The Summons: A Goblin King Prequel

Copyright © 2011 by Shona Husk

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Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Nine Years Ago

Back Cover

The kiss tasted like beer. And his hands were sliding under the edge of her top. Eliza’s stomach turned and she pushed the guy away.

He stumbled back. “What? You wanted it.”

She wiped her mouth. “No.” All she’d wanted to do was kiss a guy without her braces on. Turns out they didn’t make much difference. She certainly didn’t want what he was offering. Ew. He was one of her brother’s friends and she hardly knew him.

“Don’t be a tease.” He ran his finger along the strap of her top, then hooked his finger underneath. “No one likes a tease.”

Her heart gave a sudden squeeze of panic and began sprinting even though she wasn’t moving. He leaned closer and she froze. The two bottles of beer she’d drank churned in her stomach like on off-balance washing machine. The kitchen gave a little twirl. She put her hand on the counter to steady herself. The noise from the music pumped through the air. She needed to get away, get some fresh air.

His hand tightened on the strap. He tugged her closer as she pulled back and the delicate fabric snapped. Backed against the counter she had nowhere left to go. None of her brother’s other friends came in, and if she yelled, no one would hear her over the music. She had to get rid of him.

“Why don’t you get me another beer?” She forced a smile while her hand was making sure she was still decent. The top stayed up, held by one equally flimsy strap on the other side.

“That’s more like it.” He stepped back. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She waited until he’d left the kitchen, counted to ten for him to get to the laundry where the beer was sitting the trough full of ice, then she slipped out of the kitchen. The lounge room was full of people dancing, kissing—she averted her eyes—and doing possibly more. Matt’s university friends filled their parents’ house, and he was nowhere to be seen. No doubt he was upstairs in his room with his girlfriend. If Dad was here, he’d have a heart attack. He’d said no parties, and usually Matt listened. This was the first time he’d broken the no-party rule. And she’d been keen to join in and act older than her sixteen years.

It had been fun at first, drinking beer and dancing. Catching a boy’s eye and getting kissed—right up until he’d thought she was going to put out and the beer hit her stomach like a kick so all she wanted to do was lie down or throw up. She still wasn’t sure which one would happen first.

With one hand on the wall for balance, Eliza stuck to the edge of the crowd. She didn’t relax until she reached the stairs. She’d had enough of the party, the music pounded too loud in her head, and the crush of bodies made her claustrophobic. Her foot slipped on the stair. She grabbed the rail and pulled herself up. When she got to her room, she was going to lie down. But there were more stairs than she remembered, and her legs didn’t want to obey. Maybe she should sit down for a moment? Halfway up she saw the guy coming back with the beer. And he saw her.

“Shit.” She ran up the rest of the stairs even though they were jumping around beneath her feet. She looked over her shoulder. He was following and getting closer.

She needed somewhere to hide. Bathroom? She tried the handle but it was locked. Her bedroom was at the end of the corridor, opposite Matt’s. The guy was almost up the stairs. She wasn’t going to lead him to her bedroom. The nearest room was her parents’. She opened the door and shut it behind her with her back against the wood. Had he seen?

“I know where you are,” he sung out.

The door rattled against her back. Oh God. She held her breath, but her heartbeat drowned out all other noise. Her gaze darted around the dark room for places to hide. Under the bed? Wardrobe? Beer climbed up her throat. No.

He gave the door a shove and she ran, crossing the carpet in unsteady steps made worse by the heels. She went into the bathroom, closed the door on him, and turned the lock. He knew where she was, but he couldn’t get in. Eliza slid down the door, her legs unable to stand.

He knocked on the door. Shit. It was only a privacy lock and easily opened from the other side. Could he not take the hint and find some other half-drunk girl to pursue?

She glanced up at the bathroom window. Too high and too small. She was trapped. Her stomach bottomed out.

“Open the door and we’ll have some fun.” The handle jiggled. “I got your beer.”

