Smoke and Summons (Numina Book 1)

by Charlie N. Holmberg

  Underneath the table, Sandis’s hands balled into fists. She tucked them between her thighs to hide them from Galt.

  Why did he let me love him?

  She blinked rapidly, drying new tears. Stared at the table, hoping Kazen wouldn’t notice, though she knew it was a false hope, just like all the others.

  “They weren’t all yours.” The men, she meant.

  “Quite the tongue we’ve developed, hm?” Kazen lowered his hands and sat back. “But of course not. I wouldn’t bankrupt myself going after one stubborn rat.”

  She dared to look at his narrowed eyes. They were too intense, so she settled for the wrinkles below them. “But the mobsmen . . .”

  Kazen smiled. She hated it when he smiled. “You dear, pathetic thing. The mobsmen are not on my payroll. They never have been. No, they’re encouraged to prevent me from getting angry. We both know what happens when I get angry.”

  She dropped her gaze. Waited for him to say, You’ve made me angry. That was the next line in this mock interview. A segue into her punishment. Her stomach clenched around its meager meal.

  But Kazen didn’t say anything. She felt him staring at the clean, straight part Zelna had combed into her hair. He wanted her to sit, to stew, to fear. But Sandis’s mind had snagged on the mobster who’d died the night Kazen forced her to march back to his lair.

  The memory of a half-charred boy in black surfaced. Of her stepping over his body as she walked back to Kazen’s lair. Anon had been about that age when he’d disappeared.

  “You shouldn’t have brought children,” she whispered.

  Kazen pressed his hands to the tabletop. The movement was silent, but the tension in the room tripled, causing Sandis to recoil. “If you insist on speaking,” he said, a tightness to his words, “then. Speak. Up.”

  “You could spare the children,” she said, her voice garnering strength. “If the mobsmen are your puppets to use as you please, you could at least spare children.”

  She waited for him to scold her for talking back. To signal for Galt to throw a fist against the side of her head. But he didn’t, and she hated that he didn’t. She hated his unpredictability. She feared it.

  “What children?”

  The edge to the question woke Sandis from her stupor. She realized her mistake. That memory—the too-young mob boy, dead at her feet—it wasn’t hers. It was Ireth’s.

  She shook her head.

  Kazen’s hand whipped out and grabbed her chin, pulling it toward him. His hard eyes met hers. “What children?”

  She swallowed. “In the neighborhood—”

  His eyes narrowed. Studied hers.

  She knew the moment he saw her fear. Her mistake.

  “You mean the little mob boy. The lackey who got too close.”

  Sandis pulled free of his grip. “He held me down. He—”

  “He’s dead. But you shouldn’t know that, dear Sandis.” He leaned closer to her, his breath stale and hot. “Tell me.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Tell me!”

  Sandis froze. Ice. Stone. Metal. Never before had Kazen raised his voice in her presence. Never.

  She stared at him, not even daring to breathe. Tension broke off him like shards of glass. The lamps in the room sweltered like suns.

  He stared at her, his jaw working, for too long. Slowly he sat, never taking his gaze from her.

  “Galt,” he said, low and hard, “go fetch Alys.”

  Sandis came to herself. “No! Please.”

  Kazen didn’t need to explain. Sandis understood. He wasn’t going to summon a numen to harm her. No, what he had planned was so much worse. He was going to unleash Galt on the youngest of the vessels, right here in this room. Let her be beaten where Sandis could see. Did Kazen know Sandis had nurtured her like a sister? She’d been so careful.

  And Kazen had shouted at her. He was angry. If he deemed this information worth more than Alys’s well-being, he might . . .

  Sandis cringed.

  Galt reached the door.

  “I’ll tell you!” she cried. “Stop it, stop!”

  Kazen lifted a hand, stalling Galt. “You’ve gotten loose with your tongue, Sandis, but you’ve also gotten soft. Now speak, or you’ll be cleaning solitary with your tongue.”

  Tears surged into her eyes; she couldn’t stop them, even under the weight of Kazen’s threats. “I saw him, yes. Through Ireth. I saw him burned and lying in the alley.”

