The Summoner's Sigil

by Renee Sebastian

  “I’ll be vulnerable when I do the casting.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “So you keep saying, but you haven’t any real tactical training, unless there is something more you wish to tell me.”

  “Did you not see that man in the forest? He was easy,” he said and then added regretfully, “Too easy.”

  “He speaks the truth. If you open up a bridge, I might be able to travel along it, and then return to report back what I have learned,” Calidum offered.

  “Need I remind you both that land bridges are illegal and usually entail a human sacrifice,” I snapped.

  “My spell won’t require that, and I suppose that so long as a human doesn’t use the land bridge, then there will be no one to arrest,” Mr. Townsend quietly replied.

  I huffed out a breath and went to the coal bin. It was full and dry. I filled the bucket and went inside the house, ignoring both of them. I could hear Mr. Townsend and Calidum discussing the spell, but I needed to be alone for a few minutes. I didn’t like being pressured into anything. I was cold, thirsty, and hungry. Judging by the sky outside, it was bound to start raining again at any second and then it will be night. Bad things always seemed to happen at night.

  Ignoring the furniture outside, I walked into the kitchen. Two of the four chairs had been left unbroken. The table had dents in it, but was still serviceable. I went to the coal stove that served as the central heating system, and blissfully, it looked undamaged, so I loaded it up. After I set the still half-full bucket down on the ground, I opened the flue. Next, I set the fire using my flint stone, and once the fire was underway, I checked the larder.

  The pantry had been partially destroyed. It would have taken time and precision to have broken or befouled every bottle or box. The floor crunched under my feet from the wasted dry oats and jerky. I found a jar of apricot preserves and a bag of flour that had been unmolested. I next found a container of dehydrated eggs and a can of evaporated milk. It would have to do. I began the process of making a dense, fruit bread that should be sustaining until additional provisions arrived.

  Mr. Townsend came in shortly later soaking wet, and surprised me with a large catfish in each hand. I could have kissed him.

  “Calidum assured me that this would be plenty of food for the night. I can get more tomorrow.”

  “Thank you. You didn’t happen to see my horse out there, did you?”

  “No I didn’t. What was in your saddlebags that you require?”

  “All the money I had, my working papers, and a family pistol. The money was supposed to be my cushion until I got my feet under me again.”

  “I have money. I’ll replace it.”

  “No, it was quite a lot. I simply hadn’t the opportunity to set up an account yet. It was on my list of things to do.”

  “How much?”

  “Forty thousand in greenbacks and some gold dollars.”

  “I’ll replace it,” he said without hesitation.

  “Why would you do that?”

  He set the fish on the counter and said, “I don’t know how to prepare these for cooking. Do you?”

  “Why Colin? You barely know me.”

  “Because I have nothing to spend my salary on, so it just sits in my bank account moldering. Can you take care of these fish? I’m going to clean up and try to set up the bedrooms.”

  “Seems to me that if you’ve done your job well for many years, why haven’t you been promoted out of the library to a more auspicious position, suitable for a Terrologist?”

  He turned to the cupboards and began opening them. “Where might I find some fresh linens?”

  I grabbed his arm, stopping him in midstride. I looked into his silvery eyes. “Why?”

  He scowled and said, “My heritage prevents it.”

  “What is in your heritage that would prevents that? This is the Republic of America after all, land of opportunity and all that rot,” I countered.

  “You know as well as I, there exists a caste system in this nation.”

  I stared at him. Certainly, he wasn’t implying what I thought he was suggesting. He couldn’t be a wolf. Suddenly, some of his behaviors from the Red Forest started to make sense. But their purpose was to guard and protect people of standing, and I definitely had never heard of one working as a librarian. Since when were they sending solo wolves on government missions? I involuntarily took a step away from him.

  He frown bit deeper into his face, and then he said, “I thought you might have behaved differently, being a Summoner.” Then he stormed out of the room and went up the stairs.

  “You treated me better when you first met me, than you have behaved towards him,” Calidum said as he walked into the room. “Are you going to eat that one?” he next asked, as he pointed to the smaller of the two fish. That demon could change his stream of thought quicker than an armadillo could dig a two-foot hole in Mother’s flower garden in the pitch dark.

  “No, you can have it,” I said with a sour taste in my mouth.

  Once Calidum climbed up on a windowsill to eat the raw fish in some semblance of privacy, I took out the letter that Mr. Townsend had given me. He must have known that if my mother had known about it, then she would have opened it up straight away and hidden it from me.

  Dearest Basil,

  I hope you can forgive the odd manner in which this letter has been delivered to you. After reading your mother’s letter earlier, I thought it best delivering it this way.

  If you haven’t discovered it yet, I hope this won’t disturb you, but Mr. Townsend has the wolf gene in his genetic makeup. To the best of our knowledge, he has never turned into a beast, so do not preoccupy yourself on this matter a moment longer than is necessary.

  Dorian tells me he is highly commended and recommended by President Newton. He has worked in the Library of Congress since he was a small boy, and has a keen interest in Summoner practices.

