by LJ Swallow
He sounds as if he's trying to convince himself as much as me.
“So you believe I didn't kill a person?”
“The conversation we had. Afterwards, before you left, you said some weird things.”
“You don't believe what I said?” In a way, his disbelief is good, and it would make things easier.
Jack leans across the table. “Thing is, I didn't believe you at the time But then I thought about it and what I saw. Why would you tell me that shit if it wasn't true?”
“Because I'm mentally ill?”
The smile creeping across Jack's face calms my anxiety. “I don't think you are. But I am bloody confused.”
I stretch my hand out and touch Jack's warm fingers. He jolts for a moment, then curls his around mine. Where we touch, it's as if my hand melds into his or we're the same. We remain in a moment of strange calm in a fraught situation.
“Who are you?” he asks, his voice hoarse. “The dreams... seeing you last year. And the demons. Souls. What's the deal with souls? What was the demon doing to Kyle?”
I blink at his myriad of questions. What can I tell him? Anything? Or maybe everything. It's tempting, but my mind blanks. No, I came here to see Jack and tell the truth.
“I’ll tell you, but you will think I’m insane.” He nods expectantly and I sigh. Here goes nothing. “I have to collect souls trapped in demons and return them to my superiors. Save the souls.”
“Why?”
“Demons kill humans and steal their souls. I—we—know how to take souls back from the demons. We rescue them.”
Jack sinks back and stares into space, his I'm-thinking-about-weird-shit expression returning.
“Souls?” he asks eventually.
“The white cloud you saw. That was a soul.”
“A soul?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm.” He puffs air into his cheeks. I squirm, wishing he'd confirm or deny what he thinks of my sanity. “Why? Why do you do it?”
Involuntary tears prick the back of my eyes and, as Jack's face dips into a frown, I know he's noticed. He's still holding my hand and squeezes it.
“Do you want to or does someone force you to?”
“Sort of. It's my choice though. I can't explain.” I won't explain, I've said too much.
Jack rubs his cheek. “So you're not some kind of kick-ass, demon-hunting vigilante, saving the world?” There's an edge of amusement to his voice.
“Why? Would that make the situation better?”
The corner of Jack's mouth curls up. “Call it a teenage fantasy.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Well, I'm still fairly kick-ass.”
Around us, the ice-cold barrier melts and warmth seeps through. As the tension drains away, Jack's smile grows until his whole face is covered with happiness, beautiful brown eyes fixed on mine.
He sinks back in his seat again. “Crap, Dahlia.”
“What?”
“It's weird, but this doesn't bother me. You can tell me whatever. The only thing that does bother me is you're leaving again.”
My throat thickens. Why does he have to spoil this and drag me out of my happy Jack bubble?
“Why can you only stay for tonight?”
“I'm not supposed to leave Birmingham. If they realise I'm gone, I'll be in trouble. I should leave soon.”
“Oh.” The hurt tone is reflected in his downturned mouth and the shine in his eyes has gone. “That sucks.”
Jack will hate me for doing this to him, look how quickly things go from happy and comfortable to this. I pull my hand away. Coming here tonight was a huge mistake.
JACK
Dahlia stands and I catch the lemon scent from her hair as she does and my chest hurts at the thought she’s leaving again soon. I'm pissed off she came here and reawakened everything I've buried inside for four months, but I don't want her to go yet.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” she says, looking away from me.
I'm not the only one who watches Dahlia walk across the worn carpet towards the bathroom doors. Men at the bar, overweight and balding, appraise her figure in the same way I do. One of them winks at me, and anger seethes in the pit of my stomach at her being looked at as a piece of ass. But what's the point? She's not mine anyway. The door creaks as she walks through.
My fantasy world leapt out of my laptop and into my life. Ever since I saw the disintegrating thing on the ground, and Kyle told me about demon-eyed girls, I've tried to deny what I saw. I told Kyle he was drugged, which he didn't believe.
