Page 9 of The Summoning Spell (The Holiday Glitch #1)

I Thought This Would Be More Sexy and Less Existential Crisis

B lair woke to the scent of cinnamon and candle smoke and noticed Ashar wasn’t in bed.

She sat up slowly, muscles aching in the best way, blanket sliding down her bare chest. The apartment was quiet, too quiet, and for one terrible second, she thought maybe he was gone.

Then she saw him. On the floor, shirtless, crouched over the rug with a piece of chalk in hand. He was drawing something, circles inside circles, symbols nested in lines. A shimmering sigil pulsed faintly against the dark floorboards, as if it were breathing.

She blinked. “Uh, are we about to summon another one of you? Because I don’t have enough snacks for that.”

Ashar glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Stabilizing the thread. It’s a precaution.

Blair rubbed her eyes. “That’s not ominous at all.”

He stood and stretched, chalk dust smudged on his fingers, tattoos flickering beneath his skin like ink remembering how to glow.

She wrapped the blanket around herself and padded over. “You never talk about it.”

“Talk about what?”

“Where did you come from? What are you? What happens when you’re not here?”

Ashar’s smile dimmed. “Because it’s not a place. Not really.”

He tapped the sigil with his toe. “We call it the Before. It’s not fire and brimstone. It’s not clouds and harps. It’s need. Suspended. Like a tidepool of want waiting to be given shape.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“It’s lonely,” he said simply.

She sat on the edge of the couch, pulling the blanket tighter. “So, what, demons are born from trauma?”

“Some. Others from fury. Obsession. Lust. But pleasure demons,” He paused, “we’re made from the ache no one wants to name.”

Blair was very still. “Like?”

“Like being touched but not felt. Loved, but not kept. Chosen second. Or not at all.”

Her throat tightened. He crouched again, drawing another rune, this one shaped like a key inside a flame.

“When someone sends that ache out loud enough,” he said, “some of us hear it.”

“And just show up?”

He met her gaze. “Only if it’s deep enough. Old enough. Unhealed.”

Blair’s pulse skipped. “How many have you answered?”

Ashar looked down. “Three.”

She blinked. “That’s it? ”

“Most people don’t summon us on purpose. They summon us by accident. Like you.”

She hesitated. “And the others?”

“One used me for revenge. She wanted her ex ruined. I did what I was meant to do. But she never wanted healing. Only blood.”

He traced a smaller sigil, something shaped like a broken mirror.

Blair whispered, “Did you love her?”

“No.” His voice was low. “But I stayed too long. And I lost something. I don’t even know what.”

There was a pause.

Then Blair asked, “What about the second one?”

Ashar didn’t answer right away. Then: “She was kind. Lonely. But she didn’t believe I was real. She thought I was her mind unraveling. She kissed me like a dream; she didn’t want to remember. I left when the candles burned out. I think that’s what she wanted.”

“And the third?” Blair asked.

Ashar met her eyes.

“You.”

Blair’s breath caught. She stood, pulling the blanket with her, and crossed the floor to stand in front of him. “And what’s different this time?”

“You believe I’m real,” he said. “Even if you won’t say it.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know.” He touched her wrist. “And that’s why I’m still here.”

Blair swallowed. “What happens if I try to keep you past the need?”

His jaw flexed. “The bond starts to unravel. I start to glitch. Fade. Become something lesser.”

“Will I notice?”

“You’ll feel it in the kiss first,” he said softly. “Then in the silence after.”

She looked down at the chalk runes, glowing faintly like embers before a storm.

“Why did you come, Ashar? Really.”

He brushed a thumb across her knuckles.

“Because you didn’t just want sex,” he said. “You wanted someone who saw you. Someone who wouldn’t leave the second it got inconvenient. And for the first time, so did I.”

Blair blinked fast. “Wait. Are you saying you manifested me?”

He laughed. “No. But I think your ache matched mine. Perfectly enough to pull me through.”

She nodded slowly.

Then whispered: “So what happens if we fall in love?”

The lights flickered.

Ashar’s expression turned solemn.

“Then the spell ends,” he said. “Because the need becomes a choice. And magic can’t survive choice. Only ache.

Blair’s breath slowed under the weight of the blanket he’d pulled over them. Ashar was close, but not touching. Not yet.

His stillness always unsettled her, like he knew how to wait, like he’d done it before.

“I wasn’t always like this,” she said into the hush.

Ashar turned his head.

“I used to believe in signs,” she whispered. “Moon phases, Candle spells, Soulmates. That if you loved hard enough, you could change the ending.”

He said nothing.

“I made vision boards,” she went on, the words almost laughable. “Pinned wedding dresses, Moonstone ring, Couples laughing in rainstorms.”

Ashar’s gaze held hers, steady, unflinching.

“I don’t think she exists anymore. That girl.”

“What happened to her?” His voice was soft, but heavy.

Blair shrugged, and the blanket slipped off her shoulder. “She got tired of being, almost. Of loving first. Of being the stopover on someone else’s way to figuring it out.”

Her voice cracked, but just a little. Ashar reached out and brushed a damp curl from her cheek, like she was still an altar.

“You’re not her anymore,” he said.

“No,” Blair agreed. “Now I’m the girl who jokes about hallucinating demons so I won’t get attached.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The candlelight flickered across the walls, shadows long and reaching.

Then she said it. “You need to know something.”

Ashar didn’t look away. “That you’re afraid?”

She swallowed. “That you’re not real.”

