Male Night Summons (M)

[dz19l3]

   So, I've decided to post some of my stories that I've written here on this old account. I've already posted this one in particular onto my Tumblr page, but figured since not everyone wants or has access to the fetish community sectored there, that it would be good to put it here too. Hopefully that doesn't conflict with anything or bother anyone, I'm still very new to interacting with this community.

   In short, this takes place in a fantasy setting, in which a "scholar hires a sneezy wizard" to quote my original description of it. If people are interested, I may also post more content with these characters.

 

                                                                                                                                                               *       *       *

I sat hunched on the sofa in silence, papers in hand. No matter how hard I squinted at the laminated documents, the images of charcoal rubbings never became any more coherent to me. The odd, scraggly looking letters and symbols had burned their way into my retinas, yet I would not be able to decipher them. I could throw branches or twigs on the ground and eventually recreate one of them with enough attempts, yet unlike Odin, it would not gift me with any better understanding. Magic writings always seemed to befuddle me, which was why I hated working with them. It was this cluelessness that had forced me to seek an opinion from an individual more specialized in the subject I held between my fingers.

   

A frenzied series of popping noises echoed throughout my office, startling me from my train of thought and wrenching my gaze toward the fireplace. One of the burnt logs cracked, and the flames rose and blazed erratically. Had I not worked with mages before, I would have been far more frightened by the phenomenon. 

 

A humanoid silhouette of fire sprung forth, hovering over the floor like a smoldering phantom. The flames climbed upwards, stretching the height of the figure as they went. The image became clearer, details like hair and clothes were outlined, until the flames rapidly fell away and retreated back to the logs. An outrageously tall man stood revealed from the fiery embrace. He looked disheveled with tousled long hair that crept over his face in black tendrils, and dark olive skin that lent him an exotic appearance. Noticeable stubble highlighted his strong jaw and sharp features.

 

“Good evening.” I greeted, standing from my seat on the couch. He turned at the sound, and tired eyes flicked toward me, though it felt more like he was looking in my general direction than at me. He remained still, possibly looking me over for a quiet moment as I had done to him, and nodded hesitantly in acknowledgement.

 

“Evening.” His voice was deep, rich, and rough sounding. It would not have surprised me were it possible to feel a rumble in his chest when he spoke, like the purr of a cat. Or perhaps more like the growl of a lion, given his stature.

 

I stepped toward him, and as I got closer my head had to tilt back to a considerably uncomfortable degree. By the Divines, he was tall. If I had to keep looking up at him I’d be in neck-ache hell. 

 

His chin tipped forward, almost touching his collarbone as he focused on me, unlike his eyes which remained unfocused and steady in their gaze. It unnerved me a bit, but I ignored it.

 

“I’m Eliza Fenwick.” I offered him my hand, but he made no move to accept it. It left me a bit miffed, though I knew it likely just meant he preferred verbal greetings to physical ones.

 

“Logan.” He paused, brushing a knuckle across the base of his nose before adding “Logan Mooneyes.” I raised an eyebrow at the peculiar name.

 

“Your surname is Mooneyes?” I questioned, disbelieving. I supposed it was fitting, as his eyes were a strikingly pale blue, like shards of ice.

 

“No. A sobriquet.” His eyes narrowed, his head lifting to look ahead instead of at me, and again the knuckle of a long, slender finger rose to his nose, pressing beneath it. Due to his height, I was able to see his nostrils flare against his hand.

 

“I-” my voice had raised nearly an octave, invalidating my idea to hide my distraction by speaking. I cleared my throat before trying again “I see.”

 

Logan’s hand lowered an inch or two, hovering for a few seconds, before he returned it to rest at his side. He resumed looking down at me like before.

 

“So what is your surname then?” I pried, salvaging the earlier line of conversation.

 

“Is there a place I could hang up my coat?” He suddenly asked. Once more, I found myself raising my eyebrows at the man.

 

“What does that have to do with your last name?”

 

“Nothing.” His empty gaze suddenly made me feel like I was being watched by a wall of ice.

 

“Then why did you...?” I trailed off.

 

“To change the subject to a more comfortable one, like the prospect of removing my heavy coat.” The statement was humourless. It slid from his tongue as a response that could have been considered natural in a world where evasive, deadpan comedy did not exist. He was good at it.

 

I sighed and walked back a pace, defeated, “There’s a coat hanger there.” I pointed to the aforementioned coat hanger. His face acquired a new level of depth, and he smirked as if I’d said something foolish.

 

“Where?” He had a slightly whimsical tone to his voice that I found inexplicable. Somehow, something I had done was funny to him. I paused in confusion for a long moment.

 

“To your left.” He remained where he was, expectant but not without a slowly widening grin. “Behind where the fireplace juts out.” At last he turned and walked where I had directed him, seemingly satisfied with this amount of information. None of the magefolk I’d worked with before were so cryptic.

 

His arm brushed along the mantle above the fireplace, like it was guiding his path. I needed a stepladder to touch the same mantle with the tips of my fingers. When he reached the edge of the fireplace he paused, thought for a moment, turned to face the direction of the coat hanger, and began to shrug off his coat. As the clothing item fell from his back, I noticed the shirt beneath was sleeveless. I also noticed the swell of muscle in his shoulders and arms, defined sinew knitting it to bone beneath dark bronze flesh. No mage I’d met thus far had a build like that, making him far more bizarre than he already was.

 

“No offense, but you really don’t look like a mage at all.” I commented to him as I spun on my heels and approached the table where the required papers were sitting.

