Read Dark Summoner (Relic Keeper Series Book 1) Online
Authors: D.D. Miers
Dark Summoner (Relic Keeper Series Book 1)
Copyright © 2015 D.D. Miers
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, or transmitted by any means—electronic, mechanical, photographic (photocopying), recording, or otherwise—without prior permission in writing from the author.
Dark Summoner
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
D.D. Miers
Yucaipa, CA 92399
Cover Design by Sarah Hansen (
www.okaycreations.com
)
Edited by Lorraine Fico-White, Magnifico Manuscripts, LLC (
www.magnificomanuscripts.com
), Chelsea Kuhel (
www.madisonseidler.com
)
Ebook Design by Lorie DeWorken,
MIND
the
MARGINS
,
LLC
(
www.mindthemargins.com
)
Front Cover Photo © 2015 maximahner: Istock by Getty Images
dedication
For everyone out there
who has ever had a dream
but was too afraid
to follow it.
table of contents
T
here was no doubt about it.
The man across the bar wanted to have sex with me.
At least that’s the impression I got from his not-so-subtle tongue wiggling. I imagined this was his disgusting and unsuccessful attempt at seduction. My revulsion must have been obvious because the tongue wiggler’s overconfident smirk turned into a sour frown. He mouthed “Fuck you,” grabbed his beer, and disappeared through the crowd.
I raised my glass to his dwindling form and took another sip of my cranberry and vodka. The scent of cigarettes and alcohol filled the club as sweaty bodies ground against each other to the music. A couple, who stood way too close, started making out voraciously. Their little tryst didn’t bother me until their fondling bumped my arm and caused me to almost spill my drink.
“Sorry.” The guy slurred the word.
He gripped his date’s ass and guided her back toward the bathroom to continue their activities. I scowled and swore under my breath.
I hated clubs. They were always too loud and too crowded, but it was Reagan’s birthday-month, which meant she chose the venue. While most people celebrated their birthday on one day of the year, Reagan considered the entire month of October her month. For anyone else, I would never have considered participating in a nonstop self-celebration, but Reagan was different. She was like a sister to me and the only person I considered family.
We’d been here for over three hours, and I’d had my fill of frisky hands and booming music. She’d promised we’d leave as soon as she said a quick hello to a friend but that was over fifteen minutes ago and I hadn’t seen her since. Where the hell was she?
I slipped the heels off my aching feet and pressed my arches onto the cool metal barstool. I cast another hopeful glance around the club in search of my best friend when my attention was drawn to the VIP area. Out of nowhere, the hairs on my arms rose and my entire body froze. A memory I cast away long ago resurfaced as clear as day.
“What do you see Abigail?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I reply through shaky words, holding my doll, afraid to admit the truth. They didn’t want the truth anymore; they wanted the lie. So did I. Just to make the torture stop.
“Don’t you lie to me.” His mouth twists in anger, but he appears to enjoy it.
“I’m not.” I know my voice isn’t convincing. I squeeze my eyes shut and beg for the visions to go away.
“You know what happens when you lie, Abigail. Little girls who lie get punished.”
“Please. Don’t.” Tears stream down my cheeks. The dread of what is to come, of what he’s about to do to me, makes me wish for death.
Ten years.
Ten long years of forgetting . . . hiding . . . burying.
This didn’t happen anymore—couldn’t happen anymore. Not after everything I’d gone through. Months of violent and unnatural therapy led to weeks of begging for death. To be right back here again was like being slapped in the face, hard and fast.
I tried to fight my mind. To push back and block out the silent command screaming from deep within me. The command that ordered me to open my eyes and
see.
Not the average kind of sight but a numbing, tingling sense, from inside my soul. A curse that’s tormented me with visions of people and things that didn’t exist in the normal world. A curse I’d thought I’d left behind years ago.
A new song came on and strobe lights pulsed, red, green, and yellow, their flashes in sync with the hypnotic beat offering brief glimpses of light. Unable to fight it any longer, I closed my eyes and let my
sight
take over.
