Seize the Soul: Confessions of a Summoner Book 1

by William Stadler

  “Not in those words. But if she wanted to give me a sob story, why not keep it up? She had me. Why walk out with that evil look on her face? She could have added to her story some reason that it was important for me to get the obelisk so she could finally stop working for him.”

  “Maybe she didn’t want to take the chance that you’d decide not to go after the stone,” Lyle replied. “Maybe she wanted to let you know that there’d be consequences if you didn’t.”

  “I don’t know about that. She could have warned me of the consequences by telling me that Marcus would come after me if I didn’t get the obelisk. I think that there was a moment where she wanted to trust me, but she didn’t think she could.”

  “Maybe,” Lyle shrugged. “Maybe not. Even if you’re right, how do you expect us to find her?”

  “A Druid walked out of my apartment covered in blood,” I stated plainly.

  “You think she came here in another form? A raven maybe?”

  I brushed through the knots in my hair a few times, hearing the bristles snag when they got hung on the tangles. “Not necessarily. She probably drove here, but there’d be no way to find her car in a parking lot full of cars.”

  “Don’t you guys get special windshield stickers for being a resident?” Lyle asked.

  “We do, but so many visitors come and go. She might have even been smart enough not to park nearby.”

  Lyle stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. “Cold in here.”

  “Stupid thermostat goes in and out. I called maintenance like a week ago. Still haven’t heard from them.”

  He gave his hands a warm breath blow, then shoved them back into his coat. “What makes you think Stephanie drove here in the first place?”

  “Because she came with a flower pot. I don’t think she could have decanted and flown here holding a pot.”

  That was a sore spot for Lyle. “She doesn’t decant,” he argued. “Druids take forms. Werewolves transform. Decanters commune with forms. It’s an experience that we appreciate, not something that comes and goes.”

  I gave him a tired look. “It’s the same thing.”

  His voice went an octave higher. “Not even close!”

  “Whatever. Look, regardless, Stephanie couldn’t have traveled here in another phase holding a flowerpot in her beak. It was probably strange enough for people to see a bird flying with shorts and a tank top in its jaws, which is probably why she’d come barefoot. But it doesn’t matter whether she drove or not, because I know one thing’s true – she had to have flown back, not unless she wanted passersby asking her questions about the blood all over her clothes and body.”

  “It’s a possibility. Where’s the flowerpot now?” Lyle asked.

  “She took it with her, but I bet she threw it in the dumpster or in the woods somewhere.”

  “Dumpsters or not, if she flew back in another phase then she was just sloppy. There’d be enough Essence behind her to track her from here to Charleston.”

  Essence is the residue of Empyrean – sort of like crumbs falling from a piece of bread. Every time Empyrean is used, no matter the kind, Essence is released. Only the best hunters could find the Essence, because their senses could track the tiny flakes, whereas most of us couldn’t. It just so happened that the best hunters – in fact the only hunters – were vampires.

  Fortunately, vampires couldn’t track summoners by following Essence, since none of us used Empyrean like the other paranormals. And since we didn’t use Empyrean, none of our bindings left traces that vampires could track.

  “If we could get a hunter over here, we could probably figure out where she went,” I said. “But this will have to wait until after work tomorrow. I have to get another soul before I go following Druids into chaos and nether.”

  “You sure you want to get one from work?” Lyle asked.

  I stroked the brush through my hair a few more times then set it aside on the table. “It’s better than trying to hunt down a voodoo priestess and take hers,” I replied. “I’m more concerned with tracking Stephanie’s essence.”

  Lyle’s wide eyes snapped up to me – a warning and a plea. “My roommate Carter’s a hunter. We’d probably do well to ask him for his help.”

  By the dead, kill me now.

  Chapter

  NINE

  I donned myself with white-gold earrings stuffed with quarter-carat diamonds for my date with Boyd. The gray cardigan and white shirt could stay, but the black, linty sweats had to go. Opting for black skinny jeans, I slid them on with a tussle and amateur belly dancer waist wiggles, silently blaming the tightness on the fact that they’d recently been washed.

