Summoner Rising

by Melanie Mcfarlane

  Daciana–

  I drove Constantine to the airport. Be back late tomorrow morning.

  –Katya

  “Where is Constantine going?” Tryan asks.

  I shrug and lean back on my bed, clutching my mother’s picture to my chest.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, turning toward me.

  “I was a fool tonight,” I say. “I thought I could have a normal life. But I never will, will I? Look at my mother; she ran away to escape this life, and in the end, she ended up the same way as she would have, had she never left.”

  “Don’t say that,” Tryan says. “You have me. Your mother was alone.”

  “My mother had me,” I say, sitting up and putting the photo back on my nightstand. “And I don’t have you—you have someone else. And you should go see her.”

  Tryan bites his lip before looking down at his hands. He stands up and starts to pace the room, then looks out my bedroom window, into the darkness of the woods behind the house.

  “It’s too dark out to go looking for a wendigo,” he says, running a hand through his hair.

  Tryan reaches into his pocket and grabs his cell phone before going out into the hallway. I watch him, confused for a moment, as I lean as far as I can toward the door to listen.

  “Yeah, it’s me,” he says. “Listen, I’m staying here … No, we should wait … No, I don’t think that’s a good idea … Listen, I said no, I’m staying here … No, you aren’t coming over … I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I scramble back onto the other side of my bed and look away from the door. Tryan comes back into my room, looking frustrated. Why is he staying? It doesn’t make any sense.

  “So?” He runs his hands through his hair again. “If you want, I could stay here.”

  “For the night?”

  “Yeah.” He bites his lip again. “I mean, I’ll sleep on the floor—I just thought that you could use some company, after tonight and all. But if you don’t want me to, I’ll go.”

  “So you don’t hate me after all?” I ask, holding my breath as I play with the edge of my pajama shirt.

  “I never could.” He sits back beside me.

  The air in my lungs slowly exhales as relief falls over me. I turn my face up to Tryan’s, only to find his eyes fixated on me.

  “You were mad at me tonight,” I whisper.

  “You were out with another boy.”

  “You were out with another girl,” I say, my heart tightening for a moment as I remember him and Liana getting out of his truck and going to the movies.

  “I felt like I was going to go crazy the entire time I was in the movie,” he says. “I saw you two at the coffee shop.”

  I snort. “I don’t like Brennan. Not in the same way.”

  “The same way as what?” A smile plays at the edge of his lips.

  “The same way I would like my tovaros,” I tease, bumping my shoulder into his. “If I ever find him.”

  “Poor Brennan,” Tryan says. A flash of jealousy mixed with satisfaction washes over his face. “He’ll never be your tovaros.”

  My stomach twists from the sound of his deep voice, his last words coming out broken and quiet. “Why not?”

  Tryan leans closer to my ear. “Because I’m yours.”

  His breath cascades across my ear and settles at the nape of my neck, and I let out a tiny gasp as shivers run down my skin. Tryan reaches over and touches the other side of my face as he brushes his lips against my ear and down to my neck.

  His soft kisses trail up my cheek, and cross over to my lips. I lean in toward Tryan, reaching my hands up around his neck, pulling him closer. His arms reciprocate and wrap around my waist. It feels like forever before our kiss ends. There’s a tranquility in those moments, which gives me a needed break from all the madness my life has become.

  “I’ve wanted to kiss you since I met you that day in the hallway,” he says.

  “I was so mean that day.” I cover my face and lean back on my pillows.

  “You were so feisty,” he says, pulling my hands away as he lies beside me. “You even zapped me. It was intriguing, but, I have to say, I like you like this too.”

  “Intoxicated?” I say. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  “Not that part,” Tryan says, tracing a finger down my nose to my lips. “You’re so open and nice, not a combo you usually portray.”

  “Hey,” I say, hitting him with a pillow. I squeal aloud as he tickles me.

  We end up face-to-face, and I stare up into his eyes. “Can we kiss again?”