UFO conspiracies, vampires, angels, deities... so many people believe in this stuff, there must be a grain of truth in it somewhere. Maybe she's a highly trained secret agent in the demon hunting division. I snort at my own stupidity. Souls. The white stuff. Heh, maybe she's a magician, and I'm in some kind of reality TV show I don't know about. Pondering the possibilities, I sip my orange juice.
But the dreams. They mean something. They have to.
I lie back against the rough wall, tipping my head to study the tobacco-stained ceiling. What now? I can't remember the last time I cried, but the frustration pounding inside my head is also forcing tears; I can picture Kyle mocking me now.
The door creaks and Dahlia returns. She watches the carpet, not me, as she walks over.
“So are you going now?” I ask
“Only if you want me to.”
She hovers by the seat as if she doesn't know whether to stay or go. I haven't asked her my biggest question—whether she's human or not. When we kissed her skin, lips, curves... they were human. The memory stirs me, and I shift uncomfortably.
“So, there's no way you can stay around? Study at uni in between killing demons, I mean.” I slap my face. “Do you know how crazy that sounds?”
Her brown eyes sadden. “Yeah. I understand if you think I sound crazy.”
“I don't think you're crazy. And I don't want you to go yet. We could have another drink.” Or several, then the best outcome would be Dahlia staying with me for the night. Now I really am fantasising.
I glance around the pub. We're the only people left, and the barman leans across the bar towards us, balding head shining in the downlights. He points at the clock above him. “Pub's closing.”
Dahlia grabs her bag, and we leave. Outside I hesitate, not knowing which direction to walk. The dirty street is set away from the main road. The pub’s tucked between the street corner and the edge of a grassed area: sparse grass, people tread across with their dogs, a small green oasis amongst the back-to-back terraced houses.
“Are you leaving straight away for Birmingham? Not sure when the last train is...”
The expression on Dahlia's face kills my words. Widened brown eyes study me through the darkness, and I'm positive she's about to cry. Reaching out a finger, I touch her eyelashes to catch the spilling tear. My heart tears for Dahlia, and for the loneliness in her face.
“Dahlia...”
I pull her towards me, fiercely, wrapping my arms tightly around Dahlia’s tiny frame. How can this fragile girl take on demons? And why? She clearly doesn't want to. Dahlia's arms remain by her sides and every muscle is stiff. Her fragrant hair engulfs my face as I push my lips into the softness and say her name again. Freeing her trapped hands, Dahlia gently puts her arms around my waist and buries her face in my jacket.
The noise of passing traffic fades and a couple of giggling girls pass, heels clicking on the pavement. Giggling at us, probably. I don't know how long we stand, but I don't want drop my hold on Dahlia. She grips me tight; I'm pretty sure she doesn't want to let go either.
Eventually she unwinds her arms and tentatively touches my face, causing the familiar shock across my cheek. She traces her fingers to my mouth and smiles. I bend forward to kiss her, hoping this is what she wants; otherwise, I’m about to screw things up.
Dahlia kisses me eagerly, pulling my face to hers as if she's scared I'll change my mind. As if. She tastes of orange juice and sweetness as I run my tongue a
long her lip. Dahlia’s grip on my hair tightens, and she pushes her chest against mine. I groan and dip my tongue into her mouth, pressing her against me. Reaching around to tentatively touch her rear, I ready myself for rejection. Dahlia doesn't stop me, and I stumble, backing her against the wall. She holds my face and kisses me as if she never will again.
“Dahlia.” A low voice behind interrupts.
Dahlia drops my head and roughly pushes me away, stepping away from the wall and turning to a figure in the shadows nearby. Fear engulfs her face as a man approaches. He's as tall as I am with shaggy, brown curls and face like thunder.
“Why are you here, Dahlia?” demands the man.
She backs away and I reach a hand across her shoulders. Dahlia shrugs me off and turns. “Jack. Please go.”