It may have been a good twenty feet from me, but the stench of rotted, putrid flesh filled the air. I wanted to scream, to flee, but I couldn’t. My entire focus was glued to the hideous face that stared back at me. In body, it appeared a human man, but its face was wrinkled and sagged as if the skin didn’t belong to him. As if he wore the body of another. Hairless, grayed flesh covered every inch of his body. His nose was crushed and bent inward, and his mouth had no lips to frame it. Dark, soulless eyes, deep set, with thick billowy skin where eyebrows should be frightened me the most.
A smile spread across his disfigured mouth as our eyes met. The moment revealed a huge scar reaching from his chin through his right eye. A whisper fell off his lips. Words that should have been impossible to hear landed directly on my ears.
“See your death, Abigail.”
My throat began to close as an invisible force choked me, one that laid claim to my life.
I would die, right here in the middle of a crowd and not a single person would notice. A silent plea fell from my lips as I grasped for my neck, trying to relieve the pressure. The glass in my hand slipped and fell onto my lap. Red cranberry juice poured down my bare legs and white skirt. My eyes widened as I imagined my own blood pouring out onto the floor below.
His feral black pupils focused on mine as he watched the life leave me. He sniffed the air and his smile faltered. He swung his head to the left and whatever he saw, he didn’t like.
Just when I thought I couldn’t bear it any longer, the pressure ceased on my neck. I hunched forward, eyes closed, as I cradled my throat in my palm. I relished in the freedom to breathe without resistance. Strange how we take for granted the simple act of breathing.
I inhaled deeply and didn’t smell the putrid rot anymore. I was too afraid to look up and see if it still stood where it last was. But I needed to know. When I raised my head and scanned the far wall, he was gone. However, I saw a different—but no less menacing—figure. His six-foot-plus frame leaned against the leather walls, arms crossed over his muscular chest, his demeanor casual yet controlled. To say he intimidated me would have been an understatement. He seemed like the devil incarnate—a strange combination of wickedly handsome and utterly terrifying.
A strange black smokiness swirled around his frame, and I couldn’t tell if it was coming from him or somewhere in the club. Everything about him exuded danger. Whoever he was, that
thing
took one look at this man and disappeared. I couldn’t help but feel slightly grateful. The brief windows of light allowed me glimpses of his dark and brooding features. Much of him remained in shadow. But I noticed his stunning eyes. They glowed unnaturally and danced as he watched me. With abnormal speed, they flashed from crystal gray to black coal and back again. His short, jet-black hair was tousled yet perfect, and a slight stubble bordered his jawline.
His riveting stare petrified and aroused me at the same time. Looking at him made me desirous for things I never thought I would want. I was recovering from the silent assault when a sudden daze clouded my mind, and my eyelashes fluttered uncontrollably. There wasn’t time for me to panic as it lifted within seconds.
I was no longer in the club.
The walls and window shades in a large sumptuous bedroom are black. Everything is black. Flames roar within the hearth of a large fireplace. He stands with his bare back to me, the blaze illuminating every perfect angle of his body. His taut muscles ripple as he stretches forward and places his arms on the mantel. His hands are fisted, as if he’s angry. Small beads of sweat trickle down his deeply tanned skin. I want to trace the path of every single one with my tongue, the need almost unbearable. I slip off the couch and crawl on my hands and knees to him. This is what he likes, what he wants. I like it, too. His very presence commands my desire. It’s not a choice. It’s the only option.
I blinked again, and I was back on the barstool. Everything exactly the same except for the intoxicating scent of smoke and sweat that lingered on my skin. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? He still held my gaze. His body morphed into smoke and then back to man again. From the smirk he wore, it was clear he enjoyed both my confusion and my desire.
I wanted to run, but with my jumbled emotions, I wasn’t sure if it was to him or from him. The moment dissolved as he vanished. I shook my head and rubbed my eyes, but he was gone.
I stared into blank space for an uncertain amount of time. The bodies on the dance floor moved as if in slow motion. The music, the people, the lights—everything was tunneled and distant.
Someone shook my shoulder and slowly words from the outside broke into my troubled mind.
“H—are u al—ght?”
