Thief of Souls

by Emma L. Adams

  “Is it a punishment?” Now the kid sounded frightened. “For lawbreaking?”

  “No, it isn’t.” My punishment had ended when they took my memories, in theory. “It’s because I’m unqualified for a higher job. Look up my exam results and you’ll see why. So, if you ever wanted an incentive to study…”

  The colour drained from his face. “Oh.”

  As it turned out, having one’s short-term memory temporarily rendered useless does not help with retaining information, and the resulting chain reaction had ricocheted all the way through my entire school experience. Whole chunks were just… gone. I hadn’t been able to relearn years of education in mere weeks, and it took four years for my memory to return to functioning normally. By then, I’d had to drop out and take a cleaning job at the Order’s HQ, which involved vacuuming up far more werewolf hair than I’d have liked. Eventually, they’d decided they could make use of my thieving skills, and to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t sure I’d picked the better option.

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine.” I pushed the amulet across the desk. “Anyway, this is all I got from the thief.”

  “Is that a skull on it?” He held up the amulet under the light to examine the surface.

  “Looks that way,” I said. “It’s always skulls or occult symbols. Really, you’d think someone would try carving unicorns or flowers onto their amulets for a little variety.”

  He gave an uncertain laugh, his fingers clutching the amulet. “I’ll put this away.”

  As I left the room, I heard a mouse clicking and his attention became more focused on the screen. Probably watching porn or something. Whatever. We all did what we could to get through the day.

  Is it true that you killed an Order employee? That was a new one, and I thought I’d heard them all by now. The rumour mill spun on, even all these years later, and I could count on one hand the number of people who’d cared to hear my side of the story. My parents were not among them, though it wasn’t really their fault. Like anyone born into a non-magical family, I was only allowed to share certain details, and mentioning the Parallel to the non-magical was as frowned upon as shapeshifting in public. Dad thought I worked in an office and certainly didn’t know I stole from criminals more often than I saw a computer screen, and since he lived in Manchester, it was easier to keep up the ruse. Mum knew a little more, but she’d just got engaged to Elise when everything had blown up and I didn’t want to crash their wedding plans by casually bringing up the fact that I might have permanent brain damage from having two years of memories yanked out of me by the Order.

  In the end, the damage hadn’t been permanent. The after-effects were a different story.

  Once again, I climbed the stairs into the Order’s lobby. The two guys carrying the cage had gone, while Mrs Carlisle, head of the retrieval unit, stood in conversation with a harried-looking receptionist. I strode to the doors to avoid catching her gaze and walked out into the street.

  “Hey, Cartwright,” a voice called from behind me.

  I wheeled around. “Name’s Liv. Nobody calls one another by their last names anymore.”

  That habit alone told me he was one of my peers from the academy. He was tall, dark-haired, and decently good-looking, and I had absolutely no idea who he was. I prodded my memory to see if I could dredge up his face from the years I was missing, but I drew a blank.

  “I wondered if you wanted to head out and get a drink,” he said. “My shift just finished, and I’m guessing yours did, too.”

  “I’m a retriever.” Might as well get one of my shameful secrets out of the way early on.

  “I know,” he said. “I know you probably don’t remember me, but we knew one another at the academy. Wanna catch up?”

  On the one hand, I hated missing D&D night. On the other, I’d happily take another stint in the swamp to avoid talking to Brant again. The guy was cute. Why not go for it?

  One of these days I’ll learn to listen to my instincts.

  “Why,” I said, “do my dates always turn out to be trying to fuck around with my missing memories?”

  “Because you attract weirdos?” Devon hunched over the keyboard of her gaming PC, hammering away at the keys.

  “Thanks.” I sighed, kicking off my shoes and sinking my sore feet into the carpet.

  And it’d started so well, considering my low expectations. At least until I’d tried asking a few questions about how we’d known one another at the academy, which sparked a memory of him ambushing me a week after the mind-wipe and trying to convince me that we were dating. It might have been convincing if a dozen guys hadn’t tried the exact same thing. I couldn’t look him in the eye after I remembered, so I’d made my excuses and left for home.

  By now, the rest of our D&D group had departed, leaving a sea of takeout containers and crumbs behind. I’d missed all the fun, but I’d also missed another painful trip down memory lane with Brant, so I had that going for me.

  “There’s always Craig,” said Devon. “He was asking after you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You could replace me with a pair of boobs on a stick and he’d still flirt with it.”

  She cracked up laughing. “You’re not wrong. So, who’d you meet?”

  “Someone from the academy.” I pulled a face. “Took me too long to remember he was one of the dickheads who claimed we were dating after… you know.”

  “Dickhead,” she said. “Don’t let the bastards get you down.”

  “No, but I really didn’t need the reminder.” Following the mind-wipe, I’d spent so much time dodging guys out to take advantage of my vulnerable state that I’d eventually started dating one of them just to shut the rumours up. But if anything, capitulating had only encouraged the others. Nowadays, being a nerd was cool, at least in certain circles, and being quirky and different didn’t result in being treated like a pariah. Unless, that is, you crossed an invisible line and ended up in the category of ‘just plain weird’, as Devon put it, and to most people, magically induced amnesia was one of those lines.