  Kazen’s eyes widened. “You remember.”

  She nodded.

  “Galt.”

  Galt reached for the door handle.

  Sandis jumped from the bench, reaching across the table for him. “No, no! I remember . . . For half a year, I’ve remembered.” And words spilled from her mouth, painting the room. She recounted every single memory she had, desperately trying to fulfill Kazen’s curiosity. Desperately trying to satiate him. The only secrets she kept for herself were the messages from Ireth—the warmth, the warning, the glimpses of Kolosos. Throughout her recounting, she prayed silently in her head, Celestial, don’t let him hurt Alys. It’s not her fault.

  Kazen stood when her rant was over, looking paler than she’d ever seen him. He did not summon Galt. Did not even look at him. He paced, back and forth once, then pressed his knuckles into his chin in thought.

  Dense silence settled in the dining room, suffocating.

  When he finally spoke, his voice hurt her ears.

  “You’re stronger than I realized,” he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else. “I tested you. You were strong, yes, but this . . .” He eyed her, the dark gaze almost . . . hungry. “This is what I’ve been waiting for. First the fire summons, then this . . .”

  Sandis stood and backed away from him, tripping over the bench. Her legs shook, their strength not yet fully returned. Her intestines curled around her heart before looping toward her ankles. “Kazen, no.”

  The hunger intensified.

  She took another step in retreat, only to feel Galt’s belly against her back. His hands clamped around her upper arms. His smile pressed against her hair.

  “No?” Kazen asked, stepping around the table. Closer to her. “You understand my intentions. I know it is no coincidence, your leaving me the night we lost dear Heath. That my perfect”—he took a step—“little”—another—“vessel”—he stood before her and reached out, running the back of his fingers down her wet cheek—“broke my rules and spied about where she wasn’t wanted.”

  Sandis’s body went numb in Galt’s grasp. He was the only thing keeping her upright. A shiver passed down her neck and spine, then curled upward and settled in her gut.

  Kazen leaned forward until his nose was inches from Sandis’s. Without taking his eyes from hers, he said, “I’m so sorry, Galt, but your session with Sandis will have to be cancelled. Our plans have changed. I’m going to need her ripe and healthy as quickly as possible.

  “I think we’ve found the vessel we’ve been waiting for.”

  Chapter 23

  The gold loops spun, slowly at first, but they picked up speed with every rotation.

  No, Sandis thought from somewhere far away. I don’t want to see this.

  The whirring noise began, a soft, comforting whistle. The heart of the amarinth glowed a steady light. It was neither warm nor cold. It began to pulse, similar to a heartbeat.

  I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to think about him.

  The smell of copper filled her nose. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

  She tried to reach for the amarinth, but she had no arms. No body.

  The darkness beyond the light of the amarinth shifted. She looked up. A hot breeze whipped by her, fiery and rough. A deep, glowing red veined the blackness. Shaped it. It moved all at once, rotating—

  Two narrow, stretched-diamond eyes opened and found her.

  Sandis’s eyes shot open. Her dry tongue formed the name “Kolosos.”

  She sat up, weary
and heavy, weak from her time spent in solitary.

  Dim light traced the outline of the door in the dark room. She was still in solitary—a room she couldn’t escape—but now she had her cot and blankets, and there was a tray of food and a pitcher just inside the door, along with a bucket for elimination.

  She drew away from it, hugging herself on the far side of the cot. What does it mean, Ireth? Why the amarinth?

  Not that it mattered. The amarinth and its owner were far away from her now. A pang echoed in her chest at the thought, making her feel hollow. She pressed her knuckles into her eyes to prevent tears. She was so tired of crying.

  I don’t have much time. She needed to be levelheaded. To think. The food and water would help . . . but it would also prepare her for Kolosos. Was it better to be prepared and have a chance at surviving or to shrink into sickness and, maybe, keep Kazen from summoning his monster?

  A dry, hard chuckle ripped from her throat. As if she could dissuade Kazen from doing anything.

  Sandis closed her eyes. Ireth? Help me understand. The amarinth . . . it didn’t glow like that in real life. She’d seen it enough times. What did it mean?

