Lost Souls

by Chelsea Mueller

  Table of Contents

  Praise for the Soul Charmer Series

  Books by Chelsea Mueller

  Lost Souls

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Acknowledgements

  About Chelsea Mueller

  PRAISE FOR THE SOUL CHARMER SERIES

  “Do not miss, fantastic urban fantasy” - Lauren Dane, New York Times & USA Today Bestselling Author

  “Fantastic … I was really reminded of the early Kate Daniels books by Ilona Andrews” - Red Hot Books

  “Chelsea Mueller brings a new and exciting voice to the UF genre.” - Kelly Meding, acclaimed author of Stray Magic and the Dreg City series

  “Mueller explores an intriguing concept in a seedy, visceral setting that pops to life on the page.” - Publishers Weekly

  “A terrific world with an unlikely heroine, quiet and determined, with a pure heart and fiery will to protect her family … Definitely recommend!” ―Jeffe Kennedy, author of The Twelve Kingdoms and The Uncharted Realms

  “Gritty realism, pitch perfect characters and a heavy dose of red hot sex. What more could you ask for?” ―Shannon Mayer, author of the national bestselling Rylee Adamson Series

  Books By Chelsea Mueller

  Borrowed Souls

  Rogue Souls

  Lost Souls

  Lost Souls © 2019 Chelsea Mueller

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover Design: Patricia Schmitt at Picky Me Artist

  Formatting: Alyssa Garcia at Uplifting Designs

  Printed in the United States of America.

  First printing, 2019

  For Mandy, a total badass.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Callie Delgado needed to find her mom. She also needed to keep her brother sober. And learn everything she could from the Soul Charmer so she and her boyfriend could put Gem City behind them. But before she could do any of that, she needed to find Benton Dally.

  The Fall was the type of bar that reminded Callie of the person she never wanted to be. It was too small, too seedy, too familiar. The kind of joint where her shoes clung to the beer- and blood-battered floor.

  Outside the dive bar, Gem City shook with sharp storms cutting through the streets with icy winds and dry snowflakes. She took the three deep steps down and opened the door into The Fall. The sticky humidity of other people’s sweat slapped her. The crossfit gym down the street at least had the courtesy of propping open a door. These patrons didn’t want their activities monitored by anyone—in or out of the bar. Callie was banking on that bad attitude to make this trip quick.

  Benton Dally had rented a soul twelve days ago. He’d paid for seven days, the Soul Charmer’s max. Callie hadn’t pushed the extra soul into the man’s body, and she didn’t particularly care about his reasons for bulking up on souls. Lying to his boss, cheating on his wife, stealing cash from convenience stores, talking shit at the bar, whatever. As long as he paid the Soul Charmer for the wares and stuck to a single extra soul at a time, she gave no fucks. She had her own problems, and they wouldn’t be solved by some carte blanche sinning or blurred fingerprints compliments of a rented soul. Unfortunately, Benton bailed on the return process, and now Callie had to take it back. It was one of the less glamorous parts of her apprenticeship with the Soul Charmer. She was part repowoman, part stock assistant, and part backup magician. None of it was resumé filler, but at least she had a wad of twenties in her pocket now.

  A steady itch skewered deep between her shoulder blades. Eyes were on her. Digging, begging, assessing. Did they see the Charmer’s apprentice, the woman who had burned the competition, or a twenty-four year old woman with curves and a bad attitude? She hadn’t eaten anything solid in four days. Her head throbbed, her fingers ached, and her stomach continued to grind beneath the puddle of ginger ale she’d tossed back earlier.

  She spotted Benton at the bar. He wasn’t much older than Callie, but he wore his years. His cheekbones jutted out over hollowed apples. His blue plaid button-down was rumpled, untucked, and open over a stained white tee. Callie wouldn’t ask if the soul renting or the heroin habit came first, but even from a half dozen paces away she could tell he’d dabbled in both.

  Benton was the kind of asshole Callie had grown up with. He might not have gone to high school with her, but she knew the look. He hit the pharmacy at lunch break to buy booze. He talked to too many people. He’d be in a fight by the end of the night if he didn’t pass out inside this desolate bar. A knuckle dug in between her ribs. She could have been Benton if she hadn’t focused on school. If she hadn’t called CPS on her mom. If she’d let her shitty situation drown her. Her Chucks stuck to the floor. The mumbling music from the cheap overhead speakers was loud enough she couldn’t hear the crinkle of each step.

  Benton couldn’t hear it either.

  “You know what’s fucked, man?” Benton cradled a short glass of whiskey in one hand, but flung the other wide. The seats on either side of him at the bar were empty. She shot a knowing look at Johnny T. The bartender had been serving Callie booze since long before she had ID. She hadn’t done a soul collection in his bar before, but the nod he offered was passed with grim knowledge.

  Benton hadn’t noticed the bartender walking to the far end of the well. He hadn’t noticed Callie edging up behind him. Heat suffused her skin. She’d been collecting and renting souls for the Soul Charmer long enough to be familiar with the way her body warmed near people with a bonus soul wedged in their chest. Better than the people who’d rented and were flying solo these days. At least warm fingers didn’t stick to everything.