 

“Oh?” Logan’s voice sounded amused as he placed the coat on one of the hooks. “Then what, pray tell, do I look like?” He put unnecessary emphasis on the word “look” as though it were part of a joke.

 

“Like a bodyguard, maybe.” I answered, taking the charcoal rubbings in hand. He turned to face me, lips alight with another smile. It made the task of approaching a man who could probably pick me up with one arm less disconcerting.

 

“These-” I referred to the laminated papers “-are from an obelisk recently unearthed in a remote digsite.” He flinched just as I proffered the documents forward, one hand all but flying up to hover near his face while the other attempted to receive them. 

 

He stepped back just as his fingers touched the paper in my hand, body reacting on a sudden whim I was unaware of. Smile gone, his lips parted as he took in a slow, shuddering inhale. Beneath his shirt I could see the muscles of his chest spasm, expanding under the fabric as air filled his lungs.

 

“What’s wrong?” He did not respond, fully engrossed in whatever had disturbed him. His eyes were nearly shut, expression twisted into a snarl of sharp discomfort.

 

“Heh!” His breath hitched abruptly, answering my question. He raked the back of his hand against his nose desperately, though it didn’t seem to do much good. His hand stilled, and with a final glassy-eyed look his head snapped forward. “HEhh’tssSCHOO!” 

 

I jumped a little at the loudness of the sneeze, though what was loud to me had hardly disrupted his posture like I expected. That was how he normally sounded I realized, and attributed the volume to his large frame.

 

“Bless you.” I watched as he collected himself, wiping the recently sneezed-into hand on his pants and taking the documents from me with the clean one.

 

“Thank you.” He finally said, though he appeared more than a little embarrassed by the outburst.

 

“Here, come. Find a seat and we can get to work.” I tried to continue as though nothing had occurred. He followed me slowly with measured steps, as if walking along the edge of a cliff. He bumped the coffee table on the way to the couch, but I paid it no mind as I plopped down in the corner seat and leaned on the arm of it. He proceeded along the end of the couch until his boot tapped my own shoe, before sitting down himself on the middle seat. He rested the papers on his knee and appeared to be looking at them, yet his gaze was untethered.

 

“Of what make are the runes? Do you know?” If I knew I wouldn’t be hiring a wizard.

 

“I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

 

“The obelisk; Where was it excavated?” His fingers dragged languidly over the laminate, as if feeling for some invisible clue. The motion invoked a sense of mysticism.

 

“Fomorian ruins.”

 

 Logan hummed with intrigue at the answer. I saw his brow quirk awkwardly, and he stilled. I studied his face. A twitch of his nose gave it away, though if I hadn’t been paying attention I’d have assumed he was merely focused on the writings. 

 

He sat up, the papers on his knee shifting to hang precariously over the side. His breathing quickened. It was as though he had to drop everything he was doing to deal with the sensation.

 

“Hi-iIIH…! Iiih’tssSCHUUH!” The papers fell to the ground, and he turned away for the second one. “HEII’TCHEOO!” I jerked in surprise once more, for the volume had increased from his previous expulsions. He sniffled, twisting back into a normal sitting position. He rubbed his nose once, then squirmed it, as though testing the unruly appendage. I bent over and started picking up the fallen papers.

 

“Bless you again.” Logan nodded in thanks, face flushed slightly.

 

“Are you ill?” I asked once I’d gathered the papers. I placed them on the couch, in the space between us.

 

“No. Allergies.” He frowned reproachfully, as though the word stung his tongue when he said it.

 

I felt a twinge of guilt as I glanced at the dusty books on the shelf of the back wall.

 

“Is it dust?” I asked. He felt for the edge of the papers, then plucked them from the couch cushion.

 

“No.” He waved dismissively, then added “Not on its’ own, at least.”

 

“Then what is causing it?”

 

“Something that isn’t dust.” There it was again, that flippant evasiveness. Not once had he raised his head while speaking to me. Clearly he did not intend to discuss the cause of his sneezing, either out of embarrassment or hubris.

 

I sighed, curiosity relenting to his desire for privacy, and decided to take a more typical approach to hospitality.

 

“Would you like something to drink while you work?” The question left my lips sounding similar to an exasperated plea.

 

An appeased hum resonated from Logan, monosyllabic sounds proving to be a common form of communication for him.

 

“That would be kind of you, actually, if it is not too much trouble.” I stood up, at last acquiring a purpose.

 

“What would you prefer?” A thoughtful hum this time.

 

“Tea seems fitting, if you have it.” I chose not to envision a man of his size clasping a tiny teacup lest I start laughing.

 

“Is green tea alright?” Upon the cue of a confirming hum I exited the office, and began my journey to the kitchen. From the cupboard where I kept most of my ceramics I summoned a cup. The metal kettle by the stove was next in line. Once it was filled with water and on the stove, I found myself wondering if wizards even needed stoves. Perhaps he could will the water to steam or boil with a flick of a finger? It didn’t seem impossible for a man who had burst into being from a fireplace. Then again, what did I know about magic?

 

The lapping of the flames at the bottom of the kettle ensured it did not take long for the water to heat up, and as I poured the water into the cup over the tea bag I realized I hadn’t asked him if he wanted anything in it. Good grief. Thus off I went, feeling a little foolish as I abandoned the beverage to steep on the counter.

 

When I approached the doorway to the office I froze. In that resonating, baritone voice I could hear him muttering in a strange way, as though trailing off on some abstract thought. Was he speaking to himself? Performing some bizarre ritual? Unease prickled at my skin, and I listened. His voice made it far more ominous.

