How Not to Summon Your True Love

Though it doesn't really come as a surprise, Cy is still crushed when he's dumped. His relationship with Alex had lasted longer than all previous attempts, and started promising when Alex had proclaimed he was perfectly okay with Cy being asexual.

On impulse, convinced no one will ever really see him as worthy relationship material, Cy turns to a book that belonged to his late mother, a grimoire of magic spells that obviously won't work, it's a stupid idea, and even if magic was real there's no way a love summoning spell would work for him.

How Not to Summon Your True Love

By Sasha L. Miller

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

Edited by Samantha M. Derr

Cover designed by Meg Daunting

Title page bubbles provided by Freepik

This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

Second Edition August 2019

Copyright © 2019 by Sasha L. Miller

Printed in the United States of America

For everyone who wanted a magic summoning that pulled someone from the middle of a shower

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 11TH

Cy couldn't say he hadn't seen it coming. He and Alex had been dating for almost six months, which was a grand total of five months longer than any of Cy's past relationships had lasted. Still, the warning signs had been there: Alex had been replying vaguely or not at all to Cy's calls and texts over the last week.

Ducking into his residence hall, Cy took the stairs quickly up to the second floor. The hall wasn't empty, but the two undergrads at the end of it didn't look at him, and he made it into his room without having to make eye contact with anyone.

Of course, because the day wanted to make him regret crawling out of bed, his roommate Ethan was in the room.

Hey, Cy, did you—? Ethan started to say, swiveling around on the fancy office chair his parents had promptly bought for him after seeing the solid, uncomfortable, wood-framed chairs the college provided. He stopped when he saw Cy's face, his eyes widening dramatically. Are you okay? Did something happen?

Ethan had been randomly assigned to Cy as a roommate after Cy'd come back from his leave to find all his friends already paired up with roommates. Ethan was a good sort, generally, even if he tended not to realize that not everyone was rich or cared about the hippie Causes-with-a-capital-C that his life revolved around. He was clean, his bookcase of plants didn't smell bad, he showered regularly, and he didn't push his Causes at Cy, and that was usually good enough.

That he occasionally pried too much into what Cy did and where he went and how he was feeling was bearable, if annoying.

I'm fine, Cy mumbled, rubbing at his nose. It squished, full of snot from his repressed crying, but Cy willfully did not sniffle. Cy dropped his bag at the foot of his bed.

You look terrible. Are you getting sick? Ethan leaned back in his chair, tilting his head to stare at Cy consideringly. I could make you a green smoothie, give your immune system a boost. I picked up some fresh kale earlier.

I'm not sick, Cy said, more sharply than he'd meant. Why couldn't Ethan have been visiting his girlfriend or something? Sorry. Just. Alex broke up with me. Before Ethan could comment—because Ethan would comment—Cy added hastily, I don't want to talk about it.

That sucks, dude, Ethan said after a short pause. He fluffed his hair, making the cropped dark brown locks stick up before they fell back into a wavy pattern that looked effortlessly suave. Anything I can do?

Cy unzipped his jacket, shrugging it off and throwing it on his bed. He kicked off his sneakers, debating the request a moment before he caved and asked. Would you mind staying with Jess tonight? I kind of want to be alone.

Jess was Ethan's long-time girlfriend who attended the state university on the other side of town. Cy had never met her, but Ethan was constantly calling and texting her, and at least once a week, he spent the night over at her place. Hopefully she wouldn't mind Ethan crashing on short notice; Cy didn't want to deal with Ethan on top of nursing a broken heart.

Let me give her a call, Ethan said. He swiveled back toward his desk, shutting his laptop and picking up his phone.

He grinned at whatever the display said—probably a text from Jess—and Cy didn't need the reminder that he was once again alone. That he'd probably be alone forever. Turning away, Cy climbed into his bed, ignoring that he knocked his jacket to the floor. Ethan took his phone out to the hall, thankfully, so at least Cy didn't have to hear him talk to Jess.

Ten minutes later, Ethan came back in. She's fine with it. I'll be back tomorrow, but text if you want me back sooner.

'Kay, Cy muttered. He did sniffle then, despite his best efforts, and buried his face deeper into his pillow. Ethan banged around for a few minutes, packing up his things. He let himself out without another word, shutting the door quietly behind him. Maybe he assumed Cy was asleep? Cy didn't care.

