“You were obviously deep in thought about something. And I hate it when people interrupt me when I’m deep in thought, so I figured I’d let you finish first.” She smiled brightly, then closed the door with a shove of her sandaled foot. “Okeydokey, sweetums. What’s cookin’ in that head of yours?” She eyed me shrewdly, and I was reminded yet again that, despite my aunt’s eccentricities and mannerisms, she was smart and perceptive and more than a little dangerous, though not to me. So far. She might yet kill me after hearing what I had to say.
“I need to talk to you about my summoning. I mean, about what happened in my summoning.”
As if a switch had been thrown, Tessa was all seriousness. “Yes, it’s about time we had that talk, but I knew there was no point in doing so until you were ready.” She took my arm in a gentle but inexorable grasp and led me into the kitchen, pushing me onto a wrought-iron stool and then setting a cup of steaming tea in front of me as if it had been conjured. Don’t be silly, she can’t conjure. She just saw you on the step and got it ready.
Tessa sat on the stool on the other side of the counter and folded her arms in front of her.
I took a sip of the tea. Sweetened just the way I liked it, just the right temperature, and not one of those hideous fruity teas that Tessa usually favored. She’s worried about me, I realized. Knowing now what I did about the death of my grandmother, I found myself understanding—or, at least, willing to accept—a bit more about my aunt’s manner. Tessa had been seventeen and her sister, Ellyn—my mother—had been nineteen when Gracie Pazhel and the other summoners were killed. Michael Pazhel had dealt with his grief over the loss of his wife by examining the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. About a year later, Ellyn escaped by marrying my father, Marcus Gillian, leaving Tessa to figure out her own way in life.
I’d never really thought about it before, but Tessa had probably felt terribly abandoned by her older sister. Add to that the stress of finding her way as a new summoner, and Tessa had basically decided not to give a rat’s ass what other people thought of her. Under “normal” circumstances, her mother would have become her mentor and trained her as a summoner. Instead, Tessa had been forced to go to Japan, to a summoner there who’d been willing to take on a student.
I took another sip of my tea, stalling. No wonder she and my mother barely spoke. And no wonder she resented the fact that, before she was even thirty, she got saddled with raising a preteen kid and had to put her own life on hold. Those first few years together had been unpleasant in a variety of ways. Tessa hadn’t tried very hard to hide her displeasure at being forced to completely change her life to care for a niece she’d met only once before. And I’d responded like any preteen would to the enormous loss of everything I’d known—by developing discipline and attitude problems and being an overall pain in the ass. In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact that I had the ability to summon, I think we’d have each given up on the other. Through the summoning of demons, we’d found a common ground—and just in time too. I was barely into high school and I’d already gone considerably beyond “experimentation” with a variety of drugs. As soon as Tessa confirmed that I had the potential to become a summoner, she—finally—laid down the law, telling me that I could become an arcane practitioner, too, but I had to clean up my life first and prove that I was worth teaching.
And I did. It took a couple of years, but this time she took an active interest in me and helped me kick the drugs and get my life back on track.
“Okay,” I began, setting the cup down, “so here’s the thing. I know I called Rysehl. I’ve gone over it in my head a thousand times, and I just know that’s the name I said.”
Tessa was silent for a breath, then gave a reluctant nod. “There have been other instances of someone else coming through during a call.”
I hesitated, wanting badly to ask about the summoning that Greg had described. No, I need to figure this one out first. Then I can ask.
“So, I called, and this other … demon came through. I mean, I thought it was a demon, and so I invoked the usual bindings and protections.” I spread my hands on the flecked black granite of the counter, not looking at my aunt. “He just laughed, and said that ‘this would prove interesting.’ Then he broke the bindings.” I shook my head. “No, that doesn’t even describe it. He just swept them aside like they weren’t even there.”
“Yes,” my aunt said. “Those sort of bindings are completely useless against his sort.”
I fiddled with a fingernail. “I tried to escape—I mean, just run away, but he made it seem like the stairs weren’t there anymore.”
“An easy enough illusion for him.”
“Yeah, and I even knew it was an illusion, but that still didn’t help me.”
Tessa exhaled gustily. “A Demonic Lord would be too strong for simple denial to work.”
“And so then he … um, came up to me, and …” I took a deep breath. “Okay, so I figured that I was totally screwed, y’know? I mean, I didn’t know who or what he was, but I knew he was bad, and powerful, so at first I figured it was just going to get really ugly and he’d throw me to his minions or something, but then he totally changed and got all sexy and I was—”