  Did Kolosos have a connection with the amarinth? But the ethereal plane was completely separate from theirs. Kazen had said so, and he had no reason to lie about that.

  A small warmth budded in her center, then faded. She pressed her palm against it, trying to savor the sensation for as long as its tendrils held. “I wish I understood,” she whispered. “Give me time.”

  She didn’t have time.

  Stepping off the bed, Sandis crouched by the food, the floor cold against her bare feet. She couldn’t see it well, but she detected the outline of mashed potatoes, felt lukewarm gravy with her finger. There was meat beside it—this was an especially rich meal, and for breakfast, no less. The spicy smell of apple cider wafted up from a wooden cup, and she inhaled deeply, letting the scent tickle her nose. Rone loved apple—

  The thought cut off sharply. Her eyes burned. Her throat tightened and ached.

  Apple cider. That’s what he’d been drinking the day she met him. When he’d called her over. When he’d shared with her.

  Why? She blinked away yet another frustrating tear. Why did you ever reach out to me? Why do any of it, if I was going to end up here?

  She snatched the cup of cider without thought and hurled it to the other side of the small room. A loud, hollow sound echoed between the walls as the cup hit. Cider rained onto the floor.

  All the burst of anger did was make her tremble. Make her cry even more. Her eyes were so sore from the tears and the wiping of them. From holding them back. She bit the inside of her lip and forced a deep breath into her lungs, then out again. In, out. In, out.

  What was he doing now? He’d gotten his mother out of Gerech, surely. Was one thousand enough to cover that? As she pinched the bridge of her nose, her thoughts spun. You should have let me check with the other mortgage broker. I could have found him. He might have saved us both.

  Why do you get your family, but I can’t have mine?

  Sandis swiped her index finger over the top of the potatoes and put it in her mouth, forcing herself to swallow. She needed to think. She needed energy. She’d work this out—

  The locks on the door clicked in uneven rhythm. Sandis barely had enough time to move out of the way before the door opened. Her stomach soured when she saw Galt standing in the door frame.

  He glanced at the food and scowled. “I’ll shove it down your throat if you don’t eat it.”

  She cringed. Celestial, I’m a pig being fattened up for slaughter. “I just woke up.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Eat it. Now.”

  Sandis picked up the tray and took it back to her cot. Finding a fork on the edge of it, she worked on the potatoes. Those seemed the easiest to stomach.

  Galt must have noticed the spilled cider, for he cursed and spat, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Sandis shoveled another forkful into her mouth, staring at her tray.

  Galt popped his knuckles one by one, as if trying to make her hear his frustration at not having time with her yesterday. He knew how to hurt someone without causing lasting damage. Maybe that was why Kazen liked him so much.

  Maybe Kazen had been the one to teach him.

  She was halfway through the meat when Galt said, “Enough. I don’t have all day. Let’s go.”

  Penitent. Obedient. Quiet. Sandis set the tray aside and followed him, though the moment she stepped out of the room, his hand grabbed her arm tight enough to hurt. She didn’t let the pain show on her face.

  He half walked, half dragged her through the hallways of Kazen’s lair until they got to Kazen’s office—a space Galt shared with the summoner so he could do Kazen’s bidding without delay. Sandis chewed on the inside of her cheek while Galt unlocked the door. She rarely came to Kazen’s office, even when she still sat in his good graces.

  The door opened. The lamps were already burning, meaning Galt or Kazen had been in this room earlier in the day. At least, Sandis assumed it was morning. There were no windows down here. Galt shoved her in, followed, and closed the door behind them.

  Kazen had a large desk with a dark stain on the rightmost portion of it, and behind that a large set of black bookshelves stood about three-quarters full. Many of the books were scholarly articles whose titles one couldn’t see without looking at the front cover. Sandis had always made a habit of looking away from books and other papers, not wanting to give away that she could read them. Such covertness seemed pointless now.