“Why? Is this the person who makes you take the souls?” As if they couldn't widen any further, Dahlia's eyes suddenly do. The man steps forward, arm outstretched to Dahlia, and I duck between the pair.
A sneer crosses the man's face, and I grit my teeth. Arrogant and aggressive, my least favourite type of person. Not that I know what the hell I'm going to do, because I have no clue how to fight someone. I’ve never fought—unless you count stupid pretend fights with my mates. I don't even know how to make a fist properly and someone told me if you do it wrong, the punch would hurt you more than your victim. I pull myself tall; this man doesn't know any of that, if I pretend to be tough he might back off.
“You. You heard her. Fuck off.” He stands his ground, not coming nearer.
“Leave her alone.”
The man peers over my shoulder at Dahlia. “Really?” The mocking tone in his voice pisses me off as much as him swearing at me.
“I'm not going anywhere until you leave her alone.”
“Jack... don't. I'm going with him; it's fine.” The voice coming from Dahlia is tiny, her fear increasing my hatred of this man. “He's not going to hurt me.”
I don't believe her.
“Yeah, don't interfere, you stupid boy.”
Every ounce of my self-control is consumed. If he lays a finger on Dahlia, I swear... I don't know what I'll do. Probably end up pummelled into a heap, but I'm not standing by and doing nothing.
“You're irritating me now. Shift.” The man reaches a hand and pushes me to one side. I instantly step back between him and Dahlia.
“Oh for fuck's sake, you dumb bastard.” The man reaches out his hand and places a palm on my head. Next thing I know I'm slumped against a wall, a hundred metres away from Dahlia and the man, and what feels like a thousand volt shock coursing through my pounding head. What the fuck?
Through the pain, I focus on the two figures, but my jelly body won't move. Dahlia walks towards the man and he takes hold of her hand. As they walk towards the darkness of the grassed area, a bright white light flashes in the sky around them. The assault on my eyes is too much, and I wrap my hands around my aching head and bury my face into my knees. When I manage to open them again, both figures have disappeared.
Slumped in a corner outside the pub, looking like an inebriated student, I listen to blood pumping in my ears and try to keep up with this new shift in reality. Nobody can do that to a person just by touching their head. And people don't disappear into white lights.
If Dahlia ever comes back, she needs to tell me the truth. I'll believe anything she says now.
10
DAHLIA
The seat behind the heavy desk swings around as I walk into the room, and my chest tightens as if someone pushed the walls in around me. The room isn't small, but the bookcases and his huge desk impose, leaving little room for oxygen. Or so it feels. Darius faces me in his plush leather seat, and instead of the anger, I expect on his face, I see amusement. Not a smile, I've never seen him smile, but a mocking glint to his eyes.
“Ah, Dahlia. How many souls do you have for me?”
With trembling fingers, I retrieve the soul crystal from my pocket and set the gem on the table in front of him. The tall man cocks his head and reaches out his long fingers, and I fix my gaze on his black nail polish.
“Just the one?” He's faking surprise. He knows everything I did, course. Who else would've sent Ethan for me?
“I didn't have time to find the other demon. Ethan brought me back before...”
“Perhaps if you'd stayed where you were assigned, this wouldn't have happened.” He gestures to the chair opposite his desk and I sit, relieved to be off my trembling legs.
“I only left for a few hours...”
Protesting is pointless, but I have nothing else to say. The power Darius holds over the soul hunters is absolute, our lives at his whim and that of his governors, the Caelestia. I signed my name, pushed away my chance of a peaceful life as one of the Fated, and chose this path because I wanted freedom, to be able to make my own decisions.
I couldn't face the rest of my life in the Fated world, existing day to day, constrained by the role appointed me when I came of age. Instead, I snatched my chance of escape and agreed to be a soul hunter. As a soul hunter, if I collect enough lost souls, the Caelestia will grant me a life of free will.
I knew at the time I decided to take on the role of soul hunter, I was taking a risk, and death could be my fate. But even though this life is hard, I believe one day I can claim my Will and live in the Caelestia world. I have to believe this, or the last year and a half of struggling for survival as I collect souls is all for nothing.
