I’m not a soldier, not a vigilante, not Iron Man. I’m a graduate student working an internship at the Sabinas paleontology museum. I’m a docent, which pays virtually nothing but is worth it in the time I get to spend with our fossils. I spend all day with giant creatures, but only the dead kind. At least the monsters I work with can’t hurt anybody anymore.
The knob on my door rattles softly, and I turn my head to watch. My neighbor, Bustamante, sometimes forgets which apartment is his when he comes home after a bender, so I assume it’s him. Usually he rattles the knob, fumbles with the lock, then realizes his mistake and goes away. I figure that’ll happen again tonight.
I’m wrong.
The knob turns slowly, and I can hear metal grinding. I jump up, alarmed, as the lock breaks and the door slams open. There’s a woman standing in the doorway, dressed all in black, and her face… I’ve seen her face before.
It’s the American.
“No,” I say, pointing at her like I can ward her off. “You’re dead!”
She strides into the room and kicks the door shut. “Yes, I am. And you…”
I grab my cross and St. Christopher medal and hold them out at her, and she stops. She tilts her head to the side, and puts her hands into her black hair.
“He’s innocent.”
She has the strangest look on her face, and I know that I’m about to die. I drop to my knees, hoping that she’s talking about me.
“Please,” I beg. “I didn’t help you, and I’m sorry, but I didn’t shoot you. I’m sorry. I should have helped, but it all happened so fast, and I’m a coward, and…”
“Shhh.”
The dead girl walks toward me slowly, and her heels don’t click on the floor. She’s a ghost. She has to be. In my panic, I start praying.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be…”
“Shut up!”
I close my mouth. She’s standing right in front of me. She smells like marigolds and sandalwood. Her hand — delicate, graceful, cold — cups my chin, and she stares into my eyes. I can’t look away.
“You have a clean soul,” she tells me. “I can’t kill you.”
“No. No, you can’t. Please, don’t kill me.”
I hear Bustamante clomping up the stairs, going to his apartment on the other side of the landing. She turns and listens, and her glittering eyes narrow. She turns back to me.
“You and I have things to discuss, but first I have business to attend to. Don’t leave.”
“I…”
The first thing I plan on doing is running away, and she seems to know this. She looks at me again, then grabs the bed sheet from my couch. Moving faster than I can follow, she twists that sheet into a rope and binds my wrists together. She drags me into the bedroom and ties the other end of the sheet to the bar in my closet. I try to struggle, but she’s so much stronger than me, and I’m too terrified to be coordinated.
I end up kneeling in the closet with my hands over my head. She grabs my chin in her hand and says, “Don’t leave.”
“How can I now?”
One corner of her scarlet lips curls up into a smirk.
“Be a good boy, Marco.”
She’s not a ghost. She’s a demon, and she’s here to punish me for failing to help. I know it.
“How do you know my name?”
When she speaks again, her voice is different, almost reedy and hissing. “I know a great many things.” She lets go of me and turns away, but she pauses to close the bedroom door. As she does so, she smiles at me, and suddenly her face is painted like La Catrina, and I know I’m going to die.
She leaves me in the dark, and all I can do is pray that God forgives me for my sins.
Catrina
“What the hell was that all about?” I ask, irate enough that I’m speaking aloud to my telepathic parasite.
The demon laughs. ~It was a test to see if you could recognize the good souls from the bad. You passed.~
Why did you tie him up?
~Because the energy from a good soul is delicious. Much sweeter than the damned.~
We’re not going to eat that man.
~Why? He’s attractive.~
That was hardly the point. Yes, he’s a good-looking guy, but that’s not a reason to destroy him the way I did the man on the stoop. I was sent to be Santa Muerte’s vengeance. There’s no justice in killing the innocent.
The man across the hall, though… that’s another thing all together.
From where I stand, I can see the darkness of his soul, and he’s not even in view. I can see the blacklight of his pulse through the wood of his door, and I know. I know that he’s the one.
It’s a simple thing to knock his door off its hinges. He’s standing in the kitchen with a frozen dinner in his hand, and when I burst in, he drops it and spins to face me. The frozen food hits the floor like a brick, and the bang is loud in the room. He’s silent, his eyes wide.
I know his face. I saw it on the other end of a gun.
“Hello, Juanito,” I say, walking toward him. I’m not trying to be sexy, I swear I’m not, but my hips are swinging and I’m sashaying like a runway model. The demon is driving.
“You… you’re…”
“Dead? Yes. I am.”
He backs up, but he doesn’t have far to go. I corner him in the little kitchen and kick the frozen dinner out of the way. His back is up against the wall, and he’s reaching for a butcher block. I shove it out of his way.
“No. No knives,” I tell him. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
The demon flexes something inside me, and I feel a wave of power roll toward him. He stops panicking and stares at me like a hungry dog stares at a steak. Bustamante reaches down and palms himself.
I look at his hand and the bulge he’s rubbing. He’s got a big cock, and it’s pushing against the front of his trousers. I step closer and put my hand over his.
“Don’t you want me to do that?”
