make it out to be, but it is real, and it is a threat, especially if what your friend is saying is true.”

  “You have such a way with words.” Rone lowered himself onto his back and hissed as he did so.

  “Don’t jest with me, Rone.”

  Sandis squeaked, “You believe me?”

  Arnae raised a gray eyebrow. “I am a spinner of stories, young lady, and even I could not fashion one as great as yours. I think you’ve done well in your choice of allies.”

  Her heart bounced back to its proper place. “You’ll help us?”

  But the old man shook his head. “Not me. Rone.”

  She glanced at the injured man on the floor.

  Arnae followed her gaze. “Take her to the Lily Tower. Today.”

  Sandis’s pulse raced. “But—”

  Arnae held up a hand. “Do not fear, Sandis. You have done nothing wrong.”

  Rone snorted. “The Celesians won’t see it that way. The Lily Tower is the last place she should be.”