The Summoned by Dokey Cameron

Author:Dokey, Cameron [Dokey, Cameron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

It was taking too long.

He prowled his apartment, unable to settle. Unable to bear the fact that he was doing nothing. This way. The old way. It was taking too long. He wanted the change, and he wanted it now. He wanted the new world.

A world lit only by the fire of hell.

He opened the fridge, pulled out a beer. Twisted off the top, then slammed the bottle down on the counter. He didn’t want a drink. He wanted action. Because there was something else that bothered him. A lot.

He took a swig of beer after all, enjoying the way it seemed to sear the back of his throat. He was the one who kept the ball rolling, wasn’t he? Or maybe that should be, kept the Mark rolling. He was the one who recruited new cult members and, in so doing, upped the fire demon’s head count. Feutoch would be up shit creek without a paddle if it wasn’t for him. A fact that deserved a little recognition, a little respect.

Like, say, for instance, in the form of him being the demon’s right-hand man. The human who’d reap the most benefit after the change. But was he that right-hand man? No, he was not.

He wasn’t. The Summoner was.

He took another swig of beer as he made his way into his living room and began to pace. It was a big gyp. That’s what it was. All the Summoner had to do was call forth the demon in the first place, then sit back and enjoy the ride.

The Summoner didn’t have to constantly be on the watch, judging total strangers to see if they’d make good converts, the way he did. He hadn’t made many mistakes, a thing that he was proud of. And the few he had, he’d handled quickly and effectively. The way he had with Ellen Bradshaw and Joy Clement.

He did all the work, the Summoner got all the glory. That pretty much summed the situation up in a nutshell. But the thing he hated most was that there was nothing he could do about it. No one with whom he could lodge a protest.

He didn’t know who the Summoner was.

He knew that was the way it was supposed to work. The way it had always worked. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

His lack of knowledge ate at him, like a cancer. The identity of the Summoner was a loose end, and loose ends were dangerous. They tripped you up when you least suspected. Snatched the victory trophy from your hands even as you reached for it. Loose ends meant your illusion of control was just that and nothing more.

He set the half-empty bottle of beer down on the coffee table as he contemplated his options. He could see only two. Let things stay the way they were. Maintain the status quo. Or change his perspective and thereby change the scenario.

What was the bottom line, after all? Feutoch wanted lives. It was his job to provide them.

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