Jack's observations were quite correct. One does not summon an angel, one certainly doesn't attempt to bind one during that process. Angels answered willingly, and didn't typically threaten to tear their caller's souls from their bodies.

Unfamiliar as he was with the process of dreaming and mutable nature of dreams, Murmur hadn't yet surmised that anything was off. Indeed, reliving a memory was strange enough, but for a being ever on the precipice of slipping into a different form of time it wasn't so outlandish. This is normal, everything is proceeding as it should.

Copper and parsley as requested. He reached out a hand, notably clawed, and the items in her grasp went up in a puff of cold blue-white flame. The contract was bound.

"Your offering is accepted," He growled out. There was a chill with him, permeating and haunting. As though the dead themselves rose from their graves to observe their dealings. "I will teach you the art of thought, philosophy. Or, should you will it, I may command a spirit to answer your questions truthfully." Whichever this summoner so desired. For so long as he felt like putting up with it.