Summoning the Beast by Desiree Acuna © copyright by Desiree Acuna, 2010 Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, May 2010 ISBN 978-1-60394-432-8 New Concepts Publishing Lake Park, GA 31636 www.newconceptspublishing.com This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence. Chapter One On some levels, Cara was aware that what she was about to do wasn’t rational. She’d established a fairly lucrative business around such ancient, pagan beliefs, but she wasn’t a believer. She had her feet firmly planted in reality and knew such things didn’t exist. Thankfully! Desperation and grief, although she knew she was suffering from both and that they’d warped her sense of reality, weren’t adequate excuses for her behavior when she knew with somepart of her mind that it was a waste of time. It was the almost infinitesimal possibility that there might be something to it, though, that drove her—and grief and desperation. She couldn’t face losing her mother. She’d tried to prepare herself when they’d run out of options, but she simply couldn’t. All she could think as she moved around her living room, preparing for the ritual, was that it couldn’t hurt. It might be useless, but she’d exhausted every other possibility—every sane, rational possibility. They’d thrown everything known to modern medicine at her mother’s cancer and hadn’t succeeded in anything but putting off what seemed to be the inevitable, torturing her mother in the process when she was already suffering. Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she focused on studying her preparations, trying to think if she’d left anything out. There was no telling what might be important, she thought. Not that it was likely anything would happen regardless. She shook that thought off. Deciding she’d prepared everything for the ritual as nearly as she knew to the way it was supposed to be, she left the living room and went to prepare herself—the offering. When she’d soaked for a little while in the hot water where the herbs had been steeping, she got out, patted herself dry and donned the ritual robe. Returning to the living room, she lit the ceremonial candles and settled cross-legged within the pentagram with the book containing the summoning spell. Dismissing her qualms, she began to chant the ancient words of magic that would open the doorway to the netherworld. She repeated the chant over and over, demanding, cajoling—until her throat felt dry and raw, and her back and butt ached from sitting so long. She chanted until the candles melted down and began to gutter—and nothing happened. Nothing at all. The urge to cry assailed her when she finally gave up and fell silent. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, ignoring the urge as she focused on what she’d done, going over it again in her mind. She’d done everything right, she finally decided—everything except performing the ritual on the night of a full moon. Why would that have anything to do with it, she wondered angrily? But she realized that it might actually be the most important part of all. She’d thought that when she’d hatched thecrazy notion of summoning a demon to heal her mother. She’d dismissed it because she’d been afraid it would be too late to help her mother if she waited until the next full moon. She might not live that long! “Open damn it!” she screamed abruptly, flinging the book away from her. Not surprisingly, nothing happened except that she turned over a candle and broke the magic circle she’d drawn around herself. Surging to her feet angrily, she leaned down to blow the rest of the candles out and stalked back to her bedroom, flung herself down on her bed and wept as she hadn’t in weeks. She’d tried hard to hold her emotions in check. She hadn’t wanted to upset her mother when she was so sick, but her mother wasn’t there to be disturbed by her wails of anger and grief. Soon, her mother wouldn’t be there for her at all anymore. She wept about that, expelling the grief she’d been holding back and her frustration that she’d resorted to such a crazy thing and it had still been for nothing! She fell asleep railing against the unfairness of life. Her mother was all she had! What was she going to do when shewas alone? Who would be her ally against the rest of the world? Exhaustion from her emotional outburst carried her from consciousness to the dream world without any awareness of the transition. One moment she was struggling to cope with a situation that seemed beyond her and the next she found herself in her living room once more, lighting the ceremonial candles and carefully drawing out a pentagram and then marking a circle around it with the magic powders she’d obtained. An odd sense of déjà vu swept through her. Hadn’t she done this already? She frowned, studying