 

“Pugnabimus etiam…. Barbarum…” I could only make out bits and pieces of it. Latin? I understood it decently enough, with history being my realm of expertise, but with only pieces it made no sense. Then it stopped, paused by a shaky, ailing gasp.

 

“T-Tuum... “ He tried to proceed from wherever he was. “Exce… Ex… Hiih!” Paper rustled as his breath caught, the string of latin ceased entirely. I crept forward as quietly as I could and peeked inside. He was sat up at his full height, back curling towards the couch as he tilted his head. Even from this distance I was able to distinguish the spasming of his mouth and nose, how tears gathered under his eyes from the intensity. He made a strangled, desperate noise that almost sounded like a whine before setting the papers aside on the couch to spare the delicate documents. He moved away from them, and though he did not realize it, he now faced me. I could see his expression clearly as he brought his wrist up to his nose to restrain the sound.

 

“EEHSSHMpff!” I had not expected him to muffle it as successfully as he did, especially with how much it seemed to torment him moments before. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks, and as he pulled his wrist away I realized just how pink his nose now was. I had been gone for not much more than five minutes, and already the rims of his nostrils were crimson.

 

“Hhh-Hhh-HeehEH!” Not a few seconds had passed and already he was gearing up for another. “HUUHREEH’TSSCHOO!” He hadn’t even tried to quiet it, and after hearing the force behind the expulsion I couldn’t blame him. 

 

“HEH’TSCHHOOO!” He shifted and sat back against the couch with a tired cough, nostrils glistening in the firelight from the violent sneezing. Just as he reached over for the documents I chose to make my presence known.

 

“Bless you.” Startled, he whipped his head around to face me and stared like a raccoon I’d caught rummaging around through the garbage. It was the most he’d emoted thus far.

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I forgot to ask what you liked in your tea.” He seemed to relax, though I don’t know what he had feared.

 

“A-ah. That’s right, I asked for tea, didn’t I?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes, gently massaging with his fingers in small circular motions. It seemed to point out the avian shape to me. Not too pronounced, but hardly unnoticeable. Wasn’t there a word for it? 

 

“Honey, maybe?” I’d have to remember the word some other time.

 

“How much would you like?” I asked, feeling ever more awkward for pressing the question. 

 

He continued rubbing the bridge of his nose even as he shrugged. “I don’t know… Hiih!” He paused to give way to a foreboding catch of breath. “A spoonful or so.” He resorted to pinching his nostrils, as though trying to squash the itch away. There was no longer any subtlety in his attempts to stall the sneezing; No time for politeness nor timidity. It must have tickled terribly for him to forget his embarrassment.

 

“I’ll be back with your tea then.” I said. I did not bother waiting for a response, since his body was keeping him occupied enough. As I walked briskly to the kitchen and obtained a jar of honey, I privately wondered if the wizard succumbed to his allergies often. And if so, to what irritant did this occasion owe itself to?

 

The cup rattled on the surface of its’ saucer as I stirred the sweet syrup into the warm contents within it. The porcelain vessel continued to rattle when I retrieved the cup from the counter and went down the hallway with it. Inside the office once more, I was mildly surprised to find that Logan had regained his composure.

 

His nose was still red, he sniffled occasionally, and one hand was assigned to resting near his chin, just in case. But aside from this there was little sign of his allergies having any effect on him. I shoved some random papers to the side and set the tea down, and while he cocked his head ever so slightly toward the sound he made no move to drink. A moment passed, and he closed his eyes whilst reaching out toward the charcoal rubbings. His fingers brushed along it in the same mystical motion I’d seen before. It spooked me.

 

“What are you doing?” I questioned, my voice the slightest bit higher in pitch.

 

“Reading.” He responded tersely. I gawked at him.

 

“With your eyes shut?”

 

“Hnnh.” It was somewhere between a grunt and a laugh, though I guessed it leaned more towards laughter judging by his smirk.

 

“I don’t read any better with them open.” What?

 

I thought silently for a long moment. Then it started to click. Asking where the coathanger was, the nickname, ignoring my handshake, his odd unfocused stare…

 

“You’re blind!” I half exclaimed, and he paused his ‘reading’ to grin at me.

 

“For the most part, yes.” He laughed abruptly, as though he had just heard the punchline to a good joke. The laugh was a pleasing sound to the ear, warm and low with a natural gravel to it. I would have liked to hear it again. If he had done so a second time, I might have forgotten my indignation in favor of listening.

 

“Why didn’t you say so before!? You could have kept me from being made the fool!” I spread the palms of my hands out in exasperation. He laughed again, my agitation shying away from me at the sound.

 

“You were none the wiser until a moment ago. It hardly mattered.” He sniffed thickly, his amusement faltering for the briefest instant when he did so.

 

“You could have at least mentioned it when I tried to point at the coathanger.” My voice lost volume toward the end of the sentence, trailing off as I realized I was not angry at him, but rather that the explanation for several things I’d noticed about him had been so obvious.

 

“I could have.” He shrugged, rubbed his nose, then smiling added “But if I had I would have deprived myself the humor in it.”

 

I scoffed at his answer, then chuckled to show I was not truly offended. He groped around the table for the saucer and lifted the tea to his lips. I tried not to look at him as he did this, for it was indeed just as ridiculous as I’d imagined.

 

“People might think you inconsiderate that way. Or just strange if they never figured it out.” Half of what I said was from my own observation, maybe a bit more than half.

 

“Hm.” He hummed thoughtfully as he set the tea down. “I’d prefer to be thought of as rude or strange than explain to everyone I meet that as far as I know they look like a skin-colored smear.” I stifled a giggle.

