Ghost of a Summoning

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Ghost of a Summoning Page 3

by J E McDonald


  Roman shook his head once, negating everything the priest just said. What was done was done. Lamenting the past wasn’t going to change anything. When the demon general, Aym, touched him, it had transferred something to Roman—the curse of seeing souls. The curse of sensing demons.

  “I’d been so arrogant,” Father Robertson murmured, “thinking every demon I’d exorcised would be banished. So foolish.”

  Mrs. Klassen had been the only one to know the truth of Roman’s talent until that fateful day when he was sixteen. He’d been doing yard work at the church when a couple arrived with their son in their arms, a boy Roman knew from school. His body had thrashed between the two parents, inhuman sounds spewing from his chest. They’d barely been able to get him inside and lay him beside the baptismal font.

  It was the first time Roman had seen someone possessed by an air demon. Holy water burned his skin, the Latin words Robertson spoke made him scream. While he helped hold the boy down, Roman had seen the mark on his soul, the brand a summoning left behind—had his first recognition of what it meant. And he’d been the only one to know that as the demon released the boy, it passed into the father. Fearing for them all, he’d told Robertson. A second exorcism was performed, one that truly banished the demon from the property.

  “After I knew what you could do,” the old man whispered, his eyes troubled, “what you could see, I hadn’t known what else to do.”

  Every exorcism that followed, Robertson brought Roman along. Even though he’d seen things no teenager, no person should, going along with Robertson on those jobs had given Roman the focus he hadn’t known he needed. He’d finally put his curse to use and felt good for something.

  A lightness filled the priest’s eyes that hadn’t been present before the apology.

  “I was always glad to help,” Roman said quietly.

  As the memories faded, the itch of his scar eased. Roman fought the urge to touch it while the priest stared at him. He focused on the wallpaper below the crucifix and tried to think of something else to say, something that would comfort a man dying in his own bed.

  Nothing came to mind.

  Instead, the image of Aubrey Karle’s face flashed in front of his eyes. He couldn’t stop seeing her coffee-colored eyes and hair that leaned toward red. And of course that body full of curves and a tentative smile.

  He’d met innocent children whose souls weren’t as bright as hers.

  Robertson shifted under the covers. “Tell me what has your eyes so troubled.”

  Hesitating, Roman asked, “Has a prophecy ever been wrong before?” As soon as he’d been able to, he’d consulted the priest of its meaning.

  “Never.” The word was the strongest he’d spoken since Roman arrived. “The only thing that changes is the interpretation, not the prophecy itself. The soothsayers, demons and angels alike, are compelled to speak the truth. You know this. There’s no stopping a prophecy.”

  He did, but he also hoped the prophecy Gusion, a fallen angel, had told him had somehow been forged, that it could be wrong. Because there was no way Aubrey Karle was going to cause hell on Earth. Not with a soul so bright.

  Robertson captured his attention with another cough. “I trust you to stop this one, Roman. No matter how distasteful, I know you’ll follow through with the job. It’s what you’ve always done.”

  Yes, he’d always done what was asked him. Since he’d gone along on that first exorcism, he’d been tied to a church and faith he hadn’t devoted himself to. His father, then Robertson after him, had instilled in him a sense of duty and loyalty that couldn’t be shaken. In a way, he supposed, that loyalty was his version of faith.

  In the military, he’d learned to follow orders without thought, knowing some were wrong and some may have been right. But now, with Aubrey Karle, could he go through with it? If it was his only option, could he end her life?

  “Roman.” Robertson’s voice made him center his gaze on the old man. The priest must have seen the hesitancy in his eyes because he said, “You must promise to follow through. The fate of so many people depend on it. You’re the only one who can stop it.”

  Throat tight, Roman nodded. “I promise.”

  3

  A delivery truck rumbled along the street outside the door to Relics, the vibration showering dust down on Aubrey’s head where she stood behind the counter. She glanced up at the ceiling beams above her. One day she’d climb up there and dust all the out-of-reach places in the store. Even if it meant coming in on a Sunday while the store was closed to do it.

