by R. R. Virdi
Time to summon a monster.
I managed to get outdoors without arousing too much suspicion; only being stopped once by a nurse who reminded me curfew wasn’t too far away. The grounds were no longer littered with people. Empty. A different scene from my earlier group session. I didn’t have time to appreciate the sky and what it did to the woods at the end of the grounds. My attention was fixed on a small playground set in a sizable ground of woodchips.
I sprinted to the edge of the closest tree, snapping off a branch thicker than my thumb. I hoped it was sturdy enough not to break with what I had planned. After making it to the field of woodchips, I knelt and brushed away at the surface.
“What I wouldn’t give for a can of spray paint,” I growled as I cleared a space large enough for several people to lie in. Jamming the stick into the dry, gritty dirt, I inscribed from memory.
Evocation, the art of summoning a supernatural creature, does not take an ounce of magical ability. It takes knowledge. Lots of it. Starting first with how to make a Summoner’s Star. It’s not some simple circle with a pentagram scribbled inside it like on television shows. There’s so much more to it than that.
Like the number three. It plays a massive role in the supernatural world, and for good reason. Think of triangles, three-sided, strong, just like the number—indivisible. That’s what the number three is in the supernatural world. Strong, resolute, ironclad. You have to take that into account when making a proper Summoner’s Star.
I formed three circles, each successively smaller than the next. At the center I formed a triangle. Frowning, I tore at the section of stick held together by strands of weak bark. I knew the damned thing would break. I carved another triangle, inverted, forming a star of sorts. The ends of the star were triangles themselves. The center was an upside down pentagram. Within that I carved one last triangle. Three in total. At the center of it all, I made an archaic letter.
Sometimes I wish I had a mat with these printed out on them. Unroll it and toss it to the ground—done.
I willed away my fantasies and peppered the ground with minute circles, each with a symbol inside. Running along the outside of the thing was a script that could’ve belonged on the One Ring.
It was complete. Almost. Many scripts of magic needed something to give them power, like a battery. This one was no exception. I didn’t have the slightest bit of magical power. But I had something else.
Blood.
There’s more power in a drop of blood than in a dozen nuclear reactors. The magical kind anyways. Blood is a life force, and there’s nothing more powerful than life.
The soft skin of my forefinger slid between my teeth as I clamped down. I winced for a second. A drop no bigger than a pinhead welled up. Turning my finger over, I held it atop the circle. The drop clung stubbornly to my finger. I squeezed the digit with my other hand and a proper-sized drop of blood fell.
The ground hissed spitefully, like a freshly struck match. Every line I scrawled flared into existence with a fluorescent red shimmer. A flash and then it subsided. The Summoner’s Star looked as if it had been scorched into the ground. Everything was set. I just needed one more thing.
A name.
Proper evocation takes a name. What good is it summoning something if you don’t have its name? Names hold power. Don’t believe me? Try calling out someone’s name the next time they’re around. They’ll instantly whirl about looking for the source. It’s not conditioning. It’s something more. It’s an identity. There’s a form of magic in that. A link between a person and who they identify as. Something I’ve lost over the years. When someone identifies with a name, it’s part of their being; it’s a magical connection to something deeper. So when evoking a spirit or creature, you call their name.
Calling it once or twice is like a gentle invite; but like I said, three’s the magic number. Saying a name three times in conjunction with a Summoner’s Star—that’s not a polite invitation. That’s a forced summoning.
Most beings aren’t a fan of that. You’re essentially whisking them from wherever they are and dumping their butts into your circle. But I had an inkling that the creature I was about to summon wouldn’t answer if I called politely. So the rude call it was.
“Lyshae, I seek your wisdom. Lyshae, I seek your guidance. Lyshae, I invoke you.”
Nothing of note happened. There was no magical flare, no thrum of subtle power. Nothing.
Except where once there was an empty circle, there now stood a woman possessing otherworldly beauty.
