Summoner Rising

by Melanie Mcfarlane

  When I enter the field, Sophie waves me over to the bleachers with her usual chipper demeanor. Brennan is standing in front of her and Chantal, leaning on one leg while he holds his helmet. He has black smudges across his cheeks that move with that addicting grin of his. I smile and wave back. Luckily, my afternoon in the cemetery put me in a good mood. I make my way over, awkwardly balancing as I walk along the bleacher, and then plop down next to Sophie.

  “You made it.” Brennan grins. “Maybe I’ll get a touchdown for you.”

  My stomach turns. “I thought this was just practice.”

  “Ignore him.” Sophie rolls her eyes. “He and Zack are always showing off.”

  Brennan puts on his helmet, and I jump as he hits the side with his fists and makes a grunting sound. He turns and runs toward the field filled with other gray jerseys and tight blue pants.

  “I don’t get football,” I say, watching the boys tackle each other down on the field.

  “What’s not to get?” Sophie smiles. “Boys in tight pants and bevies.” She holds up a smoothie cup, but I’m betting that’s not what’s inside. “Want some?” She holds the cup out to me.

  I shake my head. Even though they are no paintings here, I have no urge to experience a replay of the arcade.

  “More for me.” Chantal reaches over and grabs the cup.

  I notice someone is watching us over where the school meets the chain link fence that surrounds the field. The curly dark hair makes me think it’s Miss Nelson, but the person moves before I can be sure.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I run up the hill to the spot on the fence looking for where Miss Nelson went. Was she checking up on me? I spot her not too far away, standing by her car at the edge of a group of trees. I’m about to call out when I realize she’s talking to someone.

  “It’s not a good time,” she says.

  No one answers.

  “Yes, they’ve been separated. I understand your pleasure in that. But I still think this is a bad idea. It’s not my fault when you took her mother it sucked up all your strength. You should have known better than to mess with a paranoid summoner.”

  Summoner? My entire body goes rigid, and I lose all sensation except for the heartbeat in my chest, now thundering in my ears. How can she know those things? I grip the fence tighter, trying to see with whom she is talking.

  “If the boy is not the tovaros we can slow down. Let me get a little more information about her aunt, then you will have everything you need. She trusts me now.”

  The metal of the fence bites into my skin as anger surges through my limbs making my body shake. The fence quivers against its posts. She’s talking about me. And she’s right, I trusted her. Her. Tryan. Hell, I even trusted my mother once. When will I learn?

  Miss Nelson spins around as the fence vibrates louder. Her eyes widen when she sees me. But it’s not guilt that sits behind those dark brown eyes—it’s fear. Behind her, shadows move upward through the trees and a flock of blackbirds bursts into the sky.

  “What are you doing?” I yell at her.

  She looks from the trees back to me, then pulls open her car door and jumps inside. Her tires squeal, as her tiny sports car speeds away from the parking lot.

  “What’s wrong?” Sophie’s voice comes from behind me.

  I turn to her and shake my head, unsure where I would even begin to explain.

  She puts a hand on my shoulder. “Is that Miss Nelson speeding away?” Chantal asks, grabbing the fence next to me. “You look like you might kill her.”

  “She doesn’t know when to mind her own business,” I grumble.

  “I totally get it,” Chantal says. “Damn adults. Think they know everything.”

  Even though I’m pissed off, I can’t help but smile. For the first time Chantal and I agree on something—though she has no idea why. Miss Nelson does know something. And I’m going to find out what.

  After practice, Brennan showers and then opts to ride with me. He talks the entire time, but I barely listen. The Miss Nelson situation is still confusing, but I have to play the part with Brennan while I come up with a plan. When we get to the Common, he pops out a laptop and gets right to business with some of his yearbook ideas.

  “I’m impressed,” I say at the end of his speech. “You really are organized.”

  “Did you think the whole yearbook thing was just a ruse to hang out?”

  I burst into laughter again, which makes Brennan smile even more.

  “I’ll grab us some coffees,” he says, getting up. “I brought a little something we can slip into them, too.” He flashes me a silver flask from his pocket.

  “Just a black coffee is good for me.” Does no one around her know how to socialize without alcohol?

  I watch as Brennan walks away, his athletic build shifting with every step under his sweater, which hangs over the top of his white T-shirt. His jeans hang just slightly off his hips, revealing the top band of his underwear when he raises his arm at the barista. When I look back up at his face, he’s looking at me.

  My face blushes and I look away quickly, toward the windows of the café. I instantly wish I had kept staring at Brennan. Tryan’s old truck pulls up across the street. My heart skips against my chest, and I can feel my hands start to sweat. Tryan helps Liana out of the truck, and they walk into the movie theater across from us.

  Brennan slides back into his seat, blocking my view. He sets a steamy cup in front of me, and I stare down at the hot liquid, watching the vapors as they rise from the surface. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “Is it the alcohol? We don’t have to—”

  “No,” I say, “it’s not that.” My eyes flicker past him, out to Tryan’s truck. Brennan spins around in his chair, following my gaze.

  “I see the problem.” Brennan turns back to me. “That guy’s a jerk. You can do better, Dacie.”

