Dark Summoner (Relic Keeper Series Book 1) (2 page)

“Before?” she asked, her voice soft and pensive as she encouraged me to continue.

“Before all the therapy I had.” I hated lying to her, but there was no way in hell I was going to discuss that, too.

“But tonight, I saw two of them. One was a terrifying creature that tried to kill me without even touching me. The other was something more than a man. He was enough to scare off the gray monster.”

“How did he almost kill you?”

“He stole the air right out of me, without even touching my skin. I really thought I might die.”

“Oh my god, Abby.”

“But when the other man showed up, the monster disappeared and released me. The strange thing was, he scared me, too, but for reasons I can’t explain. And then magically, I was no longer in the club. I was in a bedroom and this man was there too. He stirred things in me, emotions, that I couldn’t understand, and then I had a vision. It was like the others I’ve had before, except this time, I was in it.”

“You saw yourself?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What happened?”

I blushed as I recapped the moment—my desire, the longing, and the bizarre, inexplicable connection I had with this stranger who’d essentially saved me.

“Wow. That’s intense.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

“You said you’d stop
seeing
before. How did you manage that?”

I winced and hoped she hadn’t noticed. “After the therapy, I learned to block it all out, to become blind to my
sigh
t. At least, I thought I had—until now.”

My anxiety picked up as we both became silent. I expected her to cringe and call me crazy or to be skeptical or to be afraid of me. But instead, she appeared thoughtful and sad.

“I’m sorry, Abby. It must have been terrible to keep this to yourself all these years.” She shook her head back and forth. “I can’t even imagine.”

“So you believe me?” I asked, shocked by her acceptance.

“Of course I believe you. You’re my best friend, and I’ve never known you to be dramatic or ridiculous. If you say that these things have happened, that you can see what you see, then I believe you.”

“And you don’t think I’m crazy or hallucinating?”

“Of course not.”

“You sure about that?” I muttered to myself, unconvinced.

She huffed and unbuckled her seat belt before angling her body toward me. “Abby, I mean it. I don’t think you’re crazy.” She raised a hand in the air to stop me from interrupting her. “Or delusional or any of the above. This world is filled with the unexplainable. Why should it be so unbelievable that there are people who are more in tune with the unknown than others?”

“So what do I do now?”

“Well,” she said, sitting back, “the way I see it, you have two options. Truly
see
things and accept that part of yourself or hide it away again, if you think you can. But if you want my opinion, I’d say to hell with being normal and embrace it. Because I doubt that part of you is going anywhere anytime soon.”

I repeated her words in my head. To hell with being normal.

“
H
ello
? Are you even listening?”

It took me a full ten seconds to register that someone spoke to me. I’d been too busy staring through the foggy glass windows that lined the Sidewalk Café, my gaze focused on the street outside, to realize I had a customer. I looked at the middle-aged blonde standing across the counter from me. Her eyes narrowed as her long pink fingernails tapped irritably along the glass display.

“I’m sorry,” I said and shook my head, hoping to clear away the lingering thoughts. I grabbed a paper cup to jot down her order. With no clue of what she’d ordered, I went for my go-to drink. “You wanted a mocha . . . with a double shot. Right?” I asked with a smile.

Half of our customers ordered the Double Delight so I had a fifty-fifty chance. My odds couldn’t be better. Except she was already beyond annoyed with me and met my smile with a scowl. There was no way she was going to offer me any form of politeness. She let out an exasperated sigh.

“I
said,
I wanted a
soy
cappuccino with an
extra
shot in the ceramic saucer. Not a to-go cup.” Each word came out harsher than the last. “And I’m in a hurry, so if you could speed it up, that’d be great.”

She shoved a five into my hand and huffed away from the counter just as her cell phone vibrated. Mindlessly, I grabbed a cup off the shelf and began making her drink.

I was in no way prepared for my shift today. Last night’s dream had exceeded all the ones before. It was so real, so intense, I’d truly been convinced it was happening. Four of them, the gray men, held me down and beat me. They kept calling me
elhun,
speaking to me in a language I’d never heard before and accusing me with their tone. I didn’t have the faintest clue what any of it meant.

Outside of the nightmares, it had been two weeks without another real sighting; I hoped everything that had happened at Club Deviant had been a fluke—a hiccup in the new normal of my life. I was trying to convince myself but the other, larger part of me, stared out windows, peeked in corners, and checked under the bed. I’d become a mindless, paranoid zombie—going through the motions of everyday life without really living. I couldn’t believe one fucking night had ruined every day since.

The nights were the worst part. Several times I’d wake up screaming in terror. Tears streamed down my temples as I cradled my neck in false pain, reliving the moment from the club over and over again. Reagan constantly tried to remind me that it was all over, but I knew better.

It was just beginning.

Not all the dreams were nightmares. I’d also dream of
him
, the man from the club. The man, who was so much more than a man. I didn’t tell Reagan about those dreams because they were erotic, enticing, and I was too embarrassed to admit the places my thoughts had taken me.

I sighed. Why couldn’t I have been blessed with the simple problems that every other twenty-something had? Like school or boyfriends or which party to attend?

The doors to the café opened as another group of college students plowed through. A gust of wind blasted me from behind, and my hair wrapped around my face, getting caught in my mouth and lashes. The air carried with it the smell of garbage, a rotten, foul odor. A chill tore through my body as I recognized the scent. I whipped around and the small ceramic cup of coffee slipped from my hands. The cup shattered into pieces and the hot liquid spilled all over the tile.