“Vincent Graves,” she said, her voice too rich, too melodic, and utterly inhuman.
Her looks were the same. She couldn’t have passed for an ordinary woman if she tried. There was a wildness in her—fierce, something akin to a predatory cat. That same wildness appeared in her eyes. Exotic, canted with vertically slit pupils. Chatoyant gems, flecked with noticeable traces of yellow-gold. A hint of mischief hung within them. She had thick, lengthy lashes of soot that sharply contrasted her porcelain complexion. Her features were sharp, angular, fox-like. A perfect nose sat between wide, full, model-esque cheekbones.
An evening breeze stirred her loose-fitting and lengthy shift. It fell to her feet with a train of fabric running several yards behind her. It would’ve been a mistake to say her clothes were anything simple. The shift seemed to have been made from strands of pearls, reflecting the evening light with their glossy sheen. Lyshae appeared tall and slender with a ballerina’s figure. The cut of her dress revealed a bit more. It may have been loose but it clung to her in all the right places, revealing feminine swell and curves.
“Lyshae.” I smiled halfheartedly.
“You...utter and complete sociopath!” She stomped the ground once. Locks of spun gold bounced before her eyes.
“I consider myself more of a puckish rogue.” I smiled, genuinely this time. White tails atop her head caught my attention. She wore her hair in an odd style. A fistful of golden hair was clipped up and hung back in a plume of individual ponytails. Nine of them to be exact. The ends of each tail was the color of powdered snow. Nine tails. Nine white tails.
“A rose by any other name.” Her voice was dry.
“Wait…are you trying to insult me…or flirt with me?”
Her nose twitched in annoyance, as did a pair of things protruding from her head. Two rounded triangles, trimmed in fur matching her white tails of snow. A fleshy color showed within the fur. They were ears—fox ears.
Lyshae was a Kitsune. A Japanese fox spirit of intellect, knowledge and mischief. A particularly important one, indicated by the nine tails she wore in her hair. It was a sign that Lyshae was a Kitsune past the age of one thousand years. That meant if Gnosis was out, she was likely my best bet at gleaning some info. If she was in the sharing mood.
“Charming.” She gave me a bemused smile.
“There you go with those mixed messages again.” I beamed.
“What do you want?”
I grinned. “To call in that favor you owe me.”
She huffed in irritation. “After what you did?”
“Hey! I did what you asked. I helped you, and now you owe me!”
“You started a war between the two parties I was a liaison for, you...barbarian!”
That was a gross exaggeration. It was more like a skirmish…. “Oh please.” I waved a dismissive hand through the air. “They were looking for any excuse to break peace and start a riot. I may have exacerbated the process a bit,” I concluded with a shrug.
“A bit?” Her eyes went wide. Lyshae’s ears twitched and disbelief filled her voice.
I held my thumb and forefinger an inch apart.
“You, Vincent Graves, are a self-destructive, violent, narcissistic maniac.”
Guess that made me quite the overachiever. My grin widened. “I’m not narcissistic.”
Her eyes flashed dangerously before returning to normal. “What. Do. You. Want?”
“I told you, a favor.”
One of he
r eyebrows rose expectantly.
“I’m on a case. Something’s going around all cloak and dagger and offing people. I’ve seen shadows moving of their own accord. Not shadows like magical constructs and illusions. Just shadows.”
“Intriguing,” she murmured to herself.
“Whatever the hell it is, it can conjure up some black fog-like gunk and I think it’s psychoactive. When the junk touched me I lost feeling in my arm, and I started to trip.”
“Trip?”
“Ah, hallucinate, see things.”
She nodded in understanding.
“For whatever reason, after the thing’s done with people, it looks like they’ve died of a heart attack. So I need to know if you know what this freak is, or if you can help me find out?”
“I cannot tell based on what you have given me, but I’m sure we can figure it out.” She smiled. It was the sort a lioness gives a gazelle.