  There was a lot in the store she’d been putting off because other work got in the way. Cleaning under the larger items, re-staining the hardwood floor to get rid of all the scuff marks, window washing, rearranging the newer inventory with the old to create balance. But without other employees, she had to do all the administrative stuff first. Other things she’d like to accomplish got pushed to the side. She’d put a help-wanted sign in her window a few days ago, but so far there’d been no applicants.

  The cheerful bell tinkled, and Aubrey lifted her head. Stella smiled at her as she came farther inside, her wavy blonde hair worn loose about her shoulders. Instead of the blue blouse she’d been wearing this morning, an immaculate white button up shirt was tucked into her skinny jeans.

  “That’s the look of another satisfied customer,” Aubrey said with a smirk. Her best friend’s mad dash out of the building with her boyfriend earlier hadn’t been to window shop.

  Stella’s cheeks turned pink, then she paused a few feet into the store. “What happened? Your energy is whacked.” Her eyes went to the ladder and macrame plant holders by the display window.

  “Um,” Aubrey began, not really wanting to go into the details of the accident but knowing Stella wouldn’t let things go if she evaded the question. “I was trying to hang some plants and almost killed someone doing it, so I’m waiting for you to hold the ladder.”

  Eyebrows raised, Stella tilted her head and walked toward the front counter. “Killed someone?”

  “Yeah, this big guy came in, and I dropped the drill on his head.” She grimaced at the memory. “Which is too bad because he was kind of hot.” Her eyes went to her phone, where she’d finished up registering her account for Simmer, complete with the selfie she’d just taken in front of her plants, in the spot where she’d almost killed him. It hadn’t dinged once yet, but she told herself not to stress. It was still early. “Hot and like, intimidating,” she added. “A little scary, even.”

  Stella came toward her, a frown on her face. “Scary and hot? That doesn’t sound like a good combination.”

  “I know, right? But it totally was.” She actually couldn’t stop thinking about him, despite the fact she was certain she’d never see the guy again.

  Her phone dinged. Snatching it up, delight filled her as she realized it was a Simmer notification. “I’ve been matched with someone.”

  “What’s this?” Stella asked, coming up beside her.

  “I signed up for that dating app I told you about.”

  “Oh?” Stella peeked over her shoulder. “He’s cute.”

  Aubrey frowned. He might be cute, but he wasn’t what she was looking for. “Too young,” she said, swiping to the left. She didn’t need a guy who looked like he’d recently graduated from high school. She was almost twenty-nine, for God’s sake.

  Stella gave her a considering look.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t even give him a chance.”

  Aubrey shrugged. “You don’t say yes to the first guy. I might be a bit rusty with the whole dating thing, but I know that.” She set her phone back on the counter.

  “Whatever.” Stella dismissed the topic with a twist of her lips. “So do you want help with these plants or what?”

  “Yep.”

  They headed to the front of the store, when a man wearing a brown delivery uniform entered, a wooden crate on his trolley. “Aubrey Karle?” he asked the pair of them.

 
“That’s me.” She stopped in front of him, frowning at the crate. She didn’t remember ordering anything big recently.

  “Initial here.” He passed her the handheld device to sign for the package. Once she gave it back, he left the store. Aubrey stared at the crate. It stood about a yard high and two feet square, and had FRAGILE stickers all over it with arrows that pointed up.

  “What is it?” Stella asked, peeking at the delivery sticker.

  “No idea,” she replied. “I haven’t ordered anything in a while.”

  “A. Finch Imports, New York,” Stella read aloud, then straightened. “You should call them and see if there’s a mix up if you didn’t order it.”

  “Yeah, I should,” Aubrey agreed, giving the crate a jiggle. It had a lot of weight to it, heightening her curiosity.

  “Are we just going to stare at it?” Stella asked. “Or should we open it?”