 

“But how do you read just by touching the paper? It clearly isn’t braille.” He grinned at my question.

 

“I was blind from birth, but I learned magic early on. From a young age, I learned to ‘see’ the world via magic. It’s much more subtle than walking around with a stick, and more effective.” Logan spread his hand out over the paper as he continued his explanation.

 

“It’s hard to explain, but if I focus I can ‘feel’ the shapes of ink — or in this case charcoal — on parchment with magic in the same way I use it to perceive everything else. So in a sense, all writing is braille to me.” He spoke of it with an unmistakable touch of pride, and I took in the knowledge as a further explanation on the oddities of this man.

 

He paused for a long moment, then shook his head and said “Forgive me, I’m supposed to be here on business, yet instead here I am chatting and drinking your tea.”

 

‘And sneezing.’ I silently added, but would never dare say it aloud.

 

“It’s no issue, I don’t mind at all. Besides, I’m the one who side-tracked you.” I reassured him. “But you are right, we should resume our work. Have you found anything?”

 

“Depends on the question. In terms of translating the mere written words, yes.” I decided not to take offense on the grounds my entire career was based on ‘mere written words.’

 

“Tell me about that then.” He nodded.

 

“It is strange in that the writing itself is a reflection of the enchantment, rather than the words being enchanted but entirely of their own importance.” No wonder I’d had so much trouble understanding it.

 

“I see. Then is there anything to make of translation?”

 

“A little. It’s almost like a great speech or epic about war. Specifically the patriotism of the Fomors and enacting that patriotism by waging war on ‘invaders’ or ‘foreigners’ they deem as threatening to their way of life. Think like an emperor giving a speech to rally the country.”

 

“Well they did have many wars in their time, but why would a patriotic speech be a spell?”

 

“That’s the part I haven’t found much on. I’m still trying to decipher the enchantment.” Before even finishing the sentence he’d started examining the paper again, the decision to move made long before he spoke. 

 

He muttered to himself absentmindedly, relaying quiet latin to his own ears and assumedly translating in his head. He worked, sharpened by that mental discipline I’ve seen to be common in wizards, as though he was the only one present. The whole world would be shut out and wait patiently until he deigned to return to it, that felt certain. I watched with fascination and fear as he began to work with that old art I could not understand. The extra sense I did not have.

 

But the latin began to take pauses, the steady stream of unrestrained thought sputtering. Despite his trained focus, something had managed to grab his attention. But what could possibly?

 

“Hnn.” He had made the sound without realizing. Although he stubbornly continued to ‘read’ the enchantment in the Fomorian writing his body chose to react for him on reflex. Already a strong, long-fingered hand was gravitating toward his face, like I’d seen several times since meeting him. Perhaps there was one thing he could not ignore.

 

Though the stuttering latin continued, his eyes narrowed in a small grimace, as if he had been blocking the signal from his nerves and only now became aware of what was happening.

 

His hand acted unconsciously, pressing gingerly against his septum, afraid of applying too much force and accidentally igniting further reaction from his sensitive nose. It was still pinkened from before, still irritable.

 

I found myself having another set of private thoughts. Was he truly so sensitive that a reckless touch would set off a sneeze? It’d explain why it was impossible for him to ignore, being a mere wrong rub or press away from sneezing. If so, to what extent? Would a stroke along the ridge of his aquiline (That was the word!) nose provoke a sneeze? No, he had used it before to quell it. Yet the fact that rubbing the bridge of his nose helped with the itch was certainly a testament to his sensitivity.

 

He was doing that now, in fact, the latin almost entirely forgotten. The hand once applying pressure to his upper lip had resigned itself to methodically massaging the ridge of his twitching nose.

 

“Are you alright?” It was a rather silly question to a man clearly tortured by a horrible urge to sneeze. The question itself wasn’t the point.

 

“I-I’m sss-sor-sorry I…” he blinked tears from his eyes, and as he tried to talk he rubbed his nose just that little bit harder. “I th-thought it was…” he grit his teeth, reared up to his full sitting height, which might have worried me were I not aware of what was coming. 

 

“Hiih’CHNGXTSCHOO!” He clamped his hand over his face trying — and failing — to stifle the sound. Even if I hadn’t caught the tiny, muffled moan of regret, I would’ve known it was uncomfortable. “I thought it was done. HEEGHH’TSSHHUH!” His voice was raspier, hoarse-ish from the stifle attempt.

 

“You had me convinced of that for a little while, too.” I smiled.

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to… intend… Hhh! HEH!” Logan pinched his nose hard, flinched in discomfort, and sighed as the third sneeze disappeared. That had to have hurt, and I felt the need to scold him for it.

 

“I didn’t intend to waste your time this way.” I balked. He thought I was upset?

 

“You think I’m cross with you for sneezing?” Bleary eyes peered curiously in my direction.

 

“But you said… I thought..” Then I understood why he thought I was angry. I’m an idiot! He couldn’t see me smile so he thought the jest was… How could I be so insensitive!?

 

“Oh, I’m sorry! I just insulted you — I! Agghh, I’m so sorry, I smiled when I said it and…” I calmed my embarrassment and gathered my vocabulary to deliver a proper apology. “Logan, I apologize, I fear I’ve been an inconsiderate host.”

 

“What? No, not at all. If anything I have been —“

 

“Logan, you have made more progress on these documents in under an hour than I could have made in the entire night by myself.” He froze, processing, uncertain of how to react. 

 

I would not have him be blamed for a reflex outside of his control, and I especially would not allow him to be upset by my own hideous quip, be it a well-intentioned quip or not.