Up close like this, I can smell sulfur on his breath. His soul is already damned and burning, and he doesn’t even know it. His spirit is as black as the night sky outside, and I have never wanted to hurt anyone as badly as I want to hurt him.
He doesn’t answer my question, but he pulls his hand away, using the other to press my palm against him. I cooperate, rubbing him until he’s straining. Our eyes are locked, and I make a realization.
I don’t have to fuck these men to kill them.
Delighted with my breakthrough, I put my hand on his throat and squeeze. His eyes bulge, but he seems to think I’m just being kinky, because he smiles. I lean in and kiss him, but once his mouth is open and his tongue is extending, I shove past the demon, activate my new powers, and suck out his life force. He tastes like burned apples.
It takes less than a minute to pull all of his vitality away, and I drop his corpse onto the floor to rot. This time, there’s no soul trying to escape its fate, and no demons from the pit coming to claim it. A black wisp silently sinks down through the floor until it’s out of sight.
~Well done.~
I don’t have to kill the men I have sex with, and I don’t have to have sex with the men I kill. Correct?
~Correct.~
And the life force of men will give me life.
~Yes.~
So where does the life force go?
The demon chuckles. ~You use half of it, and half of it comes to me.~
What do I use the half of it for?
~You need it to maintain your power, silly child. Your ability to ensnare wicked souls is fed by the life force you take from them.~
I’ve just killed and eaten two men. Why am I still hungry?
~Because their energy was dark. It’s not, shall we say, nutritious. It will keep you going, but it won’t fuel you properly. You need light energy, the life force of the good, to give you full strength.~
Do I need to kill them?
It sounds bemused. ~That’s up to you.~
This is ghoulish.
~And yet you’ve taken to it like a duck to water. Admit it. You’re pleased with what you’ve been given.~
I don’t want to answer. Instead, I go back to the apartment across the hall. I march into the bedroom, and he’s still there, kneeling, right where I left him. The living me would never have contemplated doing the things I’m considering now, but he looks so helpless and his soul smells so sweet and unsullied. The temptation is almost too great.
But I’m not going to use him like a sex slave, no matter how appealing that thought might be. I’m going to kidnap him instead.
He looks up at me with hazel eyes rimmed with eyelashes that most women would kill for. “Please don’t kill me,” he begs.
“I don’t want to kill you,” I tell him. “Do you have a car?”
He nods.
“Good.”
I untie the sheet from the closet bar and haul him to his feet. He stands immediately, his eyes slightly widened again. His life force, unstained as it is, throbs at me, and I want to take a bite. He’s lucky he’s cute and delicious, because I like braver men. But honestly, I can’t blame him too much. I know, courtesy of my parasite, that he watched me die this morning. Seeing me now would undo almost anyone’s fortitude.
I still don’t know how Steven will react to seeing me, but I’m going to find out.
“Come on, Marco,” I tell him. “We’re leaving.”
His wrists are still bound, but he obeys me anyway. I take the keys away from him and haul him after me. I can’t lock his door, but that’s all right; he didn’t have anything worth stealing, anyway.
I hear myself and almost stop in my tracks. This isn’t who I am.
~You aren’t that person anymore. You are changed now. No more Marisol. Only Catrina, the one who straddles the line between life and death.~
And what are you?
Again, it chuckles, and I’m starting to loathe that sound. ~Think of me as your guardian demon.~
Great. That’s all I need.
We get down to the street level, where Marco’s green sedan is parked on the street. It’s old and shabby, but it’ll do. I deposit him in the passenger seat and slide behind the wheel. He’s watching me with saucered eyes.
“Where are you taking me?”
I smile grimly. “To my grandmother’s house.”
“To your… what?”
“Don’t be dim. You heard me.”
“Why?”
I pull out into traffic. “Because that’s where I’m staying, silly.”
For the first time since my second life began, I sound like myself, and I feel almost like myself again. The knowledge that my grandmother is dead, and that she traded her existence for mine, makes me tear up, and this time there’s moisture. I guess I’ve got enough life in me now for that.
Marco is looking at me closely. “I saw you die, but here you are.”
“Yes.”
“What… How…?”
“I’m only up to explaining this one, so it’ll have to wait until I get back to the house. My fiance is waiting for me there, and I need to see him. I need to tell him what happened, and what has to happen now.”
Marco nods, then turns to face forward. He’s thinking hard about something. “Are you a demon?” he asks finally.
“I’m… something. I have a demon inside me.”
“Are you here to get revenge for your death?”
“Partially. Seriously, Marco, I don’t want to talk about it yet.”
He flinches and falls silent. Poor guy. He’s terrified of me.
We drive in silence, passing through Sabinas and onto the road to Maria Josefa’s house. I hope that Steven is there. I need to see him. It occurs to me that he might not be as eager to see me. He might be just as afraid of me as Marco is. I can imagine the look of horror in his eyes, and it breaks my heart. I don’t want to be alive if I can’t be with Steven.
Another consideration occurs to me. Can I survive with just Steven’s contributions to keep me going? Will I wear him out and kill him by taking too much? I don’t want to love him to death.
~So take more than one. You have two now.~
What are you… you mean Marco?