  For the sake of full disclosure, they hadn’t been washed in about two weeks and had been worn once or twice since then. Keep your opinion to yourself.

  Even though I’d been shot, I had to give it to Stephanie; she’d done a not-too-shabby job of healing me, despite the root and the juju. I was determined not to let her ruin my date, even though it would without question be the only thing on my mind tonight – that and the idea that Castella was trying to kill me for reasons unknown and that I’d begrudgingly shaken hands with a Leprechaun and that I had no soul in my obelisk in case things got heated again and a host of other distractions that didn’t pertain to my date. Oh, and spinning in my head like the totem in last scene of Inception was the thing Lyle accused me of – that I was dragging Boyd along.

  I can’t keep doing this Boyd. I have to let him know who I really am tonight. I do love him though, I convinced myself, finally able to get the button on my pants to connect. Was that the truth? I didn’t let myself answer.

  I met Boyd at a little Italian restaurant called 518 West downtown. He still had the spiked, gelled hair, only now he was wearing a fitted blue denim jacket with jeans to match.

  “I thought we agreed to meet at eight thirty,” he said, glancing at the clock on his phone before shoving it back into his pocket.

  “I had a little more freshing up to do. You should be happy; I’m only thirty minutes late this time.”

  He put his hand on my back and guided me inside where the dark-haired hostess, some decades older than either of us, escorted us up the elegant stairs lined with string lights where we found our white-clothed table.

  “What exactly does it mean when you girls say ‘freshen up’? Is that code for, like, a really long bathroom break?” He was laughing, taking his seat, surprisingly after I’d taken mine.

  “No,” I replied. “It’s code for, I tried on several pairs of earrings that didn’t exactly match what I had on.”

  “They’re freakin’ diamonds, for Pete’s sake! Diamonds go with everything.”

  “You’re not a girl.” I rolled my eyes playfully, glad he wasn’t railing me for showing up late to our dinner date. His response might have been different had it been a Friday night where “busy” couldn’t have described this place.

  A waitress came to our table, blond streaks in her deep brown hair, not holding the conventional notepad, but rather she had nothing other than her memory to take our drink orders. Boyd ordered a red wine merlot and a water. I got a water for myself.

  Boyd opened his napkin and placed it on his lap. “You, uh, made it up these stairs pretty quickly for somebody who’d just had a coupla’ rounds hacked into ya’.”

  I’d forgotten that I was supposed to be putting on. “It wasn’t a couple of rounds, just one. And it’s not so bad once the painkillers kick in.”

  “Must be a heckuva’ pain killer. I’ve got a coupla’ friends who might be interested, if they’re up for sale.” He raised an eyebrow and leaned his shoulder against the wall, turning his fork over on the table.

  “They’re not for sale.”

  He wasn’t looking at me, but at his fork instead. The golden lights on the ceiling touched the tines and reflected back at him. “I’m just screwin’ around with ya’. I don’t hang out with those kinda’ knuckleheads no more. Been several months actually.”

&
nbsp; “What do you mean ‘you don’t mess with those kinds of knuckleheads anymore?’”

  “Meant it how you heard it.” He scratched his head. “Alex, James, Kenneth. I don’t mess with none of them no more…not now anyway.”

  When he told me he had a “business meeting” to go to, I thought that he was going to connect with his sellers and suppliers, but maybe I was wrong about that. “Then who did you go have beers with tonight?”

  “A friend of mine. Her name’s Umara. Now, it’s not what you think.” He patted the air to try to calm me. “I’m not double dippin’ on ya’. But she’s been helping me sort through some things.” He bobbed his head to the left and right.

  At the mention of my Paranormal Advisor’s name, everything in me locked up. “Wh-what did you say her name was…is?” I stumbled over my words, sure that my eyes had glazed over, pretending that the name meant nothing to me. I couldn’t get my mouth to close and I sat up straight and stiff and I couldn’t stop fidgeting with my burgundy napkin.

