Steel thyselves, mortals—more gothic chills await! If ye missed the first part, read it here! Summersbane finds himself tasked with an exorcism, in the dark canals of Venice. We rejoin him now, with the Assessore Luca DiLago…

Summersbane Saga
Ghost of Venice

Libro II: Shadow Work

Salt across the threshold, cold-iron rods across the windows, grave-dark soil in a scorched cedar box—Summersbane labored long ensuring that no spirits nor spectres could escape the confines of the enclosed bridge. With every trick of his trade, he bolstered the defense.  Across the necromancer’s chest stretched a bandolier of seven bells, each stuffed with cotton, to inhibit resonance. Summersbane had chalked across the ceiling, walls & floor, a crisscrossing latticework of conjoining circles culminating in an [arcane symbol] in the middle of the room.

{To describe the symbol here would damage mortal minds, but reckless seekers may find it in “The Greater Key of Zigûr.” — Editor Amoenus}.

A resounding thud shuddered the bridge’s oaken door. 

“Who’s there?”

“Luca,” the door groaned, as it opened on reinforced iron hinges. Assessore Luca, Summersbane’s charge & temporary apprentice, bowed his head, noting the line of salt across the threshold. His eyes widened as he gazed up & attempted to comprehend Summersbane’s occult countermeasures. The councilman began to shake with fear as wondered whether he could stop this from becoming a public scandal.

Headlines ran through his mind, as they might read in that rag La Verità: “Billionaire councilman seeks superstitious charlatan to cease specter! Out of touch old money makes mockery of the Ponte dei Sospiri!”

Summersbane noticed the far-away look on Luca’s face, & sighed. The Assessore were nice enough, but slow to adjust.

“Did you bring what I asked?,” Summersbane demanded, as politely as he could manage.

Luca shook, & showed him an XXXL T-shirt that read, “I ♥ ️ Venice.” He then tugged on the rope leashing his new goat. Summersbane snatched the rope, & walked the goat to the great & terrible sigil. He bade Luca to sit in a small wooden chair by the door, next to which sat a small bonsai tree, bound with rope in the classical style.

“What is this?”

“A small tree. Bonsai, the art is called. I used rope because modern metal wires would interfere with—”

“No! I know what that—I mean, what is this? All of this, the markings, the salt, that…shape…”

“Ah. Well, you wanted to get rid of a ghost. The best solution is to talk to it, find its unfinished business, & finish it.”

“If—ah, if we can’t…finish their business?”

“Then we destroy or banish the soul,” Summersbane shrugged. “But I doubt it will come to that. Ghosts most often care about personal matters, & people most often lead rather low-stakes lives, sai?  I once put a ghost to rest by watering some house plants.”

Summersbane closed the door behind Luca, double-checked the chalk lines & salt barriers. He then locked the door, & gently placed the bonsai tree in Luca’s lap. Summersbane walked back to the goat, locking eyes with the beast, which behhehhehhed in response. Luca looked down at the tree, confused; upon closer inspection, it was a miniature olive tree.

Summersbane took a deep breath, & steadied himself, the preparations complete. “By the by, Luca, If you feel like something enters you—”

“Enters me?!,” sputtered the poor councilman.

“If you feel…off, let’s say, just touch the tree. Immediately.”

“What will that do?”

“The tree? Nothing. But the god inside the tree will protect you. Your family shares the same soil.”

“God?” Luca shakily made the sign of the cross.

“The god’s name is Millecampi. It’s not your god, but they will protect you nonetheless. Local gods get real protective of people born of their spore.”

“Born of—what? What do you mean, ‘born of their spore?!’ ”

Summersbane rolled his eyes, in two different directions. “I don’t have time to necrosplain your own history, Luca. Just touch the tree.”

Luca gingerly pinched one of the outstretched branches, as Summersbane turned his back. The necromancer closed his eyes, & silence covered the bridge like a fog.

Mortals built the Ponte dei Sospiri, the Bridge of Sighs, in the 17th century, & the architectural gem has survived much. The baroque white-stone exterior stood in stark contrast to the rather dour interior. They built it to connect the courthouse to the “New Prisons”—so old, now—& it had little decoration on the inside. Summersbane quietly chuckled at the irony of so ornately crafting a bridge for condemned men. 

