THE SUMMONING: I
The night the world split open, Sera was arguing with her parents about a hoodie.
Not about politics. Not about college. Not about anything important.
A hoodie.
She sat in the back seat of their aging silver SUV, arms folded tight across her chest, staring out at the dark highway sliding past. The streetlights came and went in steady intervals. Fields stretched on either side of the road, endless and black. The only sound inside the car was the low murmur of the radio and the tires rolling over asphalt.
“I still don’t see why I couldn’t bring it,” she muttered.
Her father glanced at her through the rearview mirror. Even in the dim light, she could see the smile tugging at his mouth. He was a broad man with deep brown skin and a neatly trimmed beard that had started to show streaks of gray. He wore his driving glasses low on his nose.
“It’s ninety degrees at night, Sera,” he said gently. “You would not wear the hoodie.”
“That’s not the point.”
Her mother laughed softly from the passenger seat. She had her hair wrapped in a silk scarf, gold hoops glinting every time they passed under a light. “Then what is the point?”
Sera shifted, pushing her braids over one shoulder. “The point is you always decide what’s practical. Maybe I just wanted it.”
“For fashion?” her mother asked.
“For comfort.”
Her father nodded slowly as if this were a serious negotiation. “Ah. Emotional support hoodie.”
Sera fought a smile and lost. “You’re both very funny.”
They were on their way back from visiting her aunt two states over. It had been three days of crowded rooms, loud laughter, and constant questions about her future. What are you going to study? Are you dating anyone? Have you thought about law school?
She was eighteen. She did not have to have her whole life figured out.
She pressed her forehead against the cool window glass. She wanted freedom. Her own apartment. Her own decisions. No more being told what was practical.
Her father turned the music down. “You know we’re not trying to control you.”
“I know.”
“You’re allowed to want things,” her mother added. “Even hoodies in summer.”
Sera huffed. “You say that now.”
Her father’s eyes met hers again in the mirror. “You are growing up. That doesn’t scare us.”
It scared her a little.
Growing up meant leaving this car, these two people in the front seat who felt like the safest thing in the world.
Silence settled again, but it was soft. Comfortable.
Then her father spoke, lighter this time. “I love you.”
Sera rolled her eyes automatically. “Dad.”
“I love you,” he repeated. “Don’t you love me?”
Her mother laughed. “Of course she does.”
“I want to hear it,” he insisted.
Sera groaned. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I’m a father. It is my right.”
She shook her head, but her chest warmed. “You already know.”
“Say it.”
She leaned forward between the seats, resting her chin on the center console. “You’re impossible.”
“I love you,” he said again.
She opened her mouth to say the words, and the world exploded.
Something slammed through the windshield with a sound like a gunshot. Glass shattered inward. Her mother screamed. The car jerked violently. Her father fought the steering wheel as vehicle lurched off the road and came to a violent stop in the dirt.
For a second, there was nothing but ringing in her ears.
Dust filled the air, and her heart pounded so hard she thought it might explode. “What was that?” she whispered.
In the spiderweb of broken glass, embedded in the dashboard, was a stone.
Not a normal rock.