  While all of this had been arranged through Dorian and President Newton, unbeknownst to me, I do feel that you two will make quite the team, should you choose to accept the mission she has set for you.

  I didn’t want you kept in the dark without such a pertinent piece of information about your partner. I miss you, and hope to see you soon. Keep safe and above all keep your wits about you.

  Your friend,

  -Wendy Grey

  A knock sounded at my door, or what was left of it, and a little old lady voice called out from it, “Is that you Miss Beckenbauer? Are you back from saving the world?” Who didn’t know what I had been up to the past five months? So much for keeping a low profile.

  I covered the remaining catfish with a towel I had grabbed from a drawer that appeared reasonably clean and said, “Yes, it is me.” It was my closest neighbor who lived four miles away. I looked at my wristwatch and calculated that it was nigh impossible for her to have run all the way here. It had been a mere twenty minutes ago when we arrived, and the fire in the stove had been only burning for about five minutes.

  I saw that Calidum had finished his fish and perched himself on the table, so he could see what was going to transpire on my front porch.

  I went to the where the front door used to be and said, “Hello Mrs. Basquiat.” As was the custom here in the bayous, you still addressed her as a Mrs., despite her husband having been long dead and burned years before Grandfather brought me full time under his tutelage.

  I remember attending her husband’s funeral when I was six. It was hard to bury people so close to the water table, and many of the bayou lifers refused to be buried up in the hills. They often chose to be placed on small boats that were launched onto the lake. Someone from the shore would then shoot a fiery arrow into its sails. It was all very Viking like, for a people who couldn’t look and act farther from them.

  The seventy-five year old woman, who over the years had hardened and wrinkled up to a piece of dehydrated apple with white hair, replied, “Hello Basil. Are you having a rummage sale?”

&nbs
p; “No, I didn’t do any of this. You didn’t happen to see who did though, did you?”

  “No,” she replied while trying to look around me. “Where is that strapping young man I saw noodling just a few minutes ago in the lake? Is he your new husband?”

  “No, he isn’t,” I absently said, while I spotted her small rowboat on the lake. “Were you fishing near here?”

  “Yes, I was trying to catch some bass for dinner. Figured since no one’s been here in months, the fish knew this was a good place to hide.”

  “How often did you come by here Mrs. Basquiat while I was away?” I asked her.

  “How long is he going to be shacking up with you Basil?” she snidely asked in return. I rolled my eyes. Then I heard the stairs creak behind me, and in a split second, Mr. Townsend was at my side. Thankfully, he was dryer and smelling much less of bog mud. He must have bathed in the upstairs bathroom.

  She looked nervously at him and took a step or two further away from the front entry.

  “Answer her question Mrs. Basquiat. I am quite curious as well,” he urged her.

  “If you have brought the devil to your doorstep, it’s too late to shut the door,” she said. She was an odd mix of superstition and User magic. She hailed from an old swamp family whose lineage was rumored to have some Necromancy talents. Grandfather always gave her a wide berth, and I was beginning to suspect why. So much fear coupled with power, no matter how little she may have had, was a dangerous combination.

  “Truer words have never been said. If you mean her ill will, be warned, I tolerate no fools,” he nearly growled at her.

  She blanched and then turned tail and ran much faster than her age belied.

  Once she was out of earshot, he said, “Don’t trust her.”

  “I didn’t trust her before now, but I doubt we have anything to worry about when it comes to her. She is simply a gossip monger at heart,” I insisted.

  “Gossip is the currency for the powerful. We should expect an attack later tonight. Will you be ready to try my spell after we eat? I think time is of the essence now.”

  “Whoa, I think you are jumping to conclusions. There was nothing especially significant about this encounter that might denote that conclusion Mr. Townsend.”

  “Need I remind you that I am a Terrologist?”

  I didn’t have a response to that. Maybe he did know something that I did not.

  “I would also like to make a request, if you don’t mind Miss Beckenbauer.”

  “You can make it, but I can’t guarantee I’ll grant it.”

  “If we are to carry on as a team in this, I would be most honored if you would call me Colin,” he said.

  That was unexpected. Would this bring our relationship out of cool and professional into a friendly partnership? Was I ready for that? I had to admit that if I had to have someone protect me on this assignment, having a wolf do it was about as good as it got.

  I stuck my hand out and said, “Colin, let me reintroduce myself. I am Basil, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  He stared at my hand for a split second, and then a smile lit up his face when he took it in a firm and warm grasp. “Pleased to make your acquaintance as well… Basil.”

  “I can dress up the catfish, but the bread will take a little longer. Dinner will be in two hours. We have a generator out on the north side of the house. We’ll need to get it going at some point, so we can have some proper lighting in this place tonight. Rule number eight, never read spells in the dark.”

  “Is that one your Grandfather’s rules?”

  “One of many Colin. How did the bedrooms fair upstairs?”

  “Compared to the rest of the house they are luxury accommodations. They must have been looking for something here, besides you.”

  “They were probably looking for the library.”

  “There’s a library in this house?”

  “Oh, is there.”