 

“You’re being genuine?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Even with all the… sneezing?” It seemed to be a disconcerting word for him.

 

“Know that you could place your finger on any line on that paper, and I would only be capable of discerning — and I quote —“ I cleared my throat “Hocus pocus gobbledygook.” Surprisingly that one got a chuckle out of him.

 

“I’ve never heard of a spell like that.” Before he could appreciate his own retort, his nose twitched, and he frowned. He brought his hand up, preparing to pinch the sneeze away again.

 

“Please, don’t. You’ll hurt yourself.” He stopped, blinked, but kept his hand raised.

 

“If I don’t it will start up again.” I never thought a warning could sound dejected.

 

“It won’t if I get rid of what’s causing it.” I said. He rubbed his nose but did not pinch it this time.

 

“Earlier you said dust wasn’t it?” I inquired. He sniffled softly and nodded.

 

“Dust doesn’t provoke this kind of reaction.”

 

“What do you know of that would?” He paused, sat there with a shy thoughtfulness.

 

“Um.” He shifted awkwardly, either not sure of what to say or not sure if he wanted to say anything.

 

“Flowers?” I tried to help him along.

 

“S-some of them.” His nostrils trembled uneasily, as though the mere thought had made his nose paranoid. I tried to think.

 

“Lilies? Sweet Peas? Roses? Lavend—“

 

“Hhheh!” His breath hitched so suddenly I stopped talking.

 

“Please don’t… Hhh-Hiih!”

 

“Don’t what?”

 

“Don’t m-mentionnn… L-Lav… Heh!” He almost began the preparatory inhale, but stopped himself. “That last… word… right now.”

 

“Why can’t I say Lavender?” It was like speaking the full word had flipped a switch. His nostrils flared wildly, his lungs sucked in air, and a sneezy expression fell over his face instantly.

 

“HEEAAAAH’TTSSSCHHOO!” He turned away to the other side of the couch and began to rub his nose with the heel of his hand.

 

“Bless you.” I said sheepishly. He made a reproachful groan to show he heard. Rule number one when speaking to allergic wizards: Don’t talk about lavender. Got it.

 

“I swear, those flowers are easily the worst of my-“ he sniffled “-of my allergies. More than perfume, even.” He rotated and faced me again as he said this.

 

If the word lavender could cause a reaction, it was probably best if I did not bring the existence of lavender scented perfume to his attention. I suppose I still had learned something about what might be causing him to sneeze, though not in the way I intended.

 

“Just thinking about it makes me… have to…” That far off look started to come over him once more.

 

“So we won’t think about it, then.” He blinked rapidly several times before he nodded in agreement.

 

“Perhaps it might be better if we tried to observe when it happens. Figure out what’s causing it that way.”

 

“Mmm. Probably.” His breathing was shaky as he battled to regulate it. “I think it’s c-“ watery eyes narrowed and his chest heaved twice “-calming down now.”

 

“Already?” He grunted in confirmation. Hmm.

 

“Do you always recover this quickly?” The gears in my head were quietly trying to turn.

 

“I wish.” His teeth flashed in a mirthful smile while I took the information into consideration. 

 

A minute or so passed, reddened nostrils lessened to an irritated pink, and he looked about as composed as was possible. I still had not observed a suspect trigger for his allergies.

 

Logan crept his hand incrementally closer to the documents, waiting, until the distance between paper and fingertip was negligible. I felt his attention turn to me in a moment of expectation, silently asking if I had any observations. There were none, and when he realized this the wizard took it upon himself to resume analyzing the Fomorian documents. 

 

For the third time that night the room filled with latin, pieces of a time long gone floating through the air from his lips like leaves riding on the breeze.

 

I watched, and listened, and tried to put the pieces together so I could figure out what was plaguing the poor man. It was obvious, surely, for such things tend to be deceptively simple. That is the secret to a frustrating conundrum. 

 

I was lost in these thoughts for several minutes, until a triumphant cackle worthy of a mad scientist jolted me into reality.

 

“Conniving little Fomors!” Logan crowed at the papers, swiping at his nose and then grinning. “Masters of self-defeating tricks.”

 

“What? What is it?” I chattered excitedly, jittery as a canary hopping from branch to branch.

 

“The enchantment, the speech, it’s just so stupid I never would’ve…” he laughed and shook his head.

 

“What? Hurry and tell me!” I was reduced to childish eagerness.

 

“The speech is the enchantment because it isn’t protecting anything. I’ve twisted the magic about every possible way and there’s just nothing there but itself.” He wiggled his nose, but if it was bothering him, he was far too ecstatic to pay it much attention.

 

“That doesn’t make any sense! Why would-“

 

“I don’t know! The magic must’ve survived being transferred to the rubbings somehow! But the reason isn’t why I’m excited.” He scrubbed at his nose fiercely. It was definitely bothering him.

 

“The enchantment p-preys… hhnnn… Preys on the w-we-ehHH!” He didn’t get to finish the sentence, though not for lack of trying. His sinuses simply refused to cooperate with him.

 

“REHHSHHMPF!” He sneezed into his elbow, and tried everything following it to stop after the one sneeze and leave it at that. His sinuses still refused to cooperate.

 

“SHHHMPFT!” His face emerged from the embrace of the crook of his arm, and I could see the panicked desperation in it. This fit wasn’t going to stop quickly or easily.

 

“IIEHH’TSSCHOO! D-Divines, I can’t…” Ticklish tears ran down his face, over his cheekbones.