  Aubrey shrugged, stepping away. “I guess we should open it. Once we see what’s inside, I’ll give the import place a call. Maybe I did order something and totally forgot about it.” The statement had her stiffening, her eyes going to Stella’s. Her friend touched the locket at her heart reflexively.

  An image of Stella’s father came to the forefront of Aubrey’s mind. He’d been dashing and suave, and she’d let down her guard. Then he’d used Aubrey for his own purposes, controlled her. Every time she thought about it, she either wanted to scream, punch something, or felt another panic attack coming on. Only the coping techniques she’d developed with her therapist over the years helped her gain control of her emotions. And sometimes that didn’t even work. Aubrey didn’t want to feel powerless, or used, again.

  Stella lifted the locket to stare at it. “Thank you for helping Lucas pick this out, by the way.”

  Appreciating the change in topic, Aubrey smiled. “My pleasure. He really wanted to please you.” And she’d given the two privacy this morning so he could give it to her.

  “Oh, he did.”

  Aubrey snorted at the double entendre.

  Stella’s cheeks turned pink again. “I mean, the pictures inside, everything. It was really sweet.”

  “Well, Lucas seems to thrive on being sweet, so…” He really did. When he was around Stella, the pair couldn’t keep their eyes off each other. He was always doing little things to make her happy. Filling his house with plants, using his days off to fix stuff around the home she and Stella shared, taking Stella on picnics by the river—he often seemed like the perfect guy, and Aubrey didn’t know if she’d ever seen a couple more suited to be together.

  She hadn’t realized how lonely she was until she’d seen how happy Lucas and Stella were. Swallowing, Aubrey pushed her melancholy thoughts aside and focused on the crate. “I’ll find a crowbar.”

  A few minutes later, she wedged the crowbar in the crack at the top. A squeaky wooden sound split the air. Stella took off the lid and set it to the side so they could both peer inside. Shredded newspaper filled the top. Together, they pulled out wads of the stuff until they revealed a circular and smooth stone-like surface with a raised symbol in the center, four curved lines separated by a straight one.

  An unexplained shiver raced through Aubrey at the sight. Shaking it off, her gaze met Stella’s to find her friend frowning fiercely.

  “Help me lift it out,” Aubrey said. They each grasped a side, pulled it out of the box, and set it on the floor. Two feet tall and about ten inches in diameter at its widest, it looked like a vase. Except it felt like stone and was heavy enough for Aubrey to believe it might be completely solid. Engravings of some kind encircled it in three different rows.

  A strange zing went through her the more she stared at it. “This looks old,” Aubrey murmured. “Like, museum old, not antique store old.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Stella nodded. “That’s what I was thinking too.”

  “What’s the point of a vase without an inside?”

  “No idea,” Stella replied, her brow wrinkling. “What would you even sell this for?”

  “How can I sell something I never paid for?”

  “Right. Probably not a good idea.”

  Aubrey stepped closer, examining the writing on the side. It wasn’t really writing, more like symbols. Nothing she recognized.

  “Doesn’t it kind of remind you of the Egyptian stuff we saw at the museum last year?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. It does.” Stella ran a hand through her hair. “Why would someone send you something Egyptian?” Leaning forward, she traced the top row of symbols with her fingers.

  The more they stared at it, the more Aubrey had the urge to break it, to see if there was something inside. What a strange impulse, to break something for the sake of breaking it. The vase-like object was beautiful in its own way. Why the hell would she want to break it?

  “Finn?” she asked, tearing her gaze away. “What do you think it is?” Looking over her shoulder at the display case under the front counter, she saw idk form in the fog he created on the surface. A moment later, a sad face.

  He didn’t know what it was any more than they did. The more she stared at it, the more anxious Aubrey became, her stomach tightening in increments. “We can’t leave it out here.” She met Stella’s frown with one of her own. “Help me move it into the stockroom, and I’ll call the import store.”