  “Umara. Umara Mayorsen. You know her?”

  “No…” Did I sound confident enough? Was my response too weak? Too many questions caved in on me, and that was well before the guilt that I had just flat out lied to him, denying my knowledge of Umara.

  The waitress came back with two waters and Boyd’s red wine. She asked if we needed more time to order. I hadn’t realized that I’d not even looked at the menu yet, so Boyd sent her away. He picked up his menu, scouring it over before throwing it to the side.

  “Fettuccini Alfredo with chicken and shrimp,” he said. “Any idea what you’re gonna’ get?”

  Quickly, I shook my head, more to get rid off the stun of hearing Umara’s name than to reply to his question.

  “Ever been here before? You should try to penne rustica.” He held a hand up. “With no meat for you, of course.”

  Glancing over my menu, though my appetite had left me, I decided to get spaghetti, without the meatballs and with extra mushrooms. I always tried to get in my mushrooms as often as possible – summoner power food, if my angst from the current conversation would ever let me get them down.

  The waitress returned, took our orders and our menus, still choosing to have no notepad. Then she scampered away, leaving Boyd and me to our faceoff. Why was he meeting with Umara? Had Umara told him about me? Maybe she did tell Boyd, and that was why Boyd brought me here – to let me know that he knew about me, and then I didn’t have to break the news to him. What if he knew, and he didn’t like what I was, and he brought me here to berate me for keeping it from him? My stomach roiled.

  As if the topic meant nothing to him, he started off about something completely unrelated, ranting about how the Carolina Hurricanes were letting him down again, mostly because their goalie had gotten injured a few games ago – a concussion. I didn’t care about any of that. What had my attention was that Boyd had been meeting with Umara.

  I had no idea why Umara would want to meet with him, nor did I know what Boyd had to do with her, which led me to the obvious conclusion – that Boyd was a paranormal. But what could he be? I’d never seen him struggling with headaches or inexplicable chronic confusion, as had been the case with me. He’d never had the telekinevation – the revelation for telekinetics where in a brief moment of rage or fear everything was set to floating.

  Maybe he was a Decanter. Probably not. He didn’t have the innate compassion that I’d seen with other Decanters. And he was far from being a werewolf, or a vampire for that matter. His appetite was too tame, lacking the visceral prerequisites.

  When our plates came, Boyd was still rambling on about the Hurricanes and how they’d probably never win another Stanley Cup. He didn’t even acknowledge or thank our waitress. Neither did I, for that matter. I was still fixed on the Boyd-Umara connection.

  Twirling my noodles with my fork, I moved in subtly when he finally took a break from the ESPN talk. “So…how’s this, uh, Umara helping you? Something to do with the drug thing?”

  “Hadn’t said a word about any extracurriculars.” He picked at his fettuccini with his fork. “Just told me a few things that sobered me up a bit, if ya’ know what I mean.”

  A forkful of spaghetti, wound about the tines, made its way into my mouth. I was having trouble enjoying any of it since my stomach was in tangles. “I think I know, but you could just give it to me straight.”

  “I met her a few months ago – just before I cut off my friends. She must have been looking for me for whatever reason. I ran into her at the Pale Ale over in Cameron Village. It was still warm out, so I was having a few drinks at the outside tables, and the place was packed, standing room only. Hadn’t ever seen her before, but she looked pretty well to do, so I offered her a seat.”

  “That was sweet of you.” I didn’t care whether he gave her a seat or not. I just wanted him to spill it.

  “She was okay, I guess. Smoking outside’s allowed, so she kept complaining that if it got in her hair, then it’d take forever to wash out. I was like, ‘Ya’ don’t have to eat here, ya’ know.’ Of course I didn’t say that. She must have seen it on my face or something, because she said she could find another seat if I wanted her too. But I figured there wasn’t no need for me to be rude, so I didn’t make a fuss about it. Funny thing is, after we got started with some real conversation, she ended up telling me something that nearly knocked me through the floor.”

  I could feel the spaghetti thickening in my stomach. I swallowed some more, doing my best to keep my tone casual. “What did she tell you?”