  “One more,” he says. “I don’t want to be accused of taking advantage of a girl under the influence.”

  I lean in, feeling the familiar pull between us. The second kiss is just as good as the first. I can feel a warmth wash across the inside of my body, trailing down my limbs all the way to my toes. As it resonates, it feels like little fireworks are going off underneath my skin. I smile to myself. Fireworks are better than shocks.

  I wake up in the familiar darkness of my room, clutching my pillow against my cheek. I remember Tryan slept over last night. Butterflies jump around my stomach. I open my eyes and look for him, but both sides of the bed around me are empty.

  “Daciana-a-a,” a voice calls out to me.

  I sit up and my heart slams against my chest. The hairs on my arm stand alert like little radars. A howl of wind comes from my bedroom window, pushing the long curtains away with it.

  I relax and get out of bed to close the window, but as I pull it down, I see Tryan running across the backyard. Where is he going in the dead of night?

  “Tryan!” I call out, but he doesn’t hear me.

  I run out of my bedroom and down the stairs into the kitchen. The patio door is wide open, and Tryan’s white shirt disappears into the trees.

  “Daciana-a-a-a,” the deep voice calls out to me again. This time it’s behind me.

  I freeze and force my body to slowly turn and face my visitor. Nothing is behind me except the long hallway to the front door—and Katya’s studio. Creak. The doorway to the studio slowly opens, stopping halfway. The room is dark, but I can make out a dark figure standing next to the window.

  “Who are you?” I cry out.

  The figure moves and jumps out the window.

  “Wait!”

  I run into the studio and look out the window.

  The dark figure hurries across the lawn toward the woods.

  “No!”

  I climb out the window, chasing after the figure into the woods.

  The trees are so dense that the moonlight disappears as soon as I enter the woods. I stumble into trees and against brush. A branch whips my leg, tearing through my nightgown. I yelp as it bites into my flesh.

  “Tell me your name,” I yell out desperately, nearly about to give up.

  “My Daciana,” the voice echoes through the trees, rustling the leaves as my name carries across a gust of wind so strong I can’t catch my breath. Suddenly, a flash of white light fills the air and everything is gone.

  “Ahhh!” I sit up in bed and open my eyes. My heart beats out of control, and my skin pulses hot. Throwing myself back onto my pillows, I try to catch my breath. It was just a dream. I roll over to see if I woke up Tryan, but I’m alone in bed. I run my hand along the cold sheet where I saw him last. Did he stay the night or was he only pacifying a drunken friend?

  But that kiss—oh, that kiss. I touch my lips, as if the sensation could bring back the fireworks from the night before. Nothing happens, but it doesn’t take away from how real it was. He said he had wanted to kiss me since he met me. He said he was mine. The butterflies are back, but this time I know I’m not dreaming.

  Flipping back over, I survey my room. Daylight streams through my bedroom window and the smell of bacon fills my nostrils. I jump out of bed and get dressed.

  As I pull up my pants, I notice dried blood. I lean down and rub the mark, but my skin
is tender—it’s where the branch cut my leg in my dream. No, that can’t be it. I pull my pants over it and put it in the back of my mind.

  Downstairs, I find Tryan cooking in the kitchen. His dark hair sweeps across his eyes as he looks up at me from the sizzling bacon in the frying pan.

  “Hungry?” he asks, his eyes burning as they look into mine.

  I nod, watching as he works away. His shirt clings against his chest, showing the muscles underneath that flex with every movement he makes. I want to reach out and run my hands across that shirt, but I hold the impulse inside.

  “I missed you this morning,” I say, leaning over the counter, watching him cook.

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Tryan flashes me a smile. “I stayed by your side all night.”

  He leans forward and kisses me, and the same feeling of fireworks fills me up.

  A bang at the patio door interrupts our moment. I look up and see Liana standing on the other side of the glass, with one hand on her hip and another carrying a large duffel bag.

  “Did you invite her?” I ask, unable to hold back the sharp edge from my voice.