  ···•Ͽ Ѡ Ͼ•···

  After grabbing a lantern, I led him upstairs and into the master bedroom. It was mostly untouched, with Grandfather’s clothing strewn about the room along. The couple of drawers that had been left in the chifferobe had been left open willy-nilly. I scooped up some of the shirts in our path, which were torn and muddied, and shoved them into one of the open drawers. I had not had the heart to donate or throw away any of his personal possessions yet. This desecration was a personal message meant for me.

  After grabbing a forty inch long candlesnuffer, I used it to push up one of the tins in the ceiling. I next used it to grab a hold of the retractable rope ladder and pulled it down to us. I set the snuffer down and climbed up it. Once I was up, Colin did the same, with Calidum making it up in one leap.

  While the attic wasn’t huge, you could stand up and walk ten steps in any direction before the roof slanted and forced you to crouch down to reach the bookshelves. Books covered every square inch of the wall space, and there were many stacks of books in random places around the room that would not fit in the shelves. There were no windows up here, which made this space a bit of a guessing game for anyone who might have been looking for it. However, there were a couple of small vents that could be opened and used as a spy hole or an arrow loop in an emergency.

  I lit the lantern I found near the opening and saw wonder written across Colin’s face. It made him appear much younger than I’m sure he was.

  “This room is amazing,” he said before collapsing into one of two chairs in the room. He had chosen the upholstered chair that had been used primarily by Grandfather, which I had always likened to a throne. I found that I had no problem with Colin sitting in it. Someone else needed to make new memories in it.

  The other chair had a straight back made of wood, and it was naturally taken by Calidum, which also suited me just fine. I had to attend to other business. I got on my knees and rolled up the circular Turkish wool rug that took up most of the floor. After leaning it against the wall, I surveyed the standard calling circle that had been engraved into the Brazilian Rosewood floor. The rest of the house was in cypress, which naturally repelled pests and was spectacular for the controlling the humidity, but the real treasure in the house was this.

  “Some of these books are priceless. You really should donate them to the Library,” Colin said as he picked one off of the shelf to peruse.

  “Not until I have learned all their secrets.”

  “What secrets do you hope to learn from them?” Colin asked.

  “Only all the important ones.”

  “She intends on contacting her Grandfather,” Calidum told Colin.

  He raised his eyebrows and said, “Shouldn’t you be contacting a Tomb Talker for that?”

  “She thinks that since she has the eye of fate now, she can do everyone’s job.”

  “Calidum, hold your tongue. That was rude,” I scolded him. Then I turned to Colin and asked, “Since we are revealing secrets, aren’t your people normally bonded to the person you are chosen to protect.”

  “Firstly, I’d like to kindly remind you that I did not start this spin of the bottle. Secondly, they’re not my people. I simply hold a recessive gene and some extra perks. I cannot change forms, nor do I exhibit their baser instincts.” Based on the killing in the Red Forest and his growling at Mrs. Basquiat, he was living more in denial than I was.

  I chose to simply grunt out my reply of, “Hmm, hmm.”

  He realized that I was dismissing him, so he returned his attention to the bookshelf, intent on ignoring me in turn. He apparently found something very interesting in Summoning Class Seven Demigods vol. III, filled with entities who weren’t gods at all.

  “Where’s this spell you want me to do?” I asked him.

  “I’ll retrieve it.”

  Once he was down the ladder, Calidum and I had a staring match until he finally said, “What is your problem with him? He’s here to help.”

  I slumped into the throne and sighed. “He is nice, isn’t he?”

  “Be
tter than you deserve.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  He smiled and said, “Your Grandfather isn’t thinking about how he died right now.”

  “How do you know what he is or isn’t thinking?”

  “This is all about what you need from him, and not about him at all.” I frowned at that. Was what he said true? “He would want you happy with a nice man like Colin Townsend.”

  “Just you remember that I am the one who plans the weddings.”

  “Whose wedding are you planning?” Colin asked as he popped his head up from the hole.

  “Yours,” Calidum said before I could cover his mouth.

  “Oh, and who am I marrying?” he said with a smile and a wink at me.

  “I haven’t a clue, maybe you could enlighten us,” I said before Calidum could say anything else.

  “I can assure you that I have been under lock and key for the last thirty years, so I haven’t had the chance to meet anyone,” he said bitterly as he walked around the engraved circle to sit down at the foot of my chair.

  I laid a hand on his shoulder and said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I’m having a grand time now, and besides, who knows when they’ll let me out of my pen again.” He was right. There was no chance for him to ever have a normal life… of us ever ending up together. He was a wolf fluke. No one could fathom what mutations his offspring might take on. That was the last thing Alice Newton needed right now, as President.

  He then handed me a drawing with a series of sigils on it, and then he sat back down in the throne.

  “Did you just now draw this?” I asked as the ink smeared under my fingers.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have its original tucked away somewhere?”

  “No, I recalled it from memory.”

  He was a Summoner’s dream familiar, if we took familiars, which we didn’t.

  I looked down on his ashen brown hair that appeared darker up here in the attic. I noticed that his nose was slightly crooked, but his mouth was perfect, not too thick, with a more generous lower lip. I suddenly could picture him as a youth, not having any peers of his own age to play with.