  They both lifted the thing into the crate, stuffed the packing paper down the side, and carried it to the back of the store. Aubrey wedged it into the far corner with the wooden lid sitting loosely on top.

  Returning to the front counter, she opened the web browser on her computer and typed in the name of the import store to find their phone number. The search brought up many import companies in New York, but none called A. Finch Imports. On the other side of the counter, Stella leaned forward to scan the search results.

  “There isn’t a business with that name,” Aubrey murmured, angling the screen so her friend could see it better.

  “That can’t be right.”

  Scrolling through the results, she then went to the next page. “There’s nothing listed.” She clicked on one of the sites, reading the names. “Even in the yellow pages.” After a few more minutes of searching, Aubrey gave up. Where had it come from? Uneasiness tickled her nerves.

  “What about calling the shipping company?” Stella asked. “They would have some record of where it came from.”

  “Good call.” Aubrey went to the stockroom to retrieve the number and order details off the label, then returned to the front counter to use the land line. While she was on hold, the bell above the door jingled again. The regular mailman came in with a smile for them, tossing a wad of mail on the end of the front counter before hurrying on his way.

  “Thank you!” she called after him, and he waved over his shoulder. The bell tinkled again on his way out. With the elevator music playing in her ear, she pawed through the mail. Mostly bills, but also a flyer with the words “Dojo Open House” written across the top, inviting the community to a free mixed martial arts self-defense class on Saturday at a new gym called Method Martial Arts.

  Self-defense? She picked up the flyer, the paper tight in her hand. Interest rippled through her. Maybe something like this would push the helplessness she sometimes felt out of her head.

  On the other side of the counter, Stella texted someone with a smile on her face. Probably Lucas. Aubrey was about to show her the flyer when a masculine voice on the other end of the line interrupted her.

  “Go-To Shipping. How can I be of service?”

  “Oh, hi. I received a parcel I didn’t order and want to send it back.” As soon as she said the words, something inside her objected to the statement. Shaking it off, she gave him her information and the order number on the address label. The man put her on hold again.

  Elevator music played in the background. Aubrey stared at the flyer in her hand, then looked up at Stella. “Have you ever thought about taking a martial arts class?”

  “Not re
ally.” She lowered her phone. “Have you?”

  “Maybe.” Aubrey set the paper on top of the “important” tray under the counter with all the documents she needed to store in her filing cabinet. Taking a class might help rebuild her confidence, which had been waning ever since her memory had been tampered with last month. Every time she thought about it, a cold, clammy sensation crept over her body. Maybe she’d feel more empowered.

  Prior to the incident with Stella’s father, she had never felt helpless. Lost maybe, but never helpless. Now, on some days, it preoccupied her mind constantly. Before, she’d considered herself gutsy, even with the panic attacks which plagued her since Lina and Charles died. Who else ran away from their abusive foster parents at the age of ten? And at twenty-one, who else gave up their old life to start a new one on the other side of the country? After one last visit to Lina and Charles’s grave, who jumped in their car with only a trunk load of belongings and unstoppable determination? Who else did she know who, once given the means, made it their mission to open their own store and be their own boss?

  I did, that’s who.

  In the past, thinking those types of thoughts motivated her, but with the self-defense flyer reminding her of what happened a few weeks ago, a nauseous sensation clamored through her stomach.

  The man on the other end of the line interrupted the elevator music. “Hello there. I’m sorry to say, we have no record of this delivery.”

  Aubrey blinked. “How can that be? It was delivered by a guy wearing your uniform a few minutes ago.”

  “I’m not sure what to tell you, ma’am. But we have no record of the transaction, and there aren’t any trucks in the area that have delivered anything to your address. Did you give me the correct order number?”

  “Yes, I gave you the correct number,” Aubrey grumbled, then repeated it just to be sure.

  “Like I said, ma’am. We have no record of this delivery. Is there anything else you need help with today?”

  The unhelpful question had her gritting her teeth. “No, thanks,” she mumbled, then hung up. She frowned at Stella.

 

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