 

“HAH’TSCHHOOO! Can’t… Hhehh… St-Stop.” His valiant attempt at putting together a sentence in the midst of the sneezing confirmed my suspicion.

 

I stared, knowing that I should not, that it was rude and would only make the situation more distressing for him. But I did not know how to respond beyond that, and thus could not correct the rudeness with a more appropriate act.

 

“HEH’TSSCHHEEOO! HEH-“ The hand came up. “-TSSNGXT-UHH!” The sneeze was cut off, and before he could begin the inhalation for another his fingers pinched his nose like they had once before. I really did want him to stop that.

 

“Ohh, Stercus.” He cursed in latin, though his voice was nasally since he dared not stop pinching. It made him sound horribly congested, or at least exaggerated any congestion that was already present.

 

“Are you alright?” I asked softly, made timid by the speculation that his trick would not hold it off.

 

“No, not at all.” He smiled, his very expression being an antithesis to his words, his tear-streaked cheeks and harshly abused throat an antithesis to his smile. 

 

“That en-“ he paused suddenly, tensed, and seemed to calm when nothing happened. “Your document did a number on me.” He wriggled his nose between his fingers, as if it proved his point. 

 

I looked at the accused stack of parchment, and picked it up. He eyed the papers warily.

 

“You’re saying the enchantment-“ he set his jaw when I spoke the word “-is making you sneeze?”

 

Logan waited a few seconds, and when nothing further occurred his thick shoulders sagged in relief. He nodded.

 

“But why?” I asked, setting them down on the desk.

 

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. His brows knit together as he worked out something in his head. He remained in a state of catatonic thought for several seconds, before wordlessly reaching over to the stack of parchment, and drawing something onto the laminate with his fingers. It seemed to glow briefly, as though he had charged it with light, and once it faded he slid away from me and let go of his nose.

 

“I don’t know how much longer…” his eyelashes fluttered as he gasped, and the wizard turned his head aside just as he took in a second massive inhale.

 

“HEHH’RESSHH! HEH’TSSHMPHH!” Half of his face disappeared into his arm as he braced himself. “TSCHHHMPF! SHHHMPFF! EHSSHMPT!”

 

I could only gawk uselessly as he muffled the sneezing to the best of his ability, the fit no doubt agitated by the wait.

 

“Hhnn! Heh! Ehhii-IHH!” He re-emerged and tilted his head back as far as he could without snapping his neck, struggling with the buildup of a particularly stubborn sneeze. “Hhhh…!” It wasn’t coming, and with a disgruntled exhale he leaned forward again, assuming a less intimidating (and less foreboding) slouch. It was surprising how much a change in posture could whittle down his height.

 

Logan glared in the direction of the papers, though it looked more like he was glaring at the table.

 

“Bless you.” I chimed, and he visibly suppressed another sigh as he tiredly turned back to me with a look of defeat. Message received, no more blessings.

 

“The glyph should let me talk without being interrupted.” He sniffled pointedly, a hint that I did not require to know what he meant by interruptions.

 

“The enchantment preys on the weaknesses of people who come into contact with it magically.” He explained.

 

“So normal people won’t be affected?” I asked.

 

“No, but they’ll also have a hard time reading it.” I bit my lip to avoid saying something about an understatement. The mage noticed.

 

“The magic part somehow doesn’t compute in the minds of people without magic.” He quietly observed me for any signs of combustion. 

 

“No one knows why.” Somehow he had packaged a shrug into the sentence without actually doing it.

 

“And so the weakness it used against you was… sneezing?” Logan grew uncomfortable, and scowled defensively.

 

“Better that than something else.”

 

“What do you mean?” I’ve been asking that a lot this evening.

 

“If a mage with, say, heart disease came into contact with the enchantment, it might use that against them. Send them into cardiac arrest when they tried to decipher it or talk about it.” Divines have mercy.

 

“Whatever this enchantment was protecting, the Fomors thought it important enough to kill for.” His expression became dark and serious. His face made the danger clear enough. I looked at the laminated parchment and shivered.

 

“The glyph I drew is disrupting the enchantment. It should be safe until I stop fueling it.” I noticed bags under his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “It’s strong magic though.”

 

“What happens if you stop fueling it?” I did not fully understand the term, but what he meant by it was clear enough.

 

The wizard’s face sank, making the bags under his eyes even more pronounced.

 

“I sneeze until the enchantment leaves me alone.”

[rockbell]

love love LOVE THIS!!!

[Mr. Black Cherry Berry Tea]

This is awesome! I love how the sneezing is worked into the plot. Like both are interesting on their own, but they're tied together in a cool way. I really enjoyed this one.

[Tassielli]

Holy cow. I love it. 

[Hovercuke]

Wow! So good! Thank you for sharing here!

[alicex]

i love this so much! what's your tumblr if ur comfy with sharing it

[dz19l3]

5 hours ago, alicex said:

i love this so much! what's your tumblr if ur comfy with sharing it

My tumblr is called Sternumentum, in theory it should appear with judicious use of a web browser, but I am happy to provide a link for the sake of convenience if nothing else.

https://sternumentum.tumblr.com/

I will still post more from it here soon, likely in another post/thread. Not everyone cares to attempt to traverse the platform, and I admit, personally I am still not entirely comfortable with it. By nature though, there are some things on it which I can't post here, and the things that can will always end up there first. In addition, I'm a sucker for continuity, so it provides one easy place to access each story in order. Technically they could be read on their own, but they make a bit more sense chronologically.

I would be absolutely ecstatic to hear your opinion on some of the other content on it, but I certainly don't expect or demand anything from you. Thanks for asking for the link, and I'm glad many seem to be enjoying this story.

