It doesn't do to mangle a summoning. If you get the words wrong, it can have all kinds of bad effects. Best-case scenario, the summoning doesn't work, and you pour all the effort into it for nothing. One step worse, a bungled summoning could call up the wrong being-maybe one that would be happy to rip off your face with its tentacle-laden, extendable maw. Finally, at the extreme end of negative consequences, the failed summons might call up the being you wanted-in this case the Erlking-only it would be insulted that you hadn't bothered to get it right. Uber-powerful beings of the spirit world had the kind of power and tempers that horror movies are made of, and it was a bad idea to get one of them mad at you.
If you called up a being incorrectly, there was very little you could do to protect yourself from them. That was the job hazard of summoning. If I chanted the Erlking to Chicago, I had to be damned sure I did it correctly, or it would be worth as much as my life.
"Once more," I told Shiela quietly when she was finished. I had to be sure.
She nodded and began again. I checked my written version. They all came out the same for the third time in a row, so I was as sure as I reasonably could be that it was accurate.
I stared at the notepad for a moment, trying to absorb the summoning, to remember its rhythm, the rolling sound of consonant and verb that were only incidentally related to language. This wasn't a poem-it was simply a frequency, a signal of sound and timing, and I committed it with methodical precision to memory, the same way I stored the precise inflections required to call upon a spirit being using its true name. In a sense, the poem was a name for the Erlking. He would respond to it in the same way.
When I looked up again a few moments later, I felt the gentle pressure of Shiela's gaze. She was watching me, her eyes worried. "You're either incredibly stupid or one of the most courageous men I've ever seen."
"Go with stupid," I said lightly. "In my experience, you can't go wrong assuming stupid."
"If you use the summoning," she said quietly, not smiling at my tone, "and something bad happens to you, I will be to blame."
I shook my head. "No," I said. "I know what I'm doing. It will be my own damned fault."
"I'm not sure that your acceptance can absolve me of responsibility," she said, frowning. "Is there anything else I can do to help you?"
"There's no need to offer," I said.
"Yes," she said earnestly. "There is. I need to know that I've done whatever I can. That if something happens to you, it won't be because of something I didn't do."
I studied her face for a moment, and found myself smiling. "You take this whole responsibility thing very seriously," I said.
"Is there some reason I shouldn't?" she asked.
"None at all," I said. "It's just unusual from someone … well, don't take this the wrong way, but it's unusual from someone so far down the ladder, when it comes to raw power."
She smiled a little. "It doesn't take much power to hurt someone," she said. "It's far easier than healing the damage. It's always like that, for everything. Not just magic."
"Yeah. But not many people seem to get that." I reached over and put my right hand on hers. She had very soft, very warm hands. "Thank you for helping me. If there's anything I can ever do to pay you back … "
She smiled at me and said, "There is one thing."
"Oh?" I asked.
She nodded. "A friend told me once that you can tell a lot about a person from how they do things the first time."
I blinked a couple of times and then said, "Uh. Like what?"
"Like this," she said, and came to me. She moved beautifully-fluid and graceful and elegantly feminine. She was all warm curves and soft flesh scented of wildflowers as she slid one leg over mine, straddling my thighs. Her gentle hands lightly framed my face as she leaned down to kiss me, her eyes rolling back and closing in anticipation as her mouth met mine.
The kiss began slowly, quietly-sensuous but not impassioned, patience without hesitance. Her lips were a warm and gentle contact on mine, and there was a sense of exploration to her mouth, as she felt her way around the kiss. Maybe I was just too tired, or too injured, or too worried about my prospects for immediate survival, but it felt good. It felt really good. Shiela's mouth wasn't inflamed with need. She demanded nothing with the kiss. All she wanted was to taste my mouth, to feel my skin under her hands.
And then without warning, a desperate yearning for more of that simple contact, that human warmth, roared through me in a flash fire of need.