“Good. I’ve got time but I’d rather not let it dwindle so—”
“But first,” she interjected and my stomach knotted. “Let me out.”
Bad feeling verified.
“Uh, why would I do that?”
“You wish me to help you figure this out whilst trapped in here?” She gestured to the circle around her.
“Yup. I was thinking of making it a girl’s night. It’ll be like a sleepover. We’ll chat, gossip, slip into our pajamas. Maybe we’ll talk about boys, break out the Haagen-Dazs—share dirty secrets.”
“What sort of dirty secrets?” She quirked an eyebrow in amusement.
The question caught me off guard.
“Maybe your dirty secrets, Vincent?”
“What?”
Her smile deepened. It would’ve been a lie to say I didn’t find it disconcerting.
“What do you know, Lyshae? How do you know?”
“I worked for Gnosis for a while, if you recall.”
I had forgotten about that. Lyshae wasn’t even close to being one of the oldest brokers of information out there. Gnosis and a handful of creatures easily outclassed her in that regard. Because of that, for the longest of times, Lyshae was employed by more prominent beings in the information business. Kitsunes are fast, masters of illusion, nimble and have unparalleled senses. That makes them premier sleuths.
If Lyshae had worked for Gnosis, it meant she might know more than just things about me. It was entirely possible that Lyshae knew Gnosis’ secrets too. Those would be great assets to get my hands on. If I could convince Lyshae to part with them. I had an inkling she wouldn’t however. I didn’t seem to be on her Christmas card mailing list at the moment.
“Let me guess, Lyshae. This is the part where I sign over my soul and you tell me everything I’ve been dying to hear. Sound about right?”
“So melodramatic,” she purred. “Nothing of the sort. Simply release me from my debt and you’ll owe me several in return.”
Several…. The last time I did her a favor I barely made it out alive. But she made it sound so simple, enticing—easy. All I had to do was agree and she’d tell about my past, hopefully. I’d owe her a few favors is all. A few undefined—potentially dangerous—favors. I twitched and my heart drummed. My breathing sped up. I was tempted, sorely so, and she knew it.
The conniving bitch!
Gnosis knew. She knew. Church knew. That last thought settled the matter for me, as hard as it was. Church knew the truth and had promised to tell me—one day. I gritted my teeth and a string of obscenities rang through my thoughts. “No.”
She didn’t seem the least bit surprised or even upset. “No?” she said, her tone bemused. “Well, you’ve always been a stubborn one. What are a few more debts? You’ve already incurred one to Gnosis.”
“The hell do you know about that?”
Her eyes danced with glee but she remained silent.
“There a supernatural information broker weekly seminar I don’t know about? If so, how do I snag an invite?”
She chortled. It was rich, musical, and did funny things to my ears. “Do you honestly think you’d be welcome? You have a habit of starting fights, demolishing things and causing everything in the vicinity to develop an immense level of distaste toward you.”
I sniffed. Everybody doesn’t hate me.
“You still didn’t tell me how you knew about that?” I said, changing the subject.
She spoke with an air of nonchalance. “During my time with Gnosis I may have made some acquaintances, and garnered favors of my own.” Her smile widened further.
Lyshae had moles within Gnosis’ information network. That was seriously a big flippin’ deal. And she had told me about it. I couldn’t do much with that information at the moment, but I filed it away for later. It could come in handy. It could be used for blackmail or bonus points depending on the circumstances. Not that I was eager to get involved. This was some spy-on-spy crap. Getting caught in that would be terrible for my health.
“That might come back to bite you in your pretty little ass,” I mentioned.
She shrugged so casually it was disturbing. Gnosis was not a being you screwed over.
“We’re getting nowhere,” she said.
She was right. If I wanted to make any progress with this case, I was going to have to let her out. “Give me your word that you’ll help me solve this case. That you’ll act in accordance to my will so long as you are in my debt. Give me that, and I’ll let you out.”