the preparations she’d made, checking everything carefully. When she started into her room to undress, to bathe in the ritual bath, and don the ceremonial robe, though, she discovered she was already wearing it. Confusion flickered through her briefly, but she dismissed it. She’d just been too focusedon preparations to remember she’d prepared herself first. Settling in the center of the protective circle, she opened the book of spells and began to chant the summoning spell. The words seemed to flow from her as if she’d memorized them. That seemed odd, too, but she dismissed it, concentrating. When she’d reached the end of the spell, she began again. On the third repetition, she noticed that her skin had begun to prickle, almost as if with a static charge. Uneasiness slithered through her. Sternly, she reminded herself that she was doing this for her mother and continued the summoning chant. The prickling intensified. The flames in the candles surrounding her elongated, began to dance—not as if the air currents were controlling them, but something else. She fell silent when she’d finished the third repetition of the chant, waiting, unnerved by the strange currents she could feel crackling in the air. Abruptly, the flames of the candles seemed to combine, to form a fireball. Her heart leapt into her throat, but before she could react to the certainty that she’d just set her living room on fire, a shadowy figure emerged from the center of the flame. For a handful of moments, it looked like nothing more than a shadow and then it became solid. Cara stared at the being that stood before her, absolutely frozen with sheer terror. His flesh was as red as fresh blood. A pair of great black wings sprouted from his back and curledaround him, keeping his face in deep shadow. “Why did you summon me?” he demanded in a deep, resonating growl of a voice. Cara swallowed convulsively several times, trying to find her voice. “To make a bargain with you,” she managed finally. He seemed to consider that curiously for several moments. Abruptly, he folded his wingsand crouched down so that his face was level with hers. A jolt of surprise went through her. Despite the fact that he was like nothing she’d ever seen, his face wasn’t a horror mask as she’d expected—far from it. It was startlingly handsome. “What sort of bargain, mortal?” It took an effort to gather her wits. “My mother’s dying.” “Mortals die—that’s why they’re called mortals,” he said dryly. The awe vanished and along with it her fear. “I can’t bear to lose her! Heal her for me. I know you can do it. I’ll do whatever you want, if you’ll just make her well again.” He tilted his head, studying her. “This is why you summoned me?” “Yes,” Cara croaked. “And to seal the bargain you wish to make with me, you offer whatever I should ask for?” Cara blinked at him. “Whatever I can do. Whatever I can give you.” He frowned. “You aren’t asking for anything else? Riches? Fame? Power?” Cara felt her pulse leap at the suggestions. Wealth, fame, power—who wouldn’t want such things? In the scheme of things, though, what use were they without health? In any case,she knew what she was asking for was not only the greatest prize she could’ve requested, but she wasn’t willing to risk asking too much, more than he was willing to give. “None of those thingswould give me comfort without my mother and I know demons are inclined to use trickery. I just want my mother healed. Take the cancer away and make her better. It’s all I ask.” “And you’re willing to pay whatever I ask?” Cara swallowed. “If I can.” He sent her a sardonic look. “You.” Cara blinked at him. She’d known there was a strong possibility that that was what he would ask and she’d thought it was worth it. She still did, but if she gave him what he was asking, she still wouldn’t have her mother. Her mother would have her health, though. “You mean my soul?” He lifted his brows. “Aye … and the vessel that contains it.” She frowned. “I still wouldn’t have my mother.” “She would be well.” It was selfish to think, she knew, but she realized she didn’t want her mother to leave her alone … and yet she was contemplating leaving her mother alone. “Could I … delay payment?” He tilted his head, eyeing her sardonically. “You want me to give you what you’re asking now and to pay at some distant date?” Cara sucked in a calming breath. “It isn’t as if it would be any great hardship for you!” she said tightly. “You’re immortal! My entire lifetime would be barely a blink for you!” “Ah … but that’s the point, little mortal. You will fade in time. Why would I have any interest in a faded blossom when I might have a fresh one?” She frowned. “Well, I suppose that depends on what you have in mind for the vessel! I...
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