  “It’s a long story,” I explain. “He was supposed to help me with something—I thought he was my friend.” I look back down at my coffee. Maybe Tryan is a jerk. Just because he claims to be stuck with Liana, doesn’t mean he had to avoid me.

  “Pass me that flask,” I whisper to Brennan. He flashes me a smile, and I can feel something bump my leg. I reach down as the cold steel brushes against my fingers.

  I slip some of the alcohol into my coffee and watch Brennan do the same thing. A small smile plays at the edge of his lips, and I realize how cute he is now that he doesn’t have all his friends around asking so many questions.

  After an hour of looking at different yearbook layouts, the flask is empty, and I’m left feeling relaxed and happy. I haven’t felt this good for a long time. Brennan is looking happy too, but I think it’s because he has someone to show his photos.

  “You really surprised me,” I say. “I thought you were just all jock.”

  “It’s photography I like best,” he says. “But this year I thought it would be cool to get into the graphic design part as well—you know, start to prep for college.”

  “College seems so far away.”

  “It’s our last year,” Brennan laughs. “It’s closer than you think.”

  “I don’t ever think about college,” I say. “I don’t ever think much about the future.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Brennan says, looking down at the table and fumbling with his hands. “I guess you wouldn’t.”

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat, waiting for the inevitable barrage of questions about my mom, but Brennan reaches out for my hand instead. His touch feels warm, which intermingled with the alcohol, sends heated sensations throughout my fingers.

  “Why don’t you ever ask me about her?” I ask.

  Brennan looks back at me. “Because that’s your past,” he says. “If you want to share it with me, you will.”

  His stare is so invasive that I look away, intimidated by the hunger that’s firing in his eyes. I turn my head toward a canvas hanging on the wall above us, which is ironica
lly a painting of a cute café on a street.

  Brennan’s grip tightens on my hand, and I glance back at him. “I need to tell you,” he says, his cheeks a little redder than usual. “I like you. I think we could have something special here.”

  I look away back at the painting and form my words carefully. Was it just my imagination, or did the shadows of the café stretch out farther onto the street?

  “Brennan,” I say, “I think you’re cool, and tonight I’ve had a lot of fun. But I think we should stay friends and hang out a little more before we jump into anything.”

  “You barely knew Tryan,” he says, gripping tighter on my fingers. I pull my hand back and hide it in my lap. I can’t look back at Brennan, because I know he’s right. “You let that guy treat you like crap,” he continues, “and you still want to wait for him.”

  “I’m not waiting for anyone.” I tear my hand away from him and look back to the painting, angry at Brennan’s words and angrier with myself. I am not going to let myself turn into my mother. I am not weak. I practically raised myself. If Brennan thinks I’m after Tryan, either I’m giving off that vibe or he’s just jealous. Either way, I’m uncomfortable.

  The shadows in the painting get larger, then begin to shift and swirl through the other colors, until the entire painting is covered in a black streak. I shift back in my seat, away from the wall.

  “Why won’t you look at me when I’m talking to you?” he asks, and I quickly glance at him as he turns toward the painting. “What’s so interesting up there?”

  “Don’t,” I say to Brennan, my head fuzzy from the alcohol.

  He leans toward the painting and looks at it closely. I watch as something dark reaches out, grabbing onto the bottom of the frame. At the same time, Brennan reaches up and pokes at the canvas.

  “What the—?” His face drops as the canvas pulls out with his finger.

  “Brennan,” I warn, “don’t play around with that, we’ll get into trouble.”

  He turns back with a confused look, still trying to pull his finger away from the canvas. Near his face, long sharp claws extend from the hands that reach out from the painting. A matted head of hair with two long horns, like barren tree branches, thrust out from behind its head. Two beady red eyes look down at me, followed by the flash of jagged white teeth.

  “What’s happening with this painting?” Brennan stands up and leans closer. “Someone must have put glue—”

  “No!” I yell at Brennan, but it’s too late.

  The creature lurches from the painting, knocking Brennan over. I scream as it jumps from the table onto the floor. It looks back at me with a growl, then disappears out the door nearly knocking over two customers.

  I drop to the floor, next to Brennan and lift his head into my lap. A trickle of blood runs down his cheek from where the creature attacked him. A barista runs over to us, looking at the ripped painting, then down at Brennan. “What happened here?” she asks, pointing at the painting.

  “You didn’t see anything?”

  “Yeah, I saw you and your buddy disturbing everyone in here,” she says, picking up the flask, which landed on the floor next to Brennan. She takes a whiff and flinches. “Real nice. You kids can’t be old enough to drink? I’m calling the cops. And somebody is going to pay for that painting.”

  The cops arrive with an ambulance, and shortly after Brennan’s parents show up. Half an hour later, Brennan gets the green light to go home, and under the scrutiny of his mother, he comes and says goodbye to me.

  “Sorry about all this,” he says, awkwardly rubbing a hand against the bandage on his cheek. Not deep enough for stitches. Phew. “Crappy first date.”

  “Just friends, remember?”