  “Could be worse,” she said. “Carter asked me out.”

  “Carter?” I said. “He knows you’re not into romance, right?”

  Devon rarely noticed when people hit on her, but the last time a guy called her ‘quirky’, she’d hit him with a cantrip that made him smell of a sewer for a week. She’d once described her sexuality as “slightly less interested than in watching paint dry” and ranked romance even lower. She didn’t mind helping other people with their relationship drama, though, and if I ever needed a bucket of common sense in the face, I’d ask her opinion.

  “Supposedly.” She pulled a face. “He tried to do it in character. Like, his super suave dragonborn guy wanted to bone my sexy elf lady. Anyway, I told him no.”

  “Ugh. So is he out of the group?” I said. “If we’re restructuring, I’m all for giving Brant a lifelong ban as well.”

  “He didn’t even do anything,” she said. “And he’s not a regular member. He’s out of the Parallel on business with an Order-recognised permit. Just in case you were wondering if he’s here legally.”

  “What did he want with me, then?” I asked. “Did he say?”

  “He wanted to know what you stole for the Order today, for a start.”

  I sprawled on the sofa and put my feet up on the footrest. “I didn’t steal the amulet, I liberated it from the previous thief. The Order didn’t tell me who it used to belong to, so as far as I’m concerned, it’s off my hands.”

  “Did they give you another mission?” she queried.

  “No, thankfully.” I needed a weekend off for once. “I think it’ll be good for my health to avoid the swamp while the Death King’s people are riding around looking for trouble.”

  Despite my lucky escape, the presence of the four Elemental Soldiers and their leader had unnerved me, to say the least. Walking legends didn’t cross my path every day.

  “No kidding,” said Devon. “You saw all of them? All four?”
/>   “And their leader.” Most mages were loners by nature, but the Death King always hired one highly gifted elemental mage of each class to join his army, perhaps so nobody would accuse him of favouritism. I imagined he paid them well, since they were willing to ignore the fact that their employer was an undead despot. Despite its title, the Order of the Elements didn’t have many mages among its full-time staff, partly due to their disdain for authority, and partly due to the fact that to get proper training in magic, the Parallel was the place to go. After all, they could openly use their talents on the other side, even if they had to fight tooth and nail to stay alive on a daily basis.

  It was why I could understand why Brant had left, even if he’d screwed me over in the process. The Order acted surprised when most people with any real skill cut them loose and moved into the Parallel, but not everyone was cut out to comply with their rules. Devon could just about tolerate making custom spells for the Order’s employees, but the little power I had was locked out of my memories. I was lucky to still be able to use the nodes at all.

  Devon pushed away from the computer. “I’m gonna work on my new cantrip design. If you like, I can make one to give Brant itchy balls.”

  “Nah, he’s not worth wasting a perfectly good cantrip on.” I shifted into an upright position on the sofa as she crossed the room to the door leading into the shop at the front. Dark shadows streamed through the crack in the door, and a muffled thump sounded from behind it.

  Did someone break into our shop?

  The two of us exchanged glances. Then Devon reached into her pocket and snatched up a cantrip, while I rose to my feet and crept over to the door. Beyond, darkness flooded the shop. Even with my glasses, I couldn’t see anyone in the gloom ahead, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I let Devon take the lead and grabbed my coat from the hook, pulling a cantrip out of the pocket.

  Devon kicked the door open and strode into the shop. “Whoever’s in here, you have three seconds to speak up before I blow your face off.”

  My gaze skimmed the shadows at the room’s edges, catching sight of a flickering that shouldn’t be there.

  Phantom.

  I nudged Devon, indicating the shimmering patch of air in the corner. As insubstantial as dust, it was hard to spot with my poor eyesight, but the intruder definitely wasn’t human. Devon grabbed a tool from the desk and flung it at the intruder, but it sailed right through the beast’s transparent form.

  “Devon, you know they’re ghosts, right?” I flicked on my cantrip and light bloomed in my hands, illuminating the phantom’s shadowy outline.

  “It was a reflex.” She grabbed another tool as the phantom surged upright, bringing a rush of icy air that rattled the shelves. Cold tendrils of shadow oozed across the floor, but it cringed away from the light blooming from my hand.

  Nobody knew if phantoms had ever been human, but they were said to be remnants of the dark magic the spirit mages had unleashed during the elemental war. It shouldn’t be here, in a world where magic was barely existent. If not for the node on top of the shop, it would have disintegrated on the spot the instant it’d tried to cross over.

  Who sent that thing after us? Most likely, it’d hitched a ride when I’d hopped into the living room. No weapon could harm a spirit, nor any cantrips, but I’d prefer not to sign up a permanent third housemate, especially one who couldn’t pay rent. Not to mention if the Order caught us, we’d be the ones to face the backlash.

  I kept the light spell in front of my face, forcing the phantom back. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Devon sneaking past carrying an empty jar as though we were evacuating a spider, not a ghostly monster from the Death King’s own territory. Not ideal, but capturing the intruder was our only option if we didn’t want to let it wreak havoc around the shop all night.