Nearly everyone underestimates how powerful the touch of another person's hand can be. The need to be touched is something so primal, so fundamentally a part of our existence as human beings that its true impact upon us can be difficult to put into words. That power doesn't necessarily have anything to do with sex, either. From the time we are infants, we learn to associate the touch of a human hand with safety, with comfort, with love.
I hadn't been touched much for … well, a long damned time. Thomas may have been my brother, but he avoided physical contact, even casual and incidental contact, like the plague. I hadn't exactly been overwhelmed with romantic interests, either. The closest thing to it I'd had of late had been the advances of a neophyte succubus-and that contact had been anything but loving.
When sex becomes part of the equation, the impact of another's touch can be even more urgent and profound-so much so that good sense, even basic logical deduction, can go right out the window, washed away in a flood of needs that simply must be met.
I hadn't been touched in a long time. I hadn't been kissed in even longer. Given how likely it was that I was going to die before my next sunrise, Shiela's presence, her warmth, the simple fact that she wanted to be touching me crowded out every worry and fear, and I was glad to see them go. Shiela's kiss freed me from pain and from fear-even if only for a moment. And I wanted to hold on to that moment for as long as I possibly could.
I tightened my grip on the kiss, and my good arm rose, sliding deliberately around the small of her back, pulling her toward me.
Shiela let out a hiss of sudden excitement, but her kiss grew no deeper, no swifter. Her mouth stayed in its gentle rhythm, and I leaned harder into it myself. Her breath quickened still more, but her kiss deepened only slowly, maddeningly patient, torturously gentle. Her hips shifted in slow tension against mine, and I could feel the heat of her against me.
What I wanted to do was to reach up and haul down the sequined top. I wanted my mouth to explore every sinuous curve of her. I wanted to drive her mad with need, to fill my senses with her warmth, her cries, her scent. I wanted to forget everything arrayed against me, even if it was just for a little while, and bare her an inch at a time. The emptiness that her warmth had begun to fill howled at me to let go.
But what I did was open my mouth and brush my tongue over her lips, gently and slowly, and only once. She shivered at that touch, and her teeth tugged delicately at my lower lip. I drew the kiss to a slow, quiet close, and bowed my head, so that my forehead rested against hers. Both of us remained like that for a minute, breathing a little fast.
"Did you want to stop?" she whispered.
"No," I answered. "But I needed to."
"Why?"
"Because you don't know me," I said. "Did you want me to stop?"
"No," she said. "But I needed you to. You don't know me, either."
"Then why kiss me?" I asked.
"I … " I heard a touch of something like embarrassment in her voice. "It's been a long time for me. Since I've kissed anyone. I didn't realize how much I've missed it."
"Same here."
Her fingers stirred lightly, touching the sides of my face. "You seem so alone. I just … wanted to know what it was like. Just the kiss. Before anything else gets involved."
"That's reason enough," I agreed. "What did you think of it?"
She made a low sound in her throat. "I think I want more."
"Mmmm," I said, agreeing. "That works for me."
She let out a quiet, wicked little laugh. "Good." She shivered again and then drew away from me, dark eyes bright, still breathing fast enough to make her chest absolutely mesmerizing. She stood up, smiling. "Is there anything else I can do to help you?"
"Grab my staff for me?"
She arched a brow.
I felt my cheeks flush. "Uh. The literal staff."
"Oh," she said, and passed it to me.
She watched me with quiet concern as I heaved myself to my feet, but she made no move to help me, for which my ego was entirely grateful. I hobbled over to her door, and she walked beside me.
I turned to her and touched her cheek with my right hand. She leaned her face against my palm, just a little, and smiled up at me.
"Thank you," I told her. "You're a lifesaver. Probably literally."
She looked down and nodded. "All right. Be careful?"
"I'll try," I told her.
"Try hard," she said. "I'd like to see you again soon."
"Okay. I'll survive. But only because you asked."
She laughed, and I smiled, and then I left her in her apartment and started back down the stairs to the street.
Going down was a lot harder than going up had been. I made it to the third floor before I had to stop for a breather, and I sat down to rest my aching leg for a moment.