  “Right,” Brennan says, and a flash of disappointment crossing his face. “What happened in there anyway? One minute I’m talking to you, the next I look at that painting—and I swear something hit me on the head.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say. “Uh, you poked that painting and it fell off the wall.”

  “Damn,” he says. “No wonder my mom is so pissed. She said I have to pay her back for it. I guess I’ll see you at school.”

  Brennan leaves and I’m relieved that no one’s been able to reach Katya. Seeing as Brennan took responsibility for the painting, I should be able to leave. But before I can disappear, the doors of the movie theater open up and Tryan and Liana exit with the other attendees. The ambulance and police car quickly draw their attention. Tryan spots me and runs over with Liana close on his heels.

  “What happened?” he asks, reaching out to me. I step back.

  “Just a public disturbance warning.”

  “Have you been drinking?” Tryan asks. I look away just as Brennan’s dad passes us with the broken painting. I guess if he has to buy it, he’s entitled to the salvage.

  “What’s going on?” Liana says, pushing Tryan out of the way. “What did you do here?”

  “It’s none of your business,” I say, staring down Liana.

  “We need to know, little girl,” Liana says, staring down at me.

  “Who are you calling—”

  “Whoa, you two. Stop it,” Tryan says, getting between the two of us. “Dacie, please, tell me what got out.”

  I throw the dirtiest look I can muster at Liana, and turn to Tryan. “I don’t know. Something with long claws, tiny beady eyes, and long horns that looked like tree branches.”

  “A wendigo?” Liana asks, honestly looking shocked. It makes me smile. “How could you be so stupid?” she continues.

  My smile turns into a frown.

  “This is why I didn’t want to leave Dacie alone,” Tryan says, crossing his arms and blocking Liana. “I told you, she needs me.”

  “I don’t need anyone,” I snap.

  “She’s out of control,” Liana mutters. “What she needs is a swift kick in the—”

  “What did you say about me?” I say, trying to push Tryan out of the way.

  “Liana!” Tryan says. “Take the truck—I’ll meet you there. You need to get things ready; we’re hunting tonight.”

  Liana narrows her eyes at me and lets out a huff, before turning on her heels and getting into the truck. She spins the tires until they squeal before taking off. Tryan turns to me, and I have a stupid grin on my face from what I feel is my first victory against Liana.

  “What’s your problem?” He looks down at me with his lips pursed, and his eyebrows pushed together. “I can’t believe you were this careless.”

  I step back for a moment. I didn’t expect our reunion to be like this. “What’s so terrible about a wendigo?” I ask. “It looked freaky, but let’s find it and paint it back.”

  “Dacie.” Tryan sighs. “Wendigoes are nothing like imps. They’re dangerous to hunt, and they’re really smart.”

  “What’s so dangerous about them?” I ask, remembering the beady red eyes, the long claws, and sharp teeth.

  “They eat people,” he says.

  The drive home with Tryan suffocates me. My fuzzy head is slowly getting clearer, and the sharper it gets, the more embarrassed I become. Especially since Tryan is not talking—at all. He’s the total opposite of Brennan. Finally, we pull up to my dark house.

  “Is your aunt already asleep?”

  I shrug and leave him in the car, too humiliated to speak. I stumble as I reach the steps to the porch, but Tryan is there to catch me. I turn to him, smelling his woodsy aroma. I have the weirdest need to know what brand it is, but all I can do is stare at his face. His lips are still firmly set in a straight line, but his eyes look softly down at me.

  A sudden feeling of sadness washes over me, and I start to push him away. A sob escapes my lips. I cover my face to make sure the tears stay back. No tears. No crying. Get a grip.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling me back against him.

  I swallow back my emotions, pushing them down as far as I can. “You hate me.”

 
His hand runs down my long hair as a chuckle escapes his lips. “I don’t hate you,” he whispers.

  “You like Liana more.” I take a deep breath.

  “Dacie,” he says, “you’re drunk. Let’s get you inside and to bed.”

  “Yes,” I slur. “You need to run off to your girlfriend.” The sarcasm drools from my words; I want him to hurt so he knows how I feel.

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” he says with an edge to his voice. He opens the front door and pulls me inside. “Katya!” he calls out, walking ahead and leaving me in the front entry.

  I close the door behind us, then see something move next to me and jump back. It’s only my reflection in the mirror. I start to laugh, but the sound catches in my throat. My reflection looks eerily like my mother. A shudder runs through my body; I look like my mother after a night of drinking. My hair is disheveled and my eyes are vacant as I escape my reality.

  My stomach lurches and I run for the guest bathroom next to Katya’s studio. I stop at the sink, managing to hold everything in, and see my reflection again. I am not her. I wash my face and brush my hair back into a ponytail.

  I have no idea where Tryan is, but I don’t care. I go up to my bedroom and crawl into my pajamas. Why did I drink tonight? I swore to myself I would never be like Alina and here I am starting to walk in her footsteps. I grab her picture and sit on the edge of my bed, running my finger across her face.

  “You okay?” Tryan appears at my bedroom door.

  I nod, not looking away from my mother’s photo.

  “I found a note,” he says, bringing a piece of paper to me and sitting next to me.