Cy stayed in bed for several minutes after Ethan left, but that only gave him the chance to replay exactly what Alex had said. Alex had at least had the decency to break it off in person, but Cy almost would have preferred a text. Then he wouldn't have had to face Alex.

It's not working. I don't think we're right for each other.

Rationally, Cy knew it wasn't the end of the world. He'd liked Alex; Alex was funny, sweet, and handsome. His nose had been slightly crooked and his mouth too wide, but his smile came easily, and he was always up for a bad movie and a snuggle. He'd even known Cy was asexual, and he'd professed not to care from the start. Ha. Cy wasn't stupid. There were only so many things I don't think we're right for each other could mean.

Deciding staying in bed was a bad idea, Cy got up. He shoved his university-issue chair out of the way and stole Ethan's fancy swivel chair. He'd queue up a cartoon movie or two on Netflix, something he didn't have to think about, and order—and then eat—an entire pizza. Maybe the food coma would put him to sleep so he didn't have to think about it.

Before he settled into Ethan's purloined chair, Cy fetched his wallet and phone from his bag. There were no new calls or texts, but Cy hadn't expected there to be. He thumbed the phone to silent then set it facedown on the top of the desk. He'd text his sister tomorrow; she'd kill him if he didn't tell her, but he didn't want to deal with her sympathy tonight.

Cy ordered his pizza—double meatlovers with stuffed crust—and then poked around Netflix. Unfortunately, nothing appealed. He kept stumbling across movies he'd watched with Alex… And that prompted him to change his Netflix password. Alex didn't get that perk of dating him any longer. Cynically, Cy wondered if that was why Alex had dated him for as long as he had.

Shaking his head, Cy closed the window. He closed his email, not wanting to see any messages from friends or from Alex, if Alex deigned to send him any messages. After a moment's consideration, Cy swiveled away from his desk and surveyed the room.

Ethan's side of the room was as neat as usual. He'd lofted his bed, giving him room to set up bookshelves and several herby, earthy plants. The books were all ridiculous 'witchcraft' and 'herbology' type books, something to do with Ethan's course of study, though Cy had never asked much about it. They reminded him of his mother's collection of books, which reminded him of the box under the bed.

Cy slid out of Ethan's chair, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his bed. The box was still there, marked 'miscellaneous' in large print, and in smaller, 'Cynthia.' He tugged it out, running his fingers over his father's handwriting. After their father's death, he and Cynthia had sold and donated most everything. This box had been meant to go with Cynthia, but in the crush of getting everything out of the house for the new buyers, it had gotten lost.

Pulling off the tape, Cy flipped open the top flaps. At the top of the box were a few books of dried plant clippings, preserved in thin plastic sheets, and Cy set those aside after a cursory flip through them. They were marked with his mother's name in the inside top corner. There were two light, wooden boxes beneath them, and Cy lifted out the first.

It was built like a mini dresser with six drawers in the front. Tiny stickers adorned each drawer, the labels faded but still legible. A quick perusal showed that the contents of the drawers—more dried plants, though one drawer held tiny crystals—were still intact, if dried out and musty. The second box was the same, and Cy set it aside. That left a large, thick book that was bound in leather.

There was no writing on the outside, and it felt warm when Cy picked it up. Probably it sat nearer the heater. Cy balanced the book on his lap and cracked open the front cover. In neat, flowing script, the words Outerich Grimoire were inscribed in the front.

Cy snorted. Outerich had been his mother's maiden name. His father had often said she'd enjoyed practicing 'magic.' He should show the book to Ethan. He would get a kick out of it, and it might even help his research somehow. He was always after ridiculous books of witchcraft.

Maybe he should try a spell. Cy smiled at that thought, flipping forward through the pages of the book. The first spell was for smooth skin. The second was for 'encouraging' hair growth. Was his mother's spellbook filled with vanity spells? Cy opened the book to the center, startled when he found a small yellow hibiscus flower pressed between the pages. He picked it up and read the title of the spell on the page he'd opened to.

Light of Your Life

A spell to bring you the love of your life

Cy dropped the flower, sneering at the page. He shut the book