Summoning Quotes

“The salpinx is not simply an instrument of summoning. It is also an instrument of binding. Since you followed its sorrowful tones to my side, you are now bound to me like man is bound to treachery.”

Jeremiah Hobb”
― Frank Lambert, Cult of the Clan

“Tori joined us for dinner --in body, at least. She spent the meal practicing for a role in the next zombie movie, expressionless, methodically moving fork to mouth, sometimes even with food on it.”
― Kelley Armstrong, The Summoning

“The texts are unanimous on one point: the dead do not like being summoned back.”
― Claude Lecouteux, The Return of the Dead: Ghosts, Ancestors, and the Transparent Veil of the Pagan Mind

“Kethry had once described summoning as being “like balancing on a rooftree while screaming an epic poem in a foreign language at the top of your lungs.”
― Mercedes Lackey, The Oathbound

“Wake up, my guest /
You have slept long /
In the house of my ribs, /
The House of my heart /
Wake up now, /
See through my eyes, /
Walk with my feet, /
Yush, my old friend”
― Greg Keyes, The Blackgod

“Summoning my energy,
I silence my inner screaming.
Twirling amongst the sparks,
I lift the hem of my skirt,
welcoming raw air onto my skin.
Awakening my warrior spirit,
I grasp my sword firmly in one hand.

[Warrior Spirit]”
― Susan L. Marshall, Bare Spirit: The Selected Poems of Susan Marshall

“The dreams had returned, lifting her hopes, but when she was awake she heard nothing, only the rush and roar of the sea.
And so she decided to paint them, the women. As if to let them know that she was there. That she was ready. It would be the opposite of an exorcism. A summoning.”
― Emilia Hart, The Sirens

“ "Who taught you to raise the dead?"
"N-no one. I—I've never even met another necromancer before you." Not exactly true. I'd briefly met the ghost of one, but he hadn't been much help.
"Did the Edison Group give you books? Manuals?"
"J-Just a history book that I—I skimmed through a bit. Th-there wasn't anything on rituals."
A moment of silence as she studied me through the mirror. "You were trying to make a point, weren't you, Chloe?"
"Wh-what?"
"I said you couldn't raise the dead; you proved you could. You visualized returning a soul—"
"No!" my stutter fell away. "Returning a ghost to a rotting corpse to make a point? I'd never do that. I was doing exactly what you asked—trying to pull that spirit through. I was summoning. But if I do that with dead bodies around, I can raise the dead. That's what I tried to tell you."
She drove for a minute, the silence heavy. Then her gaze rose to the mirror again, meeting mine.
"You're telling me you can raise the dead simply by summoning?"
"Yes."
"My God," she whispered, staring at me. "What have they done?"
Hearing her words and seeing her expression, I knew Derek had been right last night. I'd just done something worse than raising the dead—I'd confirmed her worst fears about us.”
― Kelley Armstrong, The Reckoning

“He falls asleep believing he's been robbed, not knowing that the summoning of demons is almost always unwitting.”
― Dexter Palmer, The Dream of Perpetual Motion

“After writing an Our Father backward on a page in blood, "you should carve runes on a staff and go to the cemetery at midnight with these two things, and go to whatever tomb strikes your fancy. However, it would be more prudent to attack the smaller graves.
You should then place the staff on top of the grave and roll it back and forth while reciting the Our Father backward at the same time,
following how it is written on the page, as well as some magic spells that few people know, except for witches. During this time, the revenant will slowly rise from the tomb, because this is not something that takes place quickly, and revenants will be praying greatly and saying: "Let me (rest) in peace.