I looked at the hand on my shoulder and followed it up until I saw Reagan.
“Are you okay, Abby?”
“What?” I asked, being pulled from my foggy trance, back to reality.
“You’re pale and shaking.” Her brow furrowed with worry and confusion.
I wiped the cold sweat off my forehead. “I’m fine. I’m just tired and the crowd is too much. You ready to go?”
I didn’t even give her time to respond as I pushed off the stool and made my way through the throngs of dancers, determined to get out fast.
I didn’t have to look back to know Reagan had followed me. I could feel her steps behind me. The familiar sensation her presence always offered—a safety net, ready to catch my fall. When we finally reached the back side of the club, we followed the terrace around, passed a group of smokers and went through the back exit. I trudged all the way into the middle of the street and stopped as I looked up to the sky. Heavy winds and black clouds barreled in over Weston as a storm brewed in the night. Small pellets of rain dripped from overhead. I closed my eyes and breathed in the refreshing, cool air.
“You sure you’re okay?” Reagan asked, as she dug recklessly through her purse for the car keys. “You looked like you were ready to puke or something.”
“Uh-huh,” I mumbled.
It was the only answer I could offer her. I couldn’t help the creeping feeling that climbed up my spine and over my entire being. After a decade, could this really all be coming back? I didn’t like being in the open like this, too exposed, too vulnerable. All I wanted was to get home as quickly as possible and throw the covers over my head.
When she’d finally fished the keys from her purse, we walked the two blocks down the alley and back onto the main street where we’d parked. Her bright yellow Volkswagen Beetle stood out among the other cars like a giant pink elephant at the zoo. It was a good thing Reagan wasn’t a big drinker because between the alcohol and the anxious adrenaline, I’d be impossible behind the wheel.
She unlocked her car, sat down, and leaned across the seat to pop open my door, her fiery auburn hair blown back by a rush of wind.
“So tell me,” she said as she adjusted her hair in the mirror. She pulled out of her parking spot and onto the slick road. “What the hell happened to you tonight? For a second there, it was as if you’d seen a ghost or something.”
How right she almost was. I reached around the side of my seat and pulled the lever, reclining as far as I could go. I lifted my arms and crossed them over my eyes, my attempt at blocking everything else out.
Aside from my
sight,
Reagan knew everything about me. Yet, revealing the secret I’d borne for as long as I could remember was a scary prospect. Aside from the obvious fears, I had my reasons for keeping it from her. My father had feared and hated me so much, he’d sent me for intense psychotherapy. He had stayed at a luxury hotel while I was mentally tormented on a daily basis at the Gordon House, a mental institution with questionable and unorthodox practices. My presence there was a very expensive secret. On paper, Abigail Davenport was a model student and daughter. Not some crazy, delusional girl with frightening fantasies. I guess that was the benefit of having rich friends and a big bank account. I was barely eleven at the time.
But things had changed now—I sensed the shift. I either had to cut Reagan out of my life or be honest with her. I didn’t want to lose her. She was the only family I had.
Apprehension churned through my stomach as I moved my elbow and peeked at her. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
She pulled the car onto the side of the road, parked, and raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”
I turned my head toward the window and watched the rain as I spoke. I didn’t want to see her face when she finally discovered the truth.
“Ever since I can remember, I’ve seen things. Things that no one else can see. Not really ghosts, but people. Sometimes they’re in their own world—at least I think they are—speaking to others. I’ve always called it visions. Little glimpses of their lives. I’ve never really known if these moments are the past or the future. I just know they exist.”
I lifted a finger and traced the path of raindrops along the glass. “But other times, they blended into our world. Sometimes I could hear their words, other times they were like a silent movie. But every time, they acted as though I didn’t exist. It was almost as if I watched a piece of their life, their world. They never looked at me, touched me, spoke to me. I was an observer and only that.”
I sat back and rubbed my temples. “But the last time I’d ever seen anything was ten years ago, before . . . before . . .”
I couldn’t bring myself to say the words. To admit out loud the things that had been done to me. To acknowledge my father’s betrayal. Not even to someone I considered as close as Reagan.