  As if the anticipation wasn’t already at its peak, he shoved a wad of garlic bread in his mouth, rounding out his cheek before taking a swig of wine well before the bread had been chewed. He dusted off his hands and swallowed hard. “She told me about you.”

  Every part of me fell cold. The hand that gathered another swirl of noodles began to tremble, so much so that I had to set the fork down and rest my hands in my lap. “What could this woman possibly know about me?” I tried to sound offended, but it tumbled awkward and nervous.

  “I didn’t believe it at first.”

  Why would Umara tell him about me? How could she do that?

  “But after keeping my eye on you and seeing some of the things you’ve been doing…well, uh, it got me wonderin’.”

  What was Umara thinking? She swore never to tell anyone, and of all the people to tell, she mentioned it to my boyfriend! “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My eyes fluttered as I did my best to eat some more noodles. Instead they sat on my tongue like slugs after what Boyd said next.

  “I bet you’re wondering what made her tell me about you, about what you’ve been up to. I mean, she was supposed to keep this a secret, right? Truth is…Umara’s a pretty interesting lady. See, Rebekah, I’ve been having these…these things in my head. And for whatever reason, they just won’t seem to go away.”

  So much became clear with those words – Boyd dropping out of college because of chemistry, Boyd doing all sorts of drugs, Boyd afraid to open up about who he was on the inside. I rustled my napkin beside my plate. It all makes sense.

  “The things in my head make me wonder why you lied to me…why you’ve been lying to me.” I could hear his voice beginning to choke, though his eyes showed no sign of tears. “Umara came to me because she asked me to leave you, babe. She said that I wasn’t what you needed right now.”

  He grabbed my hand, which startled me. Then he said, “But I understand. Even though I despise it, I understand. If you feel that joining a sorority is what you want to do, then I support it…not the sorority, but you, I support you. I gotta’ admit, I didn’t think you could rush after graduation, but what do I know? But these things in my head – the ideas about you getting up and going to all these fraternity parties and hooking up with some guy, I just can’t deal with that, not right now. I’ve got a lot going on, and I’m at my limit with stress, you know?” He squeezed my hand. “You’re mine. Not those pinhead head frat bo
ys’, you hear me?”

  My breathing didn’t come easily, though it had returned. The knots in my stomach were tangibly coming unthreaded. A sorority girl… I laughed a little, touching my chest with the hand Boyd wasn’t holding. My heart still pounded in my chest. “I don’t know why Umara felt the need to bring it up to you.”

  “Said she was the was the sorority’s faculty advisor. She knew you had a boyfriend and that you weren’t supposed to be dating since you were rushing. I kinda’ like this Umara broad. Seems like she could have kicked you out for not telling anyone about me, but she didn’t. Though I am a little peeved that you didn’t tell me the truth about all this.” He pointed a piece of bread at me before stuffing it into his mouth.

  My pulse was gradually on the decline, right at a hundred and seventeen beats per minute. “But the drugs? How did one meeting with her get you to—”

  “After what she did, how she came to me to protect you, she seemed like a lady I could trust. As for the drugs, she must have known that I was smoked outta’ my mind that night, because she called me on it. I denied it, of course, but the green don’t make ya’ too sharp after a few puffs, so my excuses crashed and burned.”

  “She can be pretty forthright,” I said.

  “Here’s the thing, Rebekah.” Boyd looked off to the right and then back at me. “She made me promise that night outside the Pale Ale. She made me promise that if she kept her mouth shut about me and you that I would lay off the Mary Jane. And she said that if there were people in my life that I smoked with or dealt with that I needed to cut them off too. So that night, I made a vow to her and to myself, that I’d lay it all down for you.”

  Romeo was coming out, and this one had a bit more Shakespeare in him than the last. I clenched my teeth, shut my eyes briefly. “Did Umara ever say why she was looking for you that night?”

  “She told me that she’d been asking around town for me until she finally ran up on me. Get this, your sister, that detective lady told her where to find me.”