  The phantom must have sensed Devon’s nerves, because it whooshed at her the instant the jar appeared, causing her to drop it. The jar clattered to a halt on the floor, and I scooped it up in my hands. “I’ll get it.”

  I held the jar in one hand, using the other to toss the light cantrip to Devon. She held the light out, driving the phantom backwards. As it came within range, I pounced. The jar slammed over the phantom’s ghostly form, which filled the glass like smoke or liquid. Devon thrust the lid into my hands, and I flipped the jar over and slammed the lid on, screwing it tight. Sorted.

  “Evil little shit,” I said. “Since when do those things know how to travel through the nodes?”

  I hadn’t thought using the node to transport myself directly into the shop would have side effects, but next time, I was sorely tempted to go straight into the Order’s headquarters, swamp water or none. If anyone deserved a phantom infestation, it was them.

  “What are you going to do with it?” asked Devon. “I’m not sleeping with that thing in my room.”

  I laid the jar down on a shelf near the back of the shop. “I’ll take it with me on my next trip to the other side.”

  3

  The following day, I woke early, half convinced the draught streaming through the door was the phantom, come to strangle me in my sleep. Then I woke up a little more and realised I’d left the window open. If not for Devon’s witnessing yesterday’s attack, I might have been convinced I’d dreamt it. Phantoms didn’t fit into this everyday world, where sleeping in a comfy bed and taking a warm shower weren’t rarer than gold.

  Silence filled the house. No phantoms—and no Brant, either. Devon wasn’t up yet, so I busied myself tidying the shop downstairs. I also stowed the phantom jar in the back room, making a mental note to take it back into the Parallel before Devon forgot it was occupied and tried to use it to store her dice in. It was the sort of thing she’d do. I vacuumed up the remnants of last night’s D&D game, silently mourning my absurd decision to go out drinking with a former classmate. I chalked that up to a temporary blip following the shock of seeing Brant on my doorstep. The guy had never paid social calls while we were dating, let alone showed up for gaming night. I was usually the one chasing him. Hence, our problem.

  As I was sweeping the shop floor, I caught sight of someone outside. Before I could figure out who, the person knocked on the door, then rang the doorbell. Twice. The twin yells of INCOMING woke up Devon—and probably our neighbours, too—so I had no excuse not to wrench open the door.

  Instead of Brant, I found myself facing Judith French, one of my peers from the Order. What was she doing here?

  “Oh, hello, Olivia,” she said.

  I plastered on a false smile. “You’re aware we’re not open until ten on weekends?”

  “I’m not here to buy anything,” she said. “May I come in?”

  “We already did the numbers this month.” I stepped aside to let her enter before she started reciting the Order’s rulebook at me. The Order required all kinds of paperwork for us to operate as we did, especially as Devon used so many restricted substances from the Parallel to make her cantrips. Every month, Devon and I had to hand in reports on exactly what she’d done with each of them. Filling out forms wasn’t her forte, so my main role was to double-check the figures before she turned them in.

  “That’s not what I’m here for.” She peered at the row of coins on the nearest shelf. “Illusion charms? Interesting. Shame she can’t make a memory spell, isn’t it?”

  Ha-bloody-ha. She knew perfectly well that when someone’s memories had been stripped by the Order, it’d take more than a cantrip to get them back. But that was Judith for you. She’d been the same way at the academy, and people like her could only remain civil for so long before the claws came out. Luckily, when you go from model student to full-time amnesiac while having the misfortune to still be stuck at school, you learn some coping mechanisms for dealing with the shitty bullies.

  “Isn’t it?” I said. “Shame they can’t change someone’s personality, either, but I guess some things are unfixable.”

  “The Order wants to see you,” she said, not noting my comment. “At their office.
Two hours ago, in fact.”

  “What do they want now?” I asked. “I already handed over the amulet they sent me to retrieve.”

  “You weren’t sent to retrieve an amulet,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  She repeated the words, slower, while I entertained the idea of ‘accidentally’ opening the phantom jar into her face. “That’s not what you were sent to find.”

  “How many thieves hiding in the wastelands are there?” I responded. “I didn’t know there was a contingent.”

  “Yes, you never were the sharpest knife in the drawer,” she said.

  Hilarious. “Oh, I don’t keep sharp knives in the drawer. I keep them in the back room with my machetes and tasers. Want to see?”

  I flashed her a smile, all teeth, and she paled a little. “The Order does want to see you. If I were you, I’d hurry up.”

  She turned around and left the shop, the door swinging shut behind her. She had to be joking. The Order wanted me to give the amulet back to the thieving bastard who’d stolen it? With the Death King and his soldiers on the prowl? In her dreams.

  Devon entered the shop behind me, wearing a Totoro onesie, with her hair standing up in all directions. “What was Judith Stick-Up-Her-Arse doing here?”

  “Telling me to go to the Order,” I said. “Apparently, I stole from the wrong thief. Or she’s screwing with me. One or the other.”

  “Hey, you might get another free trip into the Parallel,” she said.

  “I’d rather swim in the swamp than deal with more Order bullshit.” But what the hell. I’d already missed D&D night. It wasn’t as though my week could get any worse.

  Way to tempt fate there, Liv.