  “I’ve worked security at four other buildings.” Benton held up as many fingers. His nails were short and black. Whether from blood or dirt, Callie didn’t care to guess.

  She stood behind him and leaned forward to speak into his ear. Stale cigar stench clogged her nose. “You’ve worked jobs, but haven’t paid the Soul Charmer.”

  Benton surged closer to the bar. His whiskey sloshed over the lip of the glass and onto his fingers. He slammed his shoulder backward and shifted to face Callie. The wide, milky eyes and taut tendons in his neck eased. Idiot. He licked the spilled liquor from his fingers. “I have experience, but they still won’t even let me take their exam.”

  She gave two fucks about his ability to get a job. “That must suck. You owe the Charmer.”

  “What do you mean?”

  That’s not how this worked, and he knew it. “Cash or souls.”

  “I ain’t got anything on me.”

  “How are you paying for that Wild Turkey?”

  Benton shot scattered looks in either direction. “It just you?”

  It w
as, and normally she hated that. Her boyfriend Derek typically made these collection calls. He looked the part. Hulking and covered in leather and scars. She hid her wounds on the inside, and wielded dark eyeliner as war paint. Not exactly scary mofo material. Callie needed more from Benton than a simple rented soul, though, and that information need to be acquired alone.

  Callie sat on the barstool next to Benton. It sagged to the right, but she managed to keep her spine straight. When you’re five foot nothing keeping your head up counted for something. “Did you want to return the soul now or give me what’s in your wallet?”

  His huff of laughter carried derision she was too well acquainted with. She knew it better than he knew that whiskey. The flask in her back pocket thrummed against her hip. It was a way to hold souls, but it also spoke to the magic running through her veins. It was ready. Was she? Callie grabbed Benton’s wrist. Skin to skin. A single bonus soul wouldn’t make Callie go en fuego, but she was quickly learning how to turn up the heat.

  “Please, little girl.” Benton said derisively. He tried to yank his arm back.

  He couldn’t escape her grip, though, not with magic on her side.

  She focused on the flutter in her chest and the responding call within his. Callie pooled the magic in her palm. The heat, the energy. She let it coalesce between her palm and his wrist until he began to squirm. Expletives began to bubble from his lips. She let go.

  Benton cradled his reddened wrist to his chest. “What the—”

  “No. I ask the questions.”

  “You can take the soul,” he practically shouted. Johnny T shot her a look, and she shrugged back.

  “I was going to take it anyway.” How was this idiot her source of information? Dark times. “Have you seen Nate?”

  There. The reason she’d taken this retrieval instead of sending someone else for this delinquent renter. “Nate?”

  “Yes, lanky motherfucker. Talks a lot of shit. Slings narcotic treats. Nate.”

  “Ford’s dead.” Benton’s voice shook, and Callie understood.

  “I know that. I didn’t ask about Ford. I asked about his former number two guy. Nate. Have. You. Seen. Him?” She was running out of time. Both in this bar and for answers. Finding Nate was top priority right now, and each day he dodged her calls, the worse her world got.

  Benton scratched a phantom itch behind his ear.

  She wriggled her fingers close to his face. “Focus.”

  “No one’s seen Nate.” Benton paused and licked his cracked lips. “Corner guy near the cathedral on El Paseo got his stuff from him, though.”

  Callie leaned in. Before she could say anything, Benton added, “That’s really all I know. All the dealers are working directly for Nate right now, but word is no one has seen him. That’s all I know. Honest.”

  She believed him. Damn it. “Don’t tell anyone I asked, okay?”

  “Sure. What about the Charmer?”

  She’d almost forgotten about the late dues on the soul. Heat still tingled through her fingers and forearms, but she’d almost associated the discomfort with the heavy energy in the bar and the shimmering fear filling her core. For once, the Soul Charmer wasn’t the greatest of Callie’s worries.

  The missing henchman of a dead man prodded greater terror into her bones. Callie took the highball glass from Nate, and downed its remaining contents into two hard gulps.

  He opened his mouth to complain. Callie yanked the flask from her back pocket with smooth familiarity, popped the cap, and slapped it against Benton’s chest. A couple soft words of beckoning and the second soul slipped inside.

  A neon beer sign lit Benton’s face in unnatural orange, but the color was cooler now. The extraction hadn’t hurt—though she got the impression she could make it hurt if she better understood what she was doing. The guy leaned away from her anyway.

  This was the part she wasn’t so good at. She could handle collecting the soul. Flask, chest, boom, done. She could even now beckon the soul, and push one back into someone’s body. Collecting cash? There she was on less stable footing. She bit the inside of her cheek. What would Derek do?

  Demand the money. She was a third of his size, running on fumes, and worried about her own problems, but she had to get this done. She thrust an open hand toward Benton. “Wallet. Now.” Her cool tone sounded vicious. She was simply goddamn tired.