~His life force is strong and untainted. It will sustain you well. Find a third, and you and they will all survive.~
I don’t know how keen Steven is going to be about that.
~He will be more open to it than you think.~
I glare, my anger flashing. Marco glances at me nervously. You don’t know the first thing about Steven, I tell the demon. You don’t know how he’s going to react.
~Perhaps I don’t know him, but I know that Santa Muerte talked to him, and he will be expecting you… and he knows that he will have to share.~
Wait, he knows? Steven knows I’ve come back?
~He was told that it was possible.~
I can’t even imagine my practical, real-world, pragmatic man speaking to Santa Muerte and believing she was real. It must have taken a big display of power to convince him.
~He was prepared to accept the truth,~ the demon said smugly.
Were you there?
~I was nearby. Watching.~
“Why are you so angry?” Marco asks, and his voice startles me out of my internal conversation.
“Why shouldn’t I be? I was murdered this morning.”
“Did you kill Bustamante?”
“Yes.”
He fidgets, and it’s like he doesn’t know how or where to hold his bound wrists. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No.”
Marco breathes a sigh of relief, and I smile. He was obviously very worried about that.
“How many more people are you going to kill?”
I don’t know the answer to that question. I got the man who killed me, and that satisfied me. But Santa Muerte brought me back for a purpose that extends beyond my personal concerns. She has plans for me.
I just wish I knew what they were.
Steven
The ambulance carrying Maria Josefa has left, and the cops have done their thing in the house, taking photographs and whatnot. It was a natural death, as the medical examiner on the scene declared, so they’re not treating the house as a crime scene. That means I can stay here, a stranger surrounded by the mementoes of a family I almost but not quite joined. I’ve never felt so empty.
Inspector Salamone stayed behind, and he’s watching me with open compassion, which is both soothing and annoying. I don’t want his pity, but I’m glad I’m not alone. I sit on the couch, and the lights in the candles to Santa Muerte are still flickering. My new tattoo — or whatever it is — still burns, and I’m too afraid to blow the candles out.
The cop sits beside me, and I wonder what he’s doing. He sighs and starts to speak in a careful voice.
“I can’t pretend to know everything you’re feeling. I’m not going to insult you with platitudes or tell you that it gets better. It does, but not by much. I’m just going to tell you that the best revenge on the people who took your love is to keep living.”
“The best revenge is to find them and put a bullet between their eyes,” I counter.
I expect him to argue with me, but he chuckles. “That, too.” He thinks for a moment, then pulls his pistol out of his shoulder holster and hands it to me. “I don’t have an extra clip, but there are six bullets in there. Make them count, and promise me that you won’t use any of them on yourself.”
This isn’t going at all how I expected. I look at him in surprise, but by God, I take the gun.
“Are you serious?”
He nods and stands. “Sometimes a man has to do what a man has to do.” He offers me his hand. “My name is Elian, and my card is on the table. My home phone number is on the back. Call me if you decide you need a partner. I’m sick of these people, and I’m going to do what it takes to get rid of them.”
“Do you know who they are?” I jump to my feet. “Do you know who shot her?”
His face is grim a
s he nods. “The Rojas Cartel. They’re a small outfit, local, but trying to make inroads with the bigger players on the costs and in Ciudad Juarez. They’re garbage. I don’t even think of them as human. They’re monsters, preying on the weak and the vulnerable.”
“And if I asked you, would you help me?”
Elian looks into my eyes. We’re the same height, and though his face is rounder than mine, I feel like in this moment we’re almost the same man. “Yes.”
“Then help me. Now.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted by the sound of tires crunching in the driveway. I go to the window and pull back the heavy curtains. A vehicle is parked there, the headlights shining directly on the house so that all I see are the high beams and the shadow of the car. The lights go off, and then there’s nothing but darkness. A car door slams, and then there’s silence, right until the door to the house opens, and I nearly lose my shit.
It’s Marisol.
She stands there in the doorway, dressed in the sexiest outfit I’ve ever seen her wear, her black hair tumbling free. She smiles and cants her head.
“Miss me?”
I hear Elian gasp. The candles on the altar flare, but I barely notice. All I can see is her, alive, beautiful, and sounding like herself. I run to her and crush her in my arms, and she embraces me just as tightly. I’m sobbing with relief, and I think she’s crying. She’s solid and she’s real, but she feels cold.
“Mari,” I whisper into her ear, my breath stirring her hair. She cups the back of my head and holds me close.
“Oh my God,” I say. “Oh, my God.”
“Not God,” she tells me, her voice low. “Santa Muerte.”
Her hand goes to the spot where the word Recuerdo is now burned into my skin, and she pulls back. Our eyes meet, and there’s something else there, a flicker of a look that doesn’t belong to my Marisol.
The words of Santa Muerte come back to me. She comes with a special calling and a special burden.
“You’re different,” I tell her, stating the painfully obvious.
She smirks. “Well…I’m dead. But not. I’ll explain. In the meantime…” She turns to the cop, and it looks like she’s listening to something. “Hello, Elian.”
Wicked Souls: A Limited Edition Reverse Harem Romance Collection Page 78