-Jón Árnason”
― Claude Lecouteux, The Return of the Dead: Ghosts, Ancestors, and the Transparent Veil of the Pagan Mind

“A fairy ring, it stated, is very much like a doorway, and in several cultures it is perfectly acceptable to knock. Though most American and American-antecedent ethnicities do not practice such summoning, some bargaining cultures did, or do, practice the art.
Alaine skimmed several photographs describing Sicilian stories of joining with fairies to battle witches and the Scottish worship of nature spirits, none of which seemed particularly relevant. She was growing frustrated at the author's apparent disregard for the separation between folktale and true practice when the chapter settled on a long description.
Recent research into English witch trials have revealed a connection between bargaining culture and some occult forms of practice in which fairies are ritualistically summoned. Though some equate the practice with the concept of a "witch's familiar"... Here Alaine began to skim again until the author found himself back on track. Interviewees from several small villages recall stories that those bold enough to enter a fairy ring could summon a fairy by placing a silver pin in the center of the ring, repeating an incantation such as "a pin to mark, a pin to bind, a pin to hail" (additional variants found in Appendix E), and circling the interior of ring three times. It remains, of course, impossible to test the veracity of such stories, but the consistency of the methodology across geographical regions is intriguing, down to the practice of carrying a small bunch or braid of mint into the ring.
Alaine shut the book on her finger, marking the spot. Impossible to rest, indeed. She opened the book again. It began a long ramble detailing various stories of summoning, but Alaine didn't need the repetition to know the method. A short footnote added that Mint appears to serve in the stories as both attractant and repellant for the fairy creatures, drawing them to the summoner but preventing from being taken unwilling into Fae, unlike tobacco and various types of sage, which are merely deterrents.”
― Rowenna Miller, The Fairy Bargains of Prospect Hill

“Jerod drew a ceremonial knife from his belt and sliced open his hand as he sprinkled blood on each of the nine circles around us. One by one, they burst into a slice of hellscape that began to melt the asphalt underneath. Tiny, clawed hands pried their way out of the cracked ground, red and black and gray hands that pulled ugly, devilish creatures out from below. Imps.
They cackled as they emerged, the sound of it sending chills down my back as I tried to stay near Gavin without being in his way.
"What in the ass crack of Satan are those doing here?" Gavin snapped as he punched another vampire in the face.
"Helping," Jerod said.
The imps themselves began to devour the meat we'd left out. They let blood and other juices dribble down their chins. They rubbed their horns in the offerings, smearing now-burned meat and bits on each other, eating the livers like they were delicacies and kicking around the rest of it. As they finally settled down, they turned one by one to face Jerod until he had a whole herd of imps at his feet, no higher than his waist. One imp stepped forward, glaring up at Jerod.
"You have one hour, warlock. Why have you summoned us here?" it asked with narrowed eyes. Its comrades bobbed their heads and gnashed their teeth and shook their fists. They were ready for his command.
Jerod simply flung his arms open wide, gesturing to the plaza around us. "My enemies are the vampires. Do what you can."
The lead imp broke out into a nasty grin. "Yes, warlock. We have a deal."
And they sprang into action. Imps leaped onto vampires, biting and clawing and in general causing mass confusion. The fae near us knew what was going on, but none of the rest of them did. Imps cackled and bit and clawed and threw handfuls of fire into the vampires. It was all very... efficient.”
― Sabrina Blackburry, Dirty Lying Dragons

“Sweet, tart, tangy soup. Slim strips of boiled cabbage. Carrot. Potato. Cubed and stewed. A single chunk of beef chuck, boiled so long it dissolved in the broth. Beet, cubed and blanched till its color faded to pink and dyed everything else in the pot maroon. Something zesty, below and above--- tomato paste? Pizza sauce? Oh, gross--- ketchup (?!!!) and a swirl of (blasphemy!) Miracle Whip. Borscht. With unorthodox trimmings.
"Who puts ketchup in borscht?" Kostya wondered aloud. "Or Miracle Whip?"
The petite brunette gasped.
"Babushka Fira! But how did you---" she began, though Kostya wasn't listening.
The kitchen seemed to go dim, everything muted but Viktor's face across the island, stunned surprise registered in his raised brows, a smirk.
"Now we're in business," Kostya said.”
― Daria Lavelle, Aftertaste