Every head in the café turned in my direction and my cheeks reddened with embarrassment. I began picking up the broken, jagged chunks of yellow flowered pottery. Reagan rushed to my side and knelt beside me. She pulled a towel out of the front pocket of her apron and wiped at the hot liquid.

“Abby, what the heck is up with you today? You’ve been acting like you are brain-dead.”

I shoved several rogue strands of my long brown hair behind my ears. “I’m sorry . . . I . . . I don’t know anymore.” Frustrated tears welled in the corners of my eyes.

She gave me a soft smile, “You don’t have to apologize.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “Did you
see
something?”

“No. I . . .
smelled
something.”

She eyed me curiously. “Smelled something?”

“Yes. I smelled something, but it’s gone now.”

She sat back onto her heels. “Look, why don’t you take a break? We’re almost out of milk and the medium disposable cups.”

“I thought it was Krista’s job to grab that stuff in the morning. She is the assistant manager, after all.”

Reagan laughed. “Which means she makes more and works less. She leaves all the real work to us key holders.”

A smile played on the edges of my lips at the undeniable truth of her words. I scanned the café and noticed that only a few random heads pointed in our direction with mild interest. Everyone else had gone back to their business. I smoothed down my apron as I attempted to wipe away my embarrassment. “I really don’t feel like driving all the way to Lostco Supermart, Rea.”

“So don’t,” she said as she spun away from me and faced the register. She slipped her key in and the drawer popped open with a ding.

She placed a few twenties in my palm. “Here’s some cash. Why don’t you run over to Samson’s and pick up what we need? He’s stocked some extra stuff for us as a favor. I’ll hold the fort here until you get back.”

With my jacket on and my purse in hand, I stood outside the entrance to the café to raise my collar and brace myself against the wind. We’d been having crazy weather over the last few weeks. The fact that it coincided with the return of my
sight
hadn’t passed my notice. They couldn’t be related, right? Wouldn’t that just make the paranoia I felt double? Who knew? But that would make me and my
sight
larger and far more important than I really was.

I glanced back toward the café one last time. I could see Reagan through the slightly fogged glass, taking orders and chatting with customers, specifically the cute guys. Reagan always had the ability to stop men in their tracks. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful—her smooth skin was like silk and her red, luscious locks were fiery and rebellious. A stark contrast against her large blue eyes that made her seem sweet and innocent. But the most beautiful thing about Reagan was her personality. Men devoured her limitless confidence and charm. She was alive like a wildfire, burning and passionate.

I’d always been a little envious that I wasn’t more like her. She laughed carefree at something a customer said, her face open and full of life. Why couldn’t I ever feel that free? That happy? Why was everything in my life either complicated or dark? I gave myself a hard mental shake. Because that wasn’t my life. Some people were blessed and others cursed. I shuddered from the chill again, pulled my coat tighter, and headed down the crowded street.

By the time I’d walked the four short blocks to Samson’s, my fingers had become icy popsicles. The day may have been clear of snow or rain, but the crisp sky brought with it an almost unbearable wind chill.

Samson’s General Goods had been in business since long before I was born, located in a small, charming shopping district known for its quaint shops and historical feel.

I set six packs of paper cups and four gallons of milk onto the counter.

“This’ll do it for ya, honey?” the woman behind the register asked with a sweet smile as she scanned the items one by one. I paid and left quickly, cradling the four bags in my hands.

I was maybe halfway down the block, when I recognized it—the sensation brought about by the heat of another person watching you. I peered over my right shoulder and noticed a man with a long, black jacket and a hooded sweatshirt pulled over his head. Several other people made their way up and down the brick sidewalks that lined Parlor Street. I made it past two more shops before my paranoia forced me to stop and look again. Still there, but closer this time.

I turned the next corner and stopped to stare at a window display. My anxiety peaked as I noticed my companion did the same. Perhaps it was just a mugger? Strange that the thought of a mugger was more comforting than the thought of a crazed gray monster.

A thunderous boom clattered overhead. The powder-blue blanket of sky had been replaced with ominous black clouds barreling over town. Unnerved by the sudden change, I picked up my pace, but I barely had a second to move when an enormous downpour plunged from the clouds and drenched me in seconds. The odor of rot blew in my direction, and I panicked. I took off into a sprint running for the first open door I could find, which happened to be the next shop over. I dipped into the first door on my right. The bell jingled violently as I swung the door open at full force before slamming it shut behind me. I was surprised I didn’t break the glass.

I searched for the figure that had followed me. Fear crept up my spine as the minutes ticked on. A thunderous roar broke from the sky and within seconds lightning flashed. The lights in the small shop flickered before completely going out.

“Can I help—?” The words came from the saleswoman at the register, but I didn’t respond or even bother turning around. Her voice trailed off from behind me. No doubt she was alarmed by my behavior, but it couldn’t be helped.

Whether it was paranoia or reality, I didn’t care anymore. I kept my hand tight on the brass doorknob as I pressed forward against the wooden frame. The door creaked under the pressure, but I held my stance. I needed to keep whatever was outside,
out.
My heavy breathing fogged the glass, making it difficult to see through. I squinted and pulled the arm of my jacket up, trying to rub away the moisture, but all it did was create foggy smears. When the lightning flashed again, two black soulless eyes stared directly into mine from outside. The gray skin of his lips sagged over his smile. I screamed in terror and jumped away from the door. I stumbled backward, lost my footing, and tripped over the plastic bags that I’d scattered along the wood floor behind me.

I didn’t even have a chance to brace myself as I hit the edge of a table with a hard smack. The back of my head made direct contact with the wood and then everything went black.