I've seen glimpses of the Caelestia world; the impossibly bright, viridian landscapes and twisting metal spires thrusting into the sky, lit up by the sun. I could belong there, away from the dull darkness of the Fated world and the servitude.
Or I could die. And with each assignment, the possibility I won't return follows me.
Black hair spills across Darius's face as he leans forward, fixing his grey eyes on mine. Resting his elbows on the table, he places fingertips against his chin. “Did you intend to take a human soul?”
The tightening in my chest intensifies. “No.”
“So why return to the human?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?” A small noise escapes Darius's throat. “You have no intention to kill him?”
“No!” The word comes out too loudly and Darius frowns. “Sorry, I mean I don't want to hurt him.”
“What do you want from him?”
The conversation stumps me. I came here, expecting to be hauled up for my failings, fighting anxious nausea at the thought of punishment, but Darius talks to me as if I'm worth his time. This is beyond the brief meetings we have as an uninteresting and dispensable member of his troop. Sweat pools across my back—is there a wrong answer here?
“I don't know,” I say.
“You don't know much, do you, soul hunter? You do remember you're a soul hunter?”
I squeeze my lips together, unsure how to respond without sounding disrespectful. “Yes.”
“Why is a soul hunter interested in a human? Unless she wants his soul?”
An image of Jack's face flashes into my mind. “I promise you I don't want to harm him or take his soul. I know killing humans is a crime.”
“So what is your reason then?” Darius's studies me with darkening grey eyes. How can I answer when I have no real idea myself? “Tell me.”
“I dream about him.” As soon as I say the words, I cast my eyes to the floor, unsure of the reaction.
A burbling laugh rumbles in Darius's chest. “You dream about him? How very endearing.”
“No, before I met him. Before I even left the Fated...” I pause and look up.
“Adorable,” he sneers. “Twisted.”
I swallow hard and Darius taps his fingers on the desk. “This distraction does leave me with a dilemma, Dahlia.”
“Dilemma?”
“Whether to send you on any more missions.” A small manila folder lies in front of him and he flicks it open. “By my reckoning, you have two more souls to collect before yo
u gain your Will. But now I'm unsure you can manage that, what with you dropping focus, thanks to your infatuation.” He pauses for effect. “Maybe I should just return you to the Fated now, if you’ll fail anyway.”
The room constricts further and my breathing quickens. Too fast, I'm hyperventilating. If I stay in this room much longer, I’ll pass out. I can't return. Not after risking my life all these months.
I grasp at the chance slipping away. “I can! I’ll do it. I’ll collect the souls.”
Darius taps the file, the sound matching my heartbeat. “The demons causing the most problems are centring around where this human lives, which is a problem as you know from your time there last year. When we considered the situation last year, we removed you, but it appears their activities continue. I have sent other soul hunters since, of course, but they don't have the same knowledge of the human world as you. They didn't perform well and now the demons are gaining a bigger foothold. We're losing too many souls to them.
“Your ease at fitting in, and your skills as a hunter, makes you perfect to deal with this, and this obsession you have with the human is very inconvenient. We already had to take you out once because of the almost public killing of the demon, and now this latest transgression.”
Darius sits back in his chair and places his fingers beneath his chin. “I'm conflicted over whether to entrust you with the task and return you to the area.”
I sit on my trembling hands, relief flooding into my lungs with the air. Darius needs me and the expertise I never acknowledged I had. Hope surges—he might send me back. To Jack.
“I can help the other soul hunters?” I suggest.
“No. I don't want you introducing any other soul hunters to your... idiosyncrasies.”
Rising from his seat, Darius crosses around and sits on his desk opposite me. He reaches out and rests a cold palm against my forehead. Jerking away from his unexpected touch, a sharp pain follows as if he's slicing into my brain. I cry out and as he removes his hand, I push against my eyes, trying to stop the throbbing in my temples.