  It worked, though. He dropped his wallet into her waiting palm. She pulled out a trio of twenties. “Thought you were broke. Couldn’t get a job,” she muttered.

  “Pawned stuff,” was all he said, but she didn’t want the particulars anyway. Her brother had hawked their mom’s good china, her television, and a host of other possessions to enable his meth habit. A pang rose sharp up her sternum. Mom. Zara. No. She couldn’t think about her now.

  Callie caught Johnny T’s gaze, and dropped one of the twenties into his tip jar. She shoved the other two in her pocket. Forty bucks wasn’t exactly good money for collecting souls, but bringing something back to the Soul Charmer was always better than nothing.

  She hurried out of the bar before her bravado evaporated. She hopped over the ice collected in the center of the sidewalk outside. The uneven concrete had made a perfect pool to ruin her day. Inside her car, she cranked the engine and then the heater. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Please be Nate. Please be Nate, she thought. As much as she hated the guy, she needed him to call her back.

  It was Derek, though, which was infinitely better. She answered.

  “Hey,” the chill in her voice melted for him.

  “Hey, doll. What’s your ETA?”

  Callie glanced at the clock on the dash. It was already after eight, which meant sliding into peak time for the Soul Charmer’s emporium. By nine o’clock customers would be bustling in every few minutes to get their taste of carte blanche sinning and the freedom it afforded. “I got Benton’s soul back, but I wanted to make another stop.”

  She couldn’t say she’d gotten a lead on Nate. Not on the phone, but Derek could read her voice well. “I wish I could say that was a good idea. He’s upping wards for the back room here. If you aren’t back in ten, I expect he’s going to be a hot one.”

  Hot one. That was a nice way of saying she was going to have a ton of souls thrown her direction, and her arms were going to char like a winter log in a chiminea. She swore.

  “I’ll find us a way to get out to your next stop later tonight. I’d rather go with you.”

  She’d rather he went with her, too. “I’ll be there in ten.”

  “Thank you.” The affection and promise in those two words had Callie putting the car into Drive. He was worried about her. It was still weird to be okay with that, but for now she could let it ride.

  First she’d deal with the Soul Charmer, and then she’d work on finding Nate. Both would help her find her mom. The question was who could get her to Zara first.

  Whatever it took, she’d do it. Family came first.

  It always came first.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The dilapidated door at the Soul Charmer’s front entrance was recessed between the brick-and-adobe mishmash of the alleyway. Customers never complained about the jaunt from the street or the three burned-out light bulbs making the entrance dim. Maybe they were ashamed to be renting a soul. It’s not like they didn’t know what kind of morally corrupt thing they were going to do once another’s soul was popped into their body. You didn’t get to this place on accident.

  Callie certainly hadn’t. Mobster Ford had forced her into this very shop by taking her brother. Blackmail was bullshit. Callie shook off the memory, and entered the shop.

  A heavy shoulder crashed into Callie’s. She reeled to the right. Her knee met the corner of a table. She hissed, but before she could complain ice shot frigid and fast up her forearm. Her fingers froze in a wide “fuck, my knee” pain pose, but it was the biting beneath her skin that had her staggering back a few extra steps and not the inevitable bruise on her leg.

&n
bsp; “Sorry. Forgot about...” said Beck, another of the Soul Charmer’s collections guys. He backed up. The icy charge up her arm retreated with each retreating step Beck took. He continued, “Well, I forgot about that.”

  She wriggled feeling back into her fingers. “You drop off?”

  “Brought back the cash, and Genna.” He wasn’t meeting her gaze. She used to avoid his. He knew she could work soul magic now, and he didn’t bother hiding his fear. Score one for being scary.

  Callie nodded. She mentally flipped through the regular customers she’d met. Genna wasn’t tripping any memories for her. She hadn’t been at this long enough to be jaded about the clientele, but she had experienced enough frozen fingers to be irritated every time she discovered a person nearby had bartered with her boss in the past. Ripping that rented soul back out? No one mentioned it came with a smidge of the renter’s soul, too. Just her luck, her magic wanted her to feel it. Too little soul, and she was cold. Three or more souls, and flame on. She was the Goldilocks of souls, and fucking nothing was just right.

  “Callie?” a deep, familiar voice pulled her back into the moment.

  She turned toward the counter at the rear of the storefront. Derek filled the doorway to the back office. His head almost touched the top of the frame.

  “Present,” she said, and started toward him. Beck booked it out the door.

  Derek closed his eyes for a moment, and then offered a small smile. He grunted a thank you, low and steady. Callie had been dating him long enough to know that tone meant more than appreciation. He was tired, too, and worried, and he wouldn’t have called her here if it weren’t necessary. She took his hand in hers and squeezed. I know.

  “You got a lead?” Derek asked under his breath. He couldn’t dare say Nate’s name here.

  She wouldn’t risk saying anything. “Later.”

  His stiff nod was solid agreement. “Charmer’s in a mood.”