  “No,” Tryan says, flipping bacon. “But we can’t ignore her now. I’m pretty sure she sees us.”

  “We could still pretend.” I sigh and go to the door, opening it a crack.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  “Tryan and I have work to do,” Liana says, narrowing her eyebrows and holding up the duffel bag.

  I roll my eyes and slide the patio door open all the way. Liana pushes past me and throws the duffel bag on the counter.

  “Seeing as you were too busy to do our job last night,” she says, “I did some recon. The wendigo is most likely hiding out in the woods. Nothing came across the police scanners all night, so I’ll just assume we’re lucky that it didn’t do any damage. That being the case, it’s even more vital we find it today, because tonight it’s going to be starving.”

  “First, Dacie and I are going to have breakfast,” Tryan says. “Bacon?”

  “Tryan,” she says. “You aren’t taking this seriously. This really is her problem, not ours; I’m just trying to—”

  “What do you mean it’s my problem?” I ask, crossing my arms.

  “You’re the one that let it out.” Liana turns to me, with raised eyebrows. “Like, seriously, who taught you summoning?”

  “The Senate said what Dacie does is my problem,” Tryan says, passing me my plate. “She isn’t seventeen yet.”

  “What?” Liana looks confused, her perfectly painted lips are hanging open in disbelief. I almost laugh aloud. “How is that possible?”

  I shrug and bite into my bacon as Tryan sits beside me. Liana stares at us both from the other side of the counter.

  “Do you not get how serious this is?” Liana throws her hands up in the air. “An underage summoner, with abilities, letting out wendigoes. Only experienced summoners can handle that level of demon. I thought you were stupid, but you’re really just—”

  “Don’t call me ‘stupid,’” I say mid-chew.

  “Is this why I’m here?” Liana says, her eyes getting wider. “Because you can’t handle an underage summoner. Argh! I had to cancel my anniversary plans because of this! Tryan, I’m sick of bailing you and your summoners out of trouble.”

  She throws up her hands again and grabs a piece of bacon off Tryan’s plate. I watch Liana carefully as she eats in frustration.

  “Your anniversary?” I ask. “You have a boyfriend?”

  “Of course I have a boyfriend, and he’s a summoner like you,” Liana huffs, flicking her long, blond hair over her shoulder. “But he’s not letting out demons on a whim; he’s actually trained to do his job.”

  I look down at my plate, suddenly feeling foolish and childish. Liana’s right, I have no idea what I’m doing, and now people are at risk because of me.

  “You forget; you’re not the only one who will be held responsible for this.”

  “Maybe I should come help,” I say.

  “What do you know about any of this?” Liana dramatically shrugs.

  “I’m learning,” I shoot back.

  “Okay, girls,” Tryan speaks up. “Liana—back off. Dacie—you need to get to school. Liana and I have experience and wendigoes are dangerous. We’ll drop you off on our way out.”

  “Fine,” I grumble, flashing a look of disdain at Liana. She scrunches her nose at me, and I stifle the urge to punch it.

  At school, Tryan lets me out his door and gives me a kiss before he leaves. I wave as he and Liana drive off to find the wendigo.

  “What was that?” I jump as Brennan’s voice comes from behind me.

  I spin around and see him glaring at me.

  “Uh, it was just a ride to school,” I say, looking down and walking past him.

  “A ride?” Brennan grumbles. “Are you kidding me? That was a kiss. After what that guy did to you, you’re still going to chase after him?”

  “It was a misunderstanding,” I say, as Brennan follows me.

  “As in you misunderstood what a loser he is?”

  “It’s none of your business,” I say, stopping at my locker. I open the door and block Brennan out of my sight.

  “I can’t believe you,” Brennan seethes. “You’re obsessed with him when he has a girlfriend. I didn’t think you were that kind of girl.”

  I look around the hallway and see our classmates stopping and whispering as Brennan’s voice gets higher. I can feel my skin crawl with the more people he attracts. Right now I just want to run and hide.

  “Next you’ll be whining about how there aren’t any nice guys out there.”

