Part Two of Chuck Wendig’s Latest Flash Fiction Challenge. A continuation of Meagan Wilson’s untitled story.
“Yes, this penthouse view is quite breathtaking,” I turned to the luscious blonde before me, “but not nearly as lovely as—”
A thunder clap, and then I was standing in a small, glowing circle, surrounded by a gaggle of chanting fools in robes.
”Oh great Sorasel im Palat, lord of fire and darkness, fell devourer of the innocent, conqueror of—” Arcane symbols covered the speaker’s robes, nearly obscuring the heavy crimson fabric.
“Yes, yes, get on with it.” I gestured with my gin martini.
He paused, then finished in a post-pubescent squeak, “We invoke thy true name and bid thee do our will.”
“Oh you do, do you? Well I want you to send me back. I was having a smashing time, and that girl may not have two brain cells to rub together, but she looked quite likely to do some rubbing together. If you know what I mean.”
The robe-wearers shuffled, and whispered amongst themselves. The leader piped up again.
“O great Sorasel im—“
“Stop that, stop that,” I interrupted. “Only my dad calls me that. I prefer my middle name. If you must speak, call me Stewart.”
More shuffling and whispering from my summoners.
“O great Stewart,” the leader stumbled, “Lord of–”
“Stop! Just Stewart. Now get on with it, I’m busy.” I took a sip of my drink and started tapping my foot while they huddled together. When the muttering and gesturing threatened to drag on until my drink was gone, I decided to hurry things along.
“You there! What’s your name?”
The leader opened his mouth but stopped when the robed figure next to him elbowed him.
“I won’t give you my name.” He tried to make it confident, but it just came across as nervous. “You would have power over me, then.”
Gambit one, down the drain.
I waved a hand as if it didn’t matter. “Whatever. I have to call you something, so I think I’ll call you Bob.”
“Close enough. Listen, Bob, I have places to go and people to do, so let’s move this along, shall we? Just tell me what you want so we can wrap this up.”
“We want you to grant us power,” the geek said. “And in return we offer you this.” The circle of robe-wearing idiots parted to reveal a nude woman, gagged and bound to a stone altar. Nice form, although not anywhere close to the woman I was dragged away from. Her face was rather sharp-featured, with high, prominent cheekbones and a pointed chin. Her eyes weren’t fearful, pleading, or tearful as I would have expected. Instead they looked angry. Very angry.