  In the corner near the end of the shelves stood Kazen’s astral sphere—gold in color and held up on a tall wooden stand. The Noscon figures on its mobile plates were raised and nonsensical to her. There was a small bin at the foot of the sphere. It held two scrolls, one of which looked incredibly old, like it might crumble to dust if Sandis touched it. The other was white, crisp, and new. Small spots of ink bled through the paper, but not enough for Sandis to make out the words.

  On the left wall was Galt’s desk, much smaller and in poorer repair, littered with papers, trash, and half-eaten snacks. At least the garbage bin beside it had been recently emptied.

  Against the far wall rested a simple table, about the height of Sandis’s navel. Sandis remembered that table. She’d been branded while strapped facedown on its surface. And again later, to receive Ireth’s name atop her spine.

  “Black ashes,” Galt sputtered. The curse sounded so harsh and final on his lips. When Rone said similar words, they were merely intense—

  Sandis gritted her teeth, banishing the thought, though the cool, dripping sensation that filled her and made her shiver was not so easily ignored.

  “One hour, he said,” Galt mumbled, walking to the far end of the room as though he could find Kazen behind one of the shelves. When he came back, he kicked a chair in Sandis’s direction and barked at her to sit.

  She sat.

  He paced back and forth, complaining under his breath. Went to a cupboard near his desk and opened it, though his body blocked the contents. Nodding to himself, Galt closed the cupboard and sat on the edge of his desk, knocking over greasy, crinkled paper, and folded his arms.

  Shouting filled the hallway. It started gradually at first—a few raised voices. But within moments there was bellowing and cursing. The sound of a chair falling over.

  “Black ashes,” Galt swore again. He launched at Sandis and grabbed her wrist, nearly snapping it when he yanked her to his desk. Some rummaging produced a pair of steel handcuffs, and though Sandis didn’t resist, Galt restrained her like she did and clapped the cuffs on her before looping the opposite side through the handle on one of the desk drawers. He shoved her onto the floor.

  “Try to move and I’ll make mincemeat out of you.” Galt turned and hurried out of the office, leaving the door cracked open in his wake.

  Normally, Sandis would have sat very still, even with her arm held up uncomfortably by handc
uffs.

  Instead, she yanked hard on the cuffs, intending to pull the drawer free and run for it. But the drawer held fast, locked.

  If she could not escape, she’d use the time Galt had given her. Standing, Sandis looked over Galt’s scattered papers.

  She wished she could read faster, but she had no trouble making out the important parts. Two leases—apparently Kazen owned housing in the city—a letter in poor handwriting, blank pages with nothing on them. A small ledger, empty save for a couple of lines of Noscon writing.

  She opened the drawer above the one she was cuffed to. Gagged when a half-rotted apple core rolled toward her. There were pens and some ink jars—that was it. She tried the one above that. More paper, a ruler, empty ledgers.

  Sandis could barely reach the drawers on the other side of the desk. The top one was empty. Did Kazen realize how disorganized and useless Galt was?

  She opened the second drawer. She couldn’t see inside it but felt around. A book, another book. Something round. Something metallic—

  She pulled out a key. Blinked.

  The shouting in the hall intensified.

  Sandis slammed the drawer shut and knelt back where Galt had left her. Glancing at the door, she tried the key in the locked drawer. It fit. Rone would roll his eyes at Galt’s stupidity.

  Rone doesn’t matter anymore.

  She yanked the drawer open, and to her relief, it came free from the desk and clattered to the floor. A menu for a local restaurant spilled from it. Sandis turned the drawer over and emptied its contents, praying with everything she had that she could use the ruckus in the hallway to escape the lair without being caught—without condemning the others to punishment on her behalf. But as she stood, the drawer dangling from her wrists, she noticed the drawer’s other contents spilled at her feet.

  Files. Just like the ones in the citizen-records building. And the top one bore Heath’s name.

  “Kolin citizens can’t be sold as slaves,” Rone repeated in her memory. “I wonder if your master or whoever had it taken so you couldn’t be traced.”

  Shouts echoed in the hallway. Lowering herself to her knees, Sandis picked up the file. Heath Ottobert. She’d never known his and Rist’s last name. Beneath it was Rist’s file, and next, hers.