He didn’t flinch. “You think this is your mind protecting itself.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

He exhaled slowly. “Then let me tell you something, too.”

Her heart skipped.

“The spell that summoned me, it wasn’t meant to last.”

The air changed. The warmth between them shifted into something tighter, thinner.

“What do you mean?” she asked, every word heavier than the last.

Ashar looked away, not from shame, but from restraint, like he needed time to find the right truth. “I’m not a wish. Your loneliness didn’t create me. I was called. And calling has rules.”

She sat up a little, the blanket bunching in her lap. “Rules like expiration dates?”

He gave a small, sad smile. “Magic that strong doesn’t last forever. It’s tied to your soul’s need. When that need is met, truly, deeply, I go back.”

“Back where?”

“Wherever I came from. The space between. The Before.”

She blinked. “How long?”

“Three days,” he said. “Maybe a little more. The veil thins around Samhain, Halloween, as it’s called here. Magic unravels.”

Blair looked at her hands; they didn’t feel like hers anymore.

“So what, you’re like a magical one-night stand with a three-day refund policy?”

“You’re making jokes,” Ashar said.

She gave a bitter laugh. “It’s that or panic.”

He waited. She didn’t speak. So he did.

“You didn’t summon me with words,” he said. “You summoned me with need. It was deep, old, it called to me. I followed it.”

Blair looked at him. “What was the need?”

He hesitated. Then said quietly: “You asked for someone who would stay.”

The world tilted.

“That’s it?” she whispered.

He nodded. “That’s everything.”

The silence turned sharp, and holy. Like something had cracked open between them.

“You said if I fulfill that need, you disappear.”

“I’m released. ”

“Gone.”

“Yes.”

She gripped the blanket. “And if I pretend I don’t need it?”

“Then I remain,” he said. “But not whole. The longer the magic lingers past its end, the less I become. I’ll still be here. But not truly. You’d feel it. In every kiss. Every touch. It would be emptier.”

“So I either open my heart and lose you, or keep you and lose you, anyway.”

Ashar didn’t argue, and Blair let it settle into her bones like cold rain.

She looked around. The candles still burned, wax pooling at their bases. The sigil chalk on the floor had faded. Almost gone.

“You said it was cruel.”

“Most old magic is,” he said. “It doesn’t reward desire. It tests it. Reveals it.”

“What if I wanted to break the spell now? Cut the thread.”

“You’d pay a price.”

“What kind?”

Ashar met her eyes. Something ancient flickered there, beautiful and terrible.

“You’d lose something permanent. A memory. A truth. A piece of who you are.”

She shivered. “That’s dramatic.”

“It’s magic.”

“And if I choose wrong?”

“It’s not about right or wrong. It’s about what it costs.”

She looked at him.

At the man, not-man, who had wrecked her body and was slowly unraveling her heart.

“How do I know you’re worth it?” she asked.

“You don’t,” he said. “You decide.”

She lay down beside him. The blanket was warm, but not enough. “You know, I thought having a sex demon would be a lot more straightforward.”

Ashar huffed a laugh. “You summoned the complicated kind.”

She turned to him, fully. “No. I think I summoned exactly what I needed.”

And for the first time, the fear in her voice eased, not gone, but softened. They stayed there, silent, as the last candle died, and with it, something unnamed in the room dimmed too.

Blair dreamed of fire. Not the soft, warm kind. Not the Ashar kind. This fire was cruel. Cold at the edges. It didn’t burn, it consumed. It licked across her skin and whispered in a voice that sounded like him: None of this is real. You’ll wake up alone.

She sat up in bed, heart pounding at her ribs like it wanted out.

Ashar lay beside her, one arm flung over his eyes, the other resting on his bare chest. Peaceful. Still, maybe too still.

She watched him breathe, slow and steady, like nothing was wrong, as if he didn’t know how close she was to breaking.

Blair slipped out of bed and padded into the kitchen. The floor felt colder than usual. She poured coffee with shaking hands. She didn’t want to lose him. Which, of course, meant she probably would.

That’s how it always worked, right? The second something felt real, the world yanked it back, as if it remembered she didn’t deserve nice things.

Ashar found her twenty minutes later, wrapped in a hoodie and staring at her bookshelf like it might answer something she hadn’t asked yet .

“You’re up early,” he said, voice low and rough with sleep.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She didn’t turn around. “Bad dream.”

“About me?”

“No.” She hesitated. “Yes. Kind of.”

He came up behind her, warm hands resting on her waist. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s the problem,” she whispered.

He stilled. “What?”

Blair turned to face him. Her eyes were shiny, but her voice didn’t crack.

“I keep thinking about it,” she said. “Letting you go before the magic decides for me. Before it hurts.”

Ashar’s expression didn’t change, but something shifted behind it, like a tide pulling back. Ashar didn’t flinch, but something behind his eyes flickered like he’d already lived this moment. Like he’d lost people to fear before.

“Blair-”

“I almost said it,” she admitted. “The words. The ones that would make you leave.”

“But you didn’t,” he said quietly.

“No.”

She stared down at her hands. “I just needed to know if I could.”

Ashar stepped forward and gently tipped her chin up. “The choice isn’t a curse, Blair. It’s a door. And you don’t have to open it yet.”

She closed her eyes. “I’m scared I already have.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. “Then I’ll stay until you’re sure.”

Blair’s breath hitched. She didn’t say stay. She just let herself fold into the moment like it was the last time.

Because someday soon, it would be.