No. No. No. Why hadn’t she gone to a friend’s place for the night instead of trying to be cool? Why hadn’t Matt made her go? Why did her father have to go east for work? Tears welled in her eyes. She wished he was home, that he would come home early and would see what was going on. She wished her mother were alive. She would know what to do, she always knew what to do. Why couldn’t her mother be here? The tears trickled down her cheeks, but she kept the sobs locked in her chest. She didn’t want to be heard. What she needed was to get away.

The lock scraped. She lifted her gaze and watched it turn. He would force the door open and then…Her eyes widened as the handle moved.

“I wish…” She hiccupped and it echoed around the bathroom. Her mother had said always be careful what you wish for as she’d told stories about a man who’d been cursed for loving gold and had been given a heart of gold as punishment. Damned to be goblin, now he was forced to answer other people’s wishes. She closed her eyes. He had to answer hers. “I wish the Goblin King would take me away from here.”

***

The summons pulled tight on his gray skin, dragging his attention from the on-screen violence as machine tore through man. He ignored the magical call that wanted to drag him away from the movie and ate another mouthful of popcorn loaded with butter and salt. It was pointless trying to resist, but he did it anyway, because he could—if only for a few moments.

The cry reverberated through his body again, but Roan held out a moment longer almost enjoying pain as his body prepared to fracture and split with the effort of obeying the compulsion. He glanced once more at the screen. He was going to miss the ending by about ten minutes, but he’d never been able to resist a direct summons for any length of time.

He’d tried. His body had peeled apart and obeyed while his mind resisted. Arriving in front of his summoner wounded and in agony had never served him well. He would attend and then leave. It’s not like he was damn genie—he had to answer the call but could choose for himself whether he granted the wish. Maybe, if he were quick, he’d make it back in time to see the end of the film.

The shadows of the dark cinema came at his beckon and wrapped around him. No one knew he was here, and no one would notice him leave. It was the way he liked it when he visited the Fixed Realm. If humans had seen him, there would’ve been screaming and running…no, it was much better he hid in the dark where goblins belonged, clinging to the edges of nightmares. Cloaked in darkness, he let the summons pull him to his destination.

Ground formed beneath his feet. One hand reached for his sword, the other his gun. He’d been attacked more than once after a summons because people called without realizing what they were asking, or who they were summoning.

Summoning the Goblin King was not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach.

For what should have been a couple of heartbeats—had he had a heart to beat—he stood still, taking in his surroundings while wrapped in the shadows and hidden from view. Music pounded through the walls, reminding him what it was like to have a pulse.

He was in a dark bedroom. His summoner was crying. Her whispered words hung on the air, drawing him closer. He had attended, now he could leave. The urge to obey was now just an inconvenient prickle that would pass. Centuries ago he’d learned to resist further orders, though once he’d been at the mercy of his summoners. Now all that was required of him was attendance, and that he could tolerate except for when it interrupted his trip to the cinema. Through films he could live a life denied to him by a druid’s mistaken curse.

But he wasn’t alone in the bedroom with his crying summoner. A young man leaned on the door, trying to get to her. To help her? To protect her from him? Roan hesitated, his eyes narrowed.

“I know you’re in here.” The youth jiggled the handle of the closed door where the sobs were coming from. There was no concern or care in his words.

Roan scowled at the youth pushing on the door that protected the woman who’d called him. She wasn’t hiding from the Goblin King. She was hiding from this lout.

Something inside his chest stirred. Not the cold lust for gold that had corrupted his soul and kept him chained to the Shadowlands, but something else he couldn’t name. It had been too long since he was human. But this young woman hadn’t called on him for wealth or battle. All she wanted was his help…even though that wasn’t what she’d wished for. The exact words of her wish echoed in his mind.

I wish the Goblin King would take me away from here.

She’d wished to be taken away.

By him.

No woman had called on him for at least five centuries. And the last one who had, had met a fiery end he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

The youth stroked the door. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Roan sent the man sprawling away with a flick of his wrist. The magic of the Shadowlands bent to his will, as much a part of him as the golden lump that filled his chest instead of a heart. The youth hit the carpet like a corpse. The bottle he’d been holding onto spilled, the scent of beer filling the air.