[dz19l3]

I suddenly remembered I had written a short follow up a long time ago when I first wrote this story, and figured rather than create a new thread, it would be better to post it here. Originally, I had planned for Night Summons to be longer, but cut it short because by that time it had already been up to an absurd length, and so I wrote the brief follow up to go over what I had left out of the story. Anyway, here it is, I had given it a name of its own but it is, in essence, almost a second part to Night Summons.

                                                                                                                                   *       *       *

As a legally blind wizard, I often forget there exists anything beyond my work. I specify legally blind, because magic has a way of gifting me with loopholes. I specify wizard because mages in general tend to become engrossed to a point of living and breathing magic. 

 

Thus being a mage is the thing responsible for making me forget I’m living on a planet with other creatures. For most patients of wizard syndrome, this obsession with magic often manifests in the form of sprawling home libraries and dreaming of enchantment formulae. In my case, exclusively dreaming in enchantment formulae, and a kitchen being tactically invaded by bookshelves. Those manifestations of wizard syndrome I can deal with. 

 

But throw me outside the realm of magic, and it’s as though anomalies have been sent into my path just to confuse me. The reason why I am phasing through this fireplace again is the most recent anomaly I have come across.

 

I felt the pull of space and time before I felt the pull of fire, a familiar sensation of magical vertigo that can only be described as dizziness on the metaphysical level. I try not to think too hard about it; I get headaches if I do, and it ruins the humor of deploying into someone’s home like a demented corruption of Saint Nick.

 

My immaterial disorientation increased as I slowly rejoined the physical plane. My sense of body began to return, skewered, buzzing back and forth between flickering warmth and the liquid, free-flowing nebulousness of being nothing. Then the magic vertigo imploded, collapsing in on itself and becoming a tiny pinprick in the back of my awareness.

 

I was abruptly aware of the resumption of reality, a blanket of heat dropping from my shoulders and drifting behind me. Most likely fire that remained from my unorthodox traveling method.

 

As I started to feel my body again, my quasi vision returned, courtesy of my almost-but-not-quite-vestigial eyes. What ever would I do without the ability to perceive blobs of color?

 

“Oh, good! You made it.” I shifted my faulty ocular organs to pretend to observe one such blob, though this one moves, talks, and defies everything I thought I knew about people. For example, I could’ve sworn said people were normally put off by aspects of living flame.

 

“I really don’t understand why you keep hiring me, Miss Fenwick.” Too little, too late I realized what I said sounded very different than what I had intended by it. Faex.

 

I could hear her feet shuffle against the floor, hear the rustle of clothing and feel the shift of air in the room. It was quick, jittery, of surprise or being thrown off. Double faex.

 

“I - oh. Do you have other things you need to do?” Triple faex! Triple faex!

 

“You misunderstand.” I tried to map out my surroundings, more specifically her, with my magic. The energy rose up lazily, in my chest, then fizzled. Too soon after porting, then.

 

I walked forward, paying particular attention to the movement of air around the room to hopefully avoid collision with any unexpected objects.

 

“What I meant was...” An ill-timed, biting prickle formed around my nostrils. I sniffed reflexively, and as cold air flooded into my nose the prickling spread to the inside.

 

Right, temperature changes. Ironic, considering generating heat or cold was my specialty as a mage, seated comfortably between the alignments of ice and fire.

 

I sawed a knuckle back and forth beneath my nose, which alleviated the tickle around my nostrils, but did very little to help the icy trail already migrating inside my sinuses. It felt like I’d snorted peppermint or something.

 

“I hardly made a stellar impression when first we met.” I listened after I finished speaking. I was just close enough to hear her breathing. If she noticed my nasal distress, I did not detect any indication in the rhythm of her breath.

 

Who am I kidding, of course she noticed. A bear scratching itself on the sofa would be more discreet than me.

 

“I suppose you’re right, my first session with you was not what most would consider ideal.” Eliza giggled, lighthearted. She had taken to doing that, along with other small sounds, to indicate her emotions clearly.

 

The frozen prickly sensation reached up to the back of my nose, causing my breath to flutter in my breast for a moment.

 

While I had grown decently skilled at maintaining thoughts in the middle of sneeze-limbo, speech was its own matter entirely. I hummed softly in agreement, and regretted it a little when the vibrations traveled through my face and provoked another sharp tickle from my nose. I pinched the bridge and rubbed.

 

“Hhh - hold on.” The rubbing was helping, fighting off the secondary itch and soothing the icy feeling somewhat. 

 

I don’t know why it helps, maybe it helps only because I think it does. Either way, it’s generally safer for me than scrubbing a knuckle against the side of my nose. Bump one of those sensitive nerves inside the wrong way and-

 

“Hehh!”

 

 A phantom reaction, nearly overpowering the primarily icy feeling that’s been taunting me. For a moment, I’m certain I can feel one of my overactive nasal nerves being gently tweaked. Just my imagination, but…

 

“EEH’tssSCHUuh!” 

 

That knowledge doesn’t make it feel less real, least of all to my nose, which still felt annoyed by the colder air. Truth be told, sometimes it seems it would be better if I didn’t think during sneeze-limbo.

 

“Bless you.” Eliza’s voice, forward, to the right. I’ve worked with her, what, four or five times now? Hasn’t she gotten tired of saying that?

 

“Thank you.” Though I don’t have room to talk, with how often I thank her for it. For the sake of manners if nothing else. Funny, I’ve never cared much about manners before.

 

“You were saying?” Prompted the scholar.