The first bell on Summersbane’s bandolier tinkled, ever so slightly. He slid it from its pocket, removed the cotton, & allowed it to ring. After the first chime, the bell went silent, & he slid it back into the bandolier. The silence stretched on. Only the lapping of the canals could be heard through the window, & even then, it felt leagues away.

Summersbane opened his eyes & stared again at the goat on the sigil. When the goat met his eyes, its rectangular pupils resolved into round ones. It attempted to bleat, but gave a mannish cough.

Summersbane leaned over & petted the poor goat. “No, no. You are fine. Now, let's see who you are.”

The goat curled its lips back, & screams bellowed forth.  Luca grabbed the tree with both hands, & heard the crack! of bone as a skull pressed out of the goat's mouth! An impossibly large skull—a human skull—then shoulders, & ribs, & torso all crawled from the spasming goat’s maw. Even as the animal vomited bones, sinews ensheathed the skull, skin rippled across the jaws, & hair sprouted atop.  By the time the whole body came free, a naked woman lay, wide-eyed & afraid, covered in her own gore.

“Luca, the shirt!” Luca squeezed open one eye, saw the nude woman in a caul of blood, & weakly tossed the shirt to Summersbane, who clad the traumatized woman. Luca then closed his eyes again & gripped tighter to the tree, a vain attempt to banish reality. 

“I remember dying,” whispered the shocked revenant. “How am I alive again?”

“This is only temporary, I am sorry to say, mia signorina.”

“It was so cold, & I was so angry.”

“Indeed. You have been haunting this bridge, & it has progressed to the point where the Consiglio has asked me to remove you. So I ask you, what unfinished business do you have?”

Her eyes darted around the bridge, seeing it for the first time, before landing with surprise on—“Luca?”

Luca stirred from his fearful reverie. “Catalina? Però, I thought you were in Capri, with Giacomo.”

Luca looked down to see that the plant he clutched had grown small roots around his hands. He yelped, & pulled back, horrified to see several drops of blood where the thirsty roots had pricked his skin. The tree grew ever so slightly larger, & seemed somehow redder.  He set it down, & scooted it away with his fearful feet.

“Giacomo? Giacomo…he did this to me,” said the animated corpse of Catalina.

“You two know each other?,” asked Summersbane.

“She & I are old friends, we grew up next to each other…” Luca’s heart sank. “What did Giacomo do?”

“He murdered me, his hands around my throat. Quietly, like it was nothing…then his guard threw my body into the sea from, his yacht.”

“Dio…why?”

“I found out what he was doing with my family's money, I confronted him. He spent millions on Bitcoin & Russian fertilizer. He’s been dodging sanctions & enriching himself—all from our joint account. Cazzone.”

“Russians,” Summersbane muttered. 

Luca rose, fists clenched in anger, “And he killed you, the bastard!” The tree rustled, ever so slightly, at his feet.

Catalina looked to her old friend, then through him. “I died, but could not rest. The sea carried me here, it promised justice for what he had done. I prayed it would come. I screamed for vengeance, every night.” 

“You’re why the Consiglio asked me to get help, the reports of a wailing woman…I had no idea. Such evil cannot go unpunished!”

Summersbane looked at the two, & down to the god’s olive. These pleas for vengeance, the blood in the air, they stirred his undying heart. He smiled a Cheshire grin, all too big. A wrongness, deep & full, exuded from him in chilling waves. He turned to Catalina, & slid the first bell out again from his bandolier. 

“I ask you, Catalina, what will put your soul at rest?” He knew the answer, & craved it, but custom bound him to only act on command.

“I must kill Giacomo.” Catalina spoke loud, & true, granting Summersbane’s red wish.

The necromancer rang the bell, loud & true.

Catalina’s body slooshed into a pile of meat, rotting quickly on the ground; her spectre remained, now burning ochre with rage. The goat sniffed at the tree, & Luca fainted.

THUS ENDETH LIBRO II

THE SAGA CONTINUES IN LIBRO III: NIGHT IN CAPRI!

Blood! Bones! Vengeance! We hope our true-tale of necromancy continues to terrify, & entertain—three more chapters remain, coming each Monday! & I shall write ye again Wednesday, with news of this week’s live episode.

Thank ye to all who read our missives, to all who share these with others, & of course thank ye to those kindly folk who can & do send $5 monthly to support our works. Be safe, be well, & fear not—the goat is all right!

Cheers,
Amoenus Franco
Wizard, Editor, Sigil-Smith