Greg inspected his wounded palm. He successfully resisted the urge to poke and prod it. “Am I going to have to cut my other hand? I’d really rather not.”

Nurmueth, lounging on the sofa next to Taz, said, “No, the blood you’ve shed should be sufficient for another summoning. However, you really should rest and eat. Many practitioners do not have the stamina to conduct consecutive, hours-long rituals like this one.”

Greg blinked. “Hold on, did you say hours-long? Because this took like, five minutes, tops.”

Nurmueth, despite taking the form a Red Fox, somehow had a look of unrestrained bewilderment. They whined. “No, there has to be some kind of mistake.” They hopped down and started pacing along the perimeter of the chalk circle. “This formation is bare-bones and inefficient. To have summoned me, a being from such a distant plane, by a wet behind the ears child, in such a short span of time…” The fox locked eyes with Greg. “Who are you?”

Greg shrugged.

“To put it a way you might understand, Greg, what you did was the equivalent of taking a ham radio and somehow extending its radius to cover the entire planet, maintaining clarity and with minimal power consumption. It should not be possible. Your call should not have reached as far or as clearly as it did, not without investing large amounts of both time and effort.”

Taz chimed in, “I do not know either, but I do know that he has a seemingly boundless capacity and talent for calling and binding entities to himself. Perhaps he is the unknowing pawn of some greater entity. Perhaps his capabilities are just serendipity. Either way, it would be a waste not to take advantage of it.”

Nurmueth took some time to digest the situation before standing up and shaking themself out like a wet dog. “Well then,” they chuckled, “this is certainly something I’ve never even heard of before.” They grinned and said, “This will be exciting. Great things happen around people like you, Greg. Whether they want them to or not.”

Greg shivered. While he wasn’t opposed to a bit of excitement in his life, Nurmueth was clearly not operating on the same scale.

---

After a five-minute break, where Greg disinfected and wrapped his hand in gauze, they all returned to the ritual circle.

There in the center lay the blood-soaked glass orb, just as Greg had left it. The candles continued to burn. Greg would take the time to snuff and store them properly. No point in letting perfectly good ritual materials go to waste, no matter how inexpensive.

As before, Greg began to chant. However, the words were different. He called out for a different ghost, a soul more like his own, at least in species. For this was not the calling of an expert in the strange and mystical, but the calling of a speaker, a person of the people.

Greg was not a people-person. While he wasn’t entirely socially incompetent, he could not say he felt comfortable interacting with strangers on a daily basis. He had trouble reading people, sometimes unable to fathom why they reacted like they did. His parents thought he was on the spectrum, but as he had relatively little trouble in school, they, including Greg himself, did not feel the need to get tested for it. Perhaps that was a mistake, as he felt his social skills inadequate during his time at college. His efforts to make friends were met with silent rejections and disinterest.

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With his recent discovery of his spectral affinity, he thought, why not just get someone else to fulfill that role for him?

Thus, he called.

And was answered.

A rather pleasant looking woman manifested before him. She wore a heavily embroidered dress with fancy trim, Greg would call it Victorian-era, as it reminded him of some of the things he associated with steampunk. Greg was not a historian, so if anyone knew what he was thinking, he would apologize for his lack of knowledge. Her auburn hair was braided in what Greg would call a crown. She had a natural looking smile as she first took in Greg, then the room, then she froze momentarily when she laid eyes on Taz. Her smile did not faulter, however, and she returned her gaze to Greg.

She bowed, and smiled.

And waited.

Greg waited.

Nurmueth spoke in his mind directly, or at least, that’s what Greg assumed, seeing as how no one else reacted, “She must come from or deal with nobility often. In these situations, those with greater authority and power introduce themselves first, and only then can those below them respond in kind.”

Greg almost nodded but held himself back. He said, “Greetings, my name is Greg, it is a pleasure to meet you…” he trailed off.

She curtsied and said, “My name is Catherine Abberton. I was an entertainer of high-profile individuals and master of delights.”

Nurmueth scoffed. “A prostitute.”

Catherine did not frown at the ghost fox. “One could say that, yes. But I ask you this, could anyone be as successful as I with just looks alone? Everyone knew of me. I was never without work, and always treated respectfully. Men of wealth practically threw themselves at me. Women as well.

“Never a night would pass without company of some kind. And you would be surprised how many wished for simple company, not carnal pleasure. Whatever their desire, I satisfied it.

“And while in their company, I would learn a great deal. The state of politics, their relationships, their desires…” she grinned predatorially, “their weaknesses. My skills at prying secrets from others unawares grew. And with those secrets came power. Though, beyond living in luxury, I had little desire to use it. I could have started wars, or ended them. Sent aid to those in need, or expunge them from society. I cared neither way, truly. My conquests and hording of assets was enough for me.

“Now, tell me, Greg, what is it you would have me do? And what can you offer in return?”

Greg was stunned. And, judging by the complete silence from the peanut gallery, Taz and Nurmueth as well.

Catherine’s eyes narrowed, her tone had a bit of an edge to it. “Speak up. I will not waste my time with the meek and unambitious.”

Greg floundered for the words he knew he should say. He took a deep breath, exhaled, then spoke, “I want to reveal magic to the world. I want to do that by selling my services and any products I am able to produce to the public. I already have an advisor for matters of the occult, Nurmueth. What I need is an advisor for public relations. You, Catherine, would work with me to accomplish my goals, assisting me in communicating clearly and effectively with others, and avoiding the social traps and schemes of business and relations. Discerne truth from falsehood, sus out secrets, and be my voice.”

The words continued to pour fourth, Greg not entirely sure where he got them from. It was instinctive; he didn’t have to think about it. “In return, you, by proxy, will attain the riches and recognition you once had in life. No, you will attain even more than that. What I will do very well may change the world. There is every possibility of global fame.

“Will you form a contract with me, Catherine Abberton?”

There was a pause. Catherine’s eyes had gone wide at some point in Greg’s speech. She had not expected this young man to speak with such conviction. His demeanor was the polar opposite of the first exchange they had.

Who is this man? she thought. I must know more.

She bowed her head. “I accept. Now,” she looked around the room, then huffed, “can someone please explain to me just what the hell is going on in here? Also, maybe a brief history lesson? And…”

This is going to be a long night, Greg thought to himself.