A grin twisted Roan’s wide goblin lips as the urge to use more dark magic bubbled to the surface. He would make sure the girl behind the door wasn’t bothered again tonight and have some fun. It might almost make up for the summons.

With a howl of the un-dead he stepped out of the shadows, sword drawn. The youth screamed and scrambled to get up and away. The music was silenced and all lights in the house went out by Roan’s will. The darkness didn’t bother him. He was a goblin, he could see in the dark as well as he could in the light. The youth ran and Roan followed, the black magic of the Shadowlands streaking after him and he made no effort to rein it in.

Doors slammed and he laughed like a madman, a sound sour enough to curdle milk, the gold and amber beads in his dreadlocks bouncing in a jagged melody. He leapt down the stairs after the youth and into a fleeing crowd of teenagers. They poured out of the house as if their nightmares had come to life. Maybe they had. Nightmares grew in the Shadowlands the way plants grew in the Fixed Realm. And he was the embodiment of the Shadowlands.

Outside the house streetlights burned, so he stayed in the dark, watching them run. It was one thing to chase after people who couldn’t see him, but another to step into the light and let them gaze upon his goblin body in all its hideous glory. Cars revved and drew away, speeding down the street.

“Cowards.” In his time men would have stayed to fight, not run like children, and these youths were old enough to be considered men. By the time he was their age he’d been ruling his tribe after years of fighting and killing the invading Romans. By the time he was their age he’d been cursed. His life over.

Roan sheathed his sword with a snap and let the magic fall away. As good as it had felt to let go of the control he usually kept a tight grip on, he would pay for the reckless use of magic with a piece of his soul. How much was taken and how much he had left he didn’t know, but it was less than he liked, and he knew that when it ran out, the curse would have him in its death-cold clutches forever. Forever was a long time. The nineteen centuries he’d spent fighting the curse was a long time. Longer than any man should live.

With heavy steps he walked back through the silent house to check on the crying girl. A few kids hid but he ignored them. Tomorrow they would think him an illusion brought on by too much alcohol. It was better for everyone that he was forgotten. Over the centuries the legend of the Goblin King had faded and the number of summons had decreased. But he didn’t want to exist only as a terrifying goblin. He’d been human once, a king, and he wanted to be remembered as a man.

But he never got his wishes granted.

He paused at the doorway to the bedroom, his gray, gnarled hand resting on the wall. The young woman was still behind the door, her sobs catching her breath. How had she known of him? Why call him for help?

He didn’t help anyone. He was a goblin, selfish and worried only about gold. He swore in the long dead Celtic language of his birth. She’d commanded him better than any Roman general seeking the blood of his enemies or thief seeking wealth. He’d helped her. For the first time in six centuries he’d pretty much obeyed a full summons. He’d done exactly what she’d wanted—but without taking her away. All she’d really wanted was to be safe, and now she was. He should leave before he did anything else.

But the temptation to grant her wish and take a woman to the Shadowlands burned in his veins like slow boiling poison. It had been too long since he’d had company, besides the men who shared his curse. He could take her back to the Shadowlands and complete her wish to be taken away. Was it abduction when she asked?

Roan crossed the carpet without a sound except for the empty rattling of the beads in his hair. His mottled fingers brushed the door handle, but he didn’t open it. Instead he pulled the shadow tight around him and crossed to the other side.

His summoner was huddled against the door, tall enough to be an adult, young enough to be scared from an overzealous suitor. Dressed in clothes that showed far too much skin, she kept her eyes down and her hands over her ears. Roan crouched down. For half a second she glanced up, her eyes wide as if she could see him through the shadows draped over his body.

Hazel, flecked with a gold he’d never be able to own.

She was too beautiful and innocent to ever survive in the Shadowlands. His touch would only corrupt her. Roan drew back from the girl. She was a couple of years younger than the boys perhaps. But for a young woman a few years could make a big difference. She was no jaded whore or Gaulish princess wanting something from him, like gems or a crown. All she wanted was his help. Something he once would’ve given freely when he was a man.