 

What was I saying again? Oh, right, anomalies.

 

“I just don’t understand why. After such an impression, and after I proved so troublesome.”

 

“Do you need to understand?”

 

For the sole purpose of ensuring my deadpan look was on target, I tried to feel the room with my magic again, and succeeded. I now knew precisely where she was, exactly how many centimeters she stood from me, and I turned to her.

 

“I would like to.” I said, now that my expression was aimed. Even a blind man can’t deny the power a well directed facial expression has. Nice to know I’m immune to them.

 

“For one, you demonstrated a working knowledge of the Fomorians, and were able to do as requested with little to no input from me.”

 

 I felt the desire to melt into the nearest wall. I can’t take compliments, they put me on the spot and I don’t know how to react to them beyond painfully awkward gratitude. Still, I asked, she was answering. Or trying to.

 

“Second, you were able to neutralize a dangerous enchantment while under its’ effects.” Most of that sentence wasn’t her own words. No non-mage describes the use of glyphs so clearly, so matter of fact. Likely taken from some egghead better at explaining things than me. If it wasn’t her own words it wasn’t going to answer any of my curiosities. I stopped her with a question.

 

“I am useful to you, and for that you put up with my eccentricities?” I felt her pause, and her heartbeat increase, through my magic. It was much easier to read what she was feeling when I had more than sound to work with.

 

“I- No that’s not it.” A sigh. I made my sensory field more precise. I felt her expression, a furrowed brow, and the blood in her veins moving up to her head. Her larynx made slight, nearly undetectable movements. She was thinking, putting thoughts and words together.

 

Her heartbeat increased again, an excited jump. I felt her breathe in, felt her vocal cords moving beyond barely existing twitches. I relaxed my sensory field to hear her speak.

 

“You are concerned that the-“ she paused to think of a word, “-circumstances of your first impression have made me think less of you?”

 

Someone could have thrown a fireball into my face and I’d be less stupefied. This nagging unease that had been pestering me for weeks now, infuriating that I could not name the nature of it, and the scholar pinned it down just like that.

 

“Yes.” What else could I say to someone who just described my own emotions to myself?

 

“What part of it concerns you?” Propter futuo!

 

“Divines strike me down.” I groaned, failing to contain my exasperation, “Shall we start with how I was barely able to perform my job the entire time?”

 

“A job you completed regardless. Though the aftermath was chaotic.” I felt a shiver jump up my spine. My life would be filled with that much more happiness if I never encountered Fomorian magic ever again.

 

“Chaotic is how you describe having a mana-exhausted wizard stranded on your couch?” Chaos did not begin to describe the mortifying spectacle of sneezing for over half an hour in front of a client. Adding insult to injury, I’d been too exhausted to phase through the hearth back home, despite being careful not to spend all my energy on the suppressing glyph. It made a joke of my magical career in one night, and yet here I was.

 

Her shoes tapped rhythmically, gravitating closer. The air shifted, accommodating the movements accordingly.

 

“It is how I would describe it, provided it does not offend.” No matter what word she chose the events would bother me.

 

“It does not.” That feeling of unease thrashed in my stomach. “But I find it difficult to believe having a stranger rest on your furniture does not harm your perception of them.” I raced to stretch my sensory field back out, searching for a response. There were no clues in her heart rate, nor her breathing, no startled lurch in either to indicate my presumption was correct.

 

“You’re not exactly a stranger anymore.” I felt and heard her pick up a monstrous book, taking it into her arms before approaching. The air whipped around again, hitting my chin and face. The frosty prickle reappeared, demanding. Ugh.

 

“True. But at the time…” I squinted as the sneeze grew. Twice. It was always at least twice when it came to temperature changes. An oddly specific quirk.

 

“Again?” Yes, again, damned itch. I moved my head to the side, flush with my shoulder.

 

“HeehhH’TSSCHOO!” For the most part, my nose had decided to finally accept the fact the air of the rest of the room was colder than the fire I’d come in from. I allotted another rub, just to ensure it would keep to its standard of two sneezes.

 

“Bless you. Better?” I nodded and tried not to make a strange face at her. I still was not used to my sneezing being casually commented on.

 

“You were saying?” A few little brownies in my head scavenged for the last train of thought I’d had.

 

“At the time I was a stranger, even if it is not the case now.”

 

“Irrelevant. You are a regular consultant, not someone I saw once under unusual circumstances.”

 

Huh. She had a point, I was probably overthinking this. Maybe over time I’d forget about it, but for now it was going to bug me.

 

“Of all the ways to acquire a recurring client, I didn’t think sleeping on their couch was one of them.” She laughed.

 

“You wouldn’t think so, but I’d say it’s worked out.”

 

“Apparently.” And as a result I was in bizarre new territory. “I’ve never had a regular client before.” Another laugh.

 

“I thought so.” She said, amusement clear in her tone. I’m becoming obvious. Maybe I should phase through the stove next time. 

 

Next time, what a strange thought. It was nice though, to know there was always a change of pace after a more dangerous job. Mercenaries are a pain to work with, let alone to work as one.

 

“So what work do you have for me?” She grinned and offered out the monstrous tome. This was going to take a while.

[Tassielli]

The follow up is so cute! I can see these two awkwards circling each other for ages. 

Edited September 30, 2020 by Tassielli
Spelling

[Victoria]

Enjoyed reading this!

[MidnightCatK]

I ADORE this! Your vocabulary is amazing, and so are your descriptons!

[Akahana]

Awe this is so cute!!  I love that they become friends ❤️

[PennyLane]

Agh!! So perfect!!!