  “Brennan,” I warn. My palms are getting sweaty as the entire hallway watches us now. My body heats up with my anger, but I close my locker door and turn for Art. Every step I take, I use to calm myself down. Breathe, Dacie.

  “The saying is right,” Brennan yells after me. “Nice guys finish last.”

  I walk faster. I need to put as much distance between Brennan and me as I possibly can before I —

  “You’re no better than your mom. I heard she was a —”

  That’s it! I spin around on my heels. Some people in the hallway gasp. Others snicker. “Listen, Brennan.” My voice comes out at a higher pitch than I expected. I hold my finger in the air, pointing it at him as I storm back to my locker. “I never asked you on a date, not once. I told you I wasn’t interested in being more than friends—multiple times. But you never took a hint. I wouldn’t call that nice—I’d call that stupid. You know what else backs my theory up? Chantal is right under your nose, begging for attention, but you’re too foolish to see it.”

  Chantal appears in my vision, standing behind Brennan. Her face turns beet red, and she turns and runs in the other direction. Brennan’s glare turns murderous as he flips me off, and storms away. Sophie and Zack, whom I hadn’t noticed before, run after him and Chantal.

  A few people start to clap while others burst out giggling. I stare at the floor and make my way to my class, all alone like when I started out here. It was bound to happen; all my hopes of being normal are officially gone.

  Brennan doesn’t return to any more classes and thankfully, I never see Chantal. I ignore the snickering that carries on the rest of the morning and by the time lunch comes, I know I won’t be visiting the cafeteria. Instead, I slip into the library determined to get my paper done on the Cantars. How hard can 1,000 words be?

  I find the section on history and it doesn’t take me long to locate the local sub-section. There are only three books, and I take them all and find myself a table at the back of the room.

  The first book talks about the history of the area. I skip ahead to the bibliography, but nothing there mentions Cantar. Next. The second book has a brief chapter, discussing the town’s founders. It mentions the Cantars along with four others, none of which I recognize. It mentions something about a hurricane that hit the town
, shortly after it was built, which killed off the other four founders. With their deaths, their family lines died as well. Wow. That’s weird. The Cantars were the only ones left. I make a couple of notes and toss the book aside.

  I go over to the computer and search the online catalog, typing in “Cantar.” Nothing. Seriously? No one found the only surviving founding family of the town interesting enough to write about them?

  Just for fun, I type in “Summoning.” Nothing relevant, outside of a bunch of RPG games. I type in “White light.” Ding. Tons of items pop up, ranging from the tunnel of light people see at death to different types of light bulbs. But one line in the search list grabs my attention: The Brothers of the White Light. What are the odds? I quickly write down the call number and hunt it down.

  I end up in a back room lit by a pull string light. Archaic books line the shelves, and the smell of old paper hangs heavy in the air. I search the shelves and find the call number. The book is not a book at all, but rather a cardboard box. I pull it from the shelf, and a poof of dust fills the air. The box is surprisingly heavy and doesn’t look like it has been opened for decades. I haul the box to a table and flip it open, scanning the contents.

  Inside all that sits is an excerpt from an old magazine journal:

  The Brothers of the White Light was a monastery established in the late 1700s, shortly after the founding of the town. The chapel was destroyed in the hurricane of 1780, and some say the Brotherhood left altogether, while others say the Brotherhood separated to chase after those who practiced the dark arts.

  Everything else on the article has been blacked out. What is this, the Pentagon? How could anything in this article be considered private material? I try to read the name of the magazine, but it too has been covered up.

  And “dark arts”? What does that mean? The bell for classes rings and I toss the article back in the box. I’m too hungry to focus right now, and there doesn’t seem to be much here for my research. All I have now are more questions.

  I leave the library and pass Miss Nelson’s office door on my way to class. The door is open wide and no one is inside. I remember the manila folder with “cantar” printed on the front. Hmmm. It would just take a second to pluck it off her desk and find all her dirty details on me inside. Maybe I’ll find something about her as well.