Lyshae didn’t falter. “Of course.” It was too sweet a reply. “I give you my word, Vincent Graves, that I will act in accordance to your will. So long as I am bound in your debt, I will aid you in solving this case.”
I grimaced. She might have said the words, but it didn’t mean I was comfortable around her. Sliding my foot forward, I broke the first layer of the three-tiered circle. Lyshae regarded me with amusement. My foot traveled further, breaking all three circles, and smearing the triplicate of triangles within.
Hydraulic pressure enveloped my skull and neck as Lyshae took me in her grip and jerked me forward. I felt like I had whiplash. She may have looked slender, but she had supernatural strength. She pressed her lips to mine. It was like kissing honeyed rosewater. A sweet, cooling kiss. Our lips parted as I was shoved back.
“Still wondering if I was flirting with or insulting you?” she purred.
“Uh, yeah, wow, that was—”
My head rocked to the side. This time I definitely had whiplash. My jaw had nearly been unhinged and the left side of my face was aflame. Her full-armed slap made spots dance before my vision.
“That,” she growled, rubbing both hands over her body to smooth her dress, “was for my last job with you.”
I tasted iron. My teeth must’ve cut the soft tissue inside my cheek. “Geez, Lyshae, you play rough.”
“You have no idea,” she purred again.
Something stirred inside me. I told it to shut up, sit down and go away.
“So, Vincent, shall we begin?”
“Start talking.”
She let out a hearty laugh, like I had just cracked one heckuva amazing joke. “Not here.”
“What?”
She moved her arm in a simple bisecting motion behind her and a ribbon of silvery white appeared. It hung there, suspended in midair. It was half my length and no thicker than a finger.
My heart trip hammered. “You want me to follow you in there?”
What Lyshae had opened was a doorway. A path to the Ways. The Ways were exactly what they sounded like: pathways—roads to be traveled along to a particular place in a world I didn’t want to think about. Sometimes it was the other way and something followed them out. Not a nice thought. The Ways were as singularly unique as each part of the world they led to. There were a countless number of them, and each held a different surprise.
“Of course. Where else did you expect to find the best answers?”
“How about Wiki-fucking-pedia!?”
She blinked in confusion. “You didn’t specify how or whe
re I should procure the information.” Her teeth shone with a predatory gleam. “This is the most efficient way.”
Efficient for you.
“Do I look stupid?”
“No, Vincent. You look desperate.”
I scowled. This was bad. My slip-up had cost me. I should’ve been clearer on how I wanted her help. I could, of course, terminate the deal, thus freeing Lyshae from her debt. I had screwed myself in my desperation, but I’m nothing if not stubborn. I wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easy.
“How do I know I can trust you, Lyshae?”
“I gave you my word, Vincent.”
I eyed her askance. Just because she gave me her word didn’t mean she couldn’t find another way to screw me over. Lyshae was adept at that—wordplay, wiggling out of deals and all manner of backstabbery. Kitsunes are trickster spirits, mischief-makers, and great at being all-too-clever. I continued my oblique stare.
“Very well,” she breathed in mock exasperation. “I’ll put your concerns to rest, Vincent Graves. Trust me to be myself.”
That wasn’t comforting in the slightest.
“Trust me to be wholly untrustworthy.” Her eyes danced with mischievous delight.
“And that’s reassuring why?”
“Because, Vincent,” she gave me cunning smile, “you can always trust an untrustworthy person to be untrustworthy, but you never know when a trustworthy person will choose to be untrustworthy. It’s the honest ones you should be wary of. I, however, will be honestly dishonest till the last of my days.” The impish twinkle in her eyes intensified.
My head hurt after hearing the epic mind fuck. I shook the cobwebs clear. “None of that makes me feel better about following you. I could be walking into a trap.”
Those iridescent pools of gold shone with something like madness. Her eyes were terrifying. “Oh, Vincent, it’s the possibility that a trap lies ahead that makes this so exciting!” And with that she bounded backward in a single leap, disappearing into the silver-white ribbon in the air.