Tortured Souls (Broken Souls Book 2)

by Richard Hein

  “Uh, no. Yours is past expiration date at this point.”

  At this point I would need another soul-destroying job to support my main job. I turned to go, thoughts a jumbled mess.

  Kate snatched at my hand, warm and firm as she stopped me.

  “Whatever you might think,” she said, blue eyes meeting my gaze, “you’re not allowed to get it in your head you have to do this all alone. Daniel might not be here all the time to help, but I am. Don’t do that stupid thing where you pile it all up on your shoulders and push everyone else away. I need you to be here for me while I adjust to this new life.”

  I’d say she knew me well, but the truth was I was just a creature of habit. Arguing would have been too much effort at that point. I plastered my face with my best impression of a smile and gave a nod, pulling my hand free of hers.

  “Sure thing,” I said, with much more cheerfulness than I felt. “Partners. I have to say you’ve been doing a good job since throwing into this officially.”

  “Well, I had a good teacher.”

  I felt my cheeks color. “I try.”

  Kate snickered. “You?” Her smile was radiant. “I meant myself. I’m just naturally gifted.”

  She slid from the desk. Without another word she vanished from my office, leaving me blessedly alone with just my own thoughts for the first time that day. Even Sanctuary made itself absent.

  She was good at the job, I had to admit. Better than I had been when I joined. She’d taken to things with a fanatical devotion, right down to cutting her hair so it wouldn’t be a liability in a fight. Maybe she’d gone all-in as a coping mechanism, or maybe she was just naturally gifted. Kate was solid though.

  It made me wonder if she’d kill me if she ever found out about the demon lurking in my head.

  I wasn’t sure I even cared at this point. I left my office, the silent weight of all the dead pressing in as I ventured through the preternaturally silent halls.

  Chapter 3

  Stepping between one universe and the next was as simple as walking through a door. Between beats of my heart I moved from the little pocket reality that protruded into our own and found myself back on Earth in a too-clean steel warehouse. I flicked the door closed behind me. Not that it mattered much — anyone that hadn’t had their soul bound to Sanctuary would have seen the rear exit of the building, rather than a yawning portal to another realm.

  My heart quickened, that silvery jolt of adrenaline thrumming through my veins like it did every time I set foot in this building now. My footsteps echoed as I walked across the concrete floor, my eyes trying to see nothing yet remembering everything.

  When Daniel and I had first arrived here after loosing the Archangel Michael on Sanctuary, it had looked like someone had painted most everything with thick, congealed blood. I wasn’t sure how many people had died in here. It hadn’t been possible to tell. For the first week I’d stayed away. My mind had felt like the old console television I’d had as a kid with the v-hold slipping, grainy pictures sliding by as the enormity of the situation overloaded the remains of my mind.

  They’d died because of me, and that meant it was my problem. It was little wonder I wasn’t sleeping much any more.

  The smell of bleach still lingered as I passed through. I’d been desperate to see if the portal between worlds could move so I would never need to set foot in this place again, but Sanctuary had explained it was complicated and the short answer was ‘no’. That, I was sure, was a lie — or at least not a full truth. There was no way Sanctuary, who had offered its dying dream as a place of refuge to the Ordo, had been in Seattle one hundred and fifty years.

  Once, the OFC would have had a handful of guards on duty, armed with both magical and mundane weapons. There would have been interns manning the bank of old Bakelite phones, taking messages from all over the world about EDE activity or from our agents in the field. Now it lay empty, and the silence was accusing. The skin between my shoulders crawled.

  Cold winter air whipped around me as I stepped out into the night, the salt water smell of the Puget Sound mingling with the smells of nearby industry. Greasy air pollution used to be a smell I associated with coming home to the OFC after a mission.

  Now I hated it all.

  I stuffed my hands into my pockets and strode toward my car.

  “Chancellor Walker?”

  I jumped, twisted, and swore at the unexpected voice. At the edge of the building stood a kid, maybe sixteen. He wore a nice button-up black shirt, matching slacks, and a striking powder blue tie, held with an old-school clasp at his chest. His hair was meticulous, in the style reserved for middle managers. I associated his look with my monotonous time in office work. He broke into a grin as I started.

  Chancellor Walker? No one used the full title. Hell, most of us had barely remembered it. It had always just been ‘Christina’ or ‘The Boss’ — the latter of which she hated. Now that I’d assumed the mantle I guess that was my official title, but given there were only two full members living and one over-eager intern, it wasn’t like it mattered much.

  The kid didn’t look dangerous, but there was always the chance he was possessed. Or it was an EDE from one of the infinite alternate realities, one that housed denizens that looked like a human but could eat trucks like a bowl of Wheaties. There was always a chance it was just a random person with a mundane weapon.

  I watched the kid for a second. He watched me back with the same wary scrutiny.

  “Nice suit, Alex P. Keaton,” I said.

  His brows rose. “I’m sorry?”

  With a sigh, I rolled a hand in the air, urging him on. “Okay. I’ll bite. I’m Walker.”

  The kid’s hand whipped up, and I started again, bringing my hands up in a defensive pose.

  He smirked and held out an envelope. I flushed, muttered something about asshole kids born to asshole parents, and stared at him. The kid shook it when I didn’t take it.

  “It’s for you,” he said.

  “Well, I hope so. Having me open someone else’s mail is a felony. What is it?”

  “An invitation. I am to deliver it to your hand.”

  I folded my arms. The wind picked up, slicing cold cutting through my jacket. I did my best not to shiver. “Someone sent you to play mail boy and deliver it here, and to call me by that title? Do you even know where here is, kid? Or who I am?”

  The newcomer let his arm drop and tapped the envelope against one thigh. “Your office. Samuel Walker.”

  I grunted.

  “Also the anchor point between this reality and the demi-universe of Sanctuary. And you’re the head honcho here.”

  I swore.

  Someone knowing who I was and what this building meant could only be bad news.

  “I need answers right about now, kid,” I growled. “Who the hell are you and who sent you?”

  “Alvin,” the kid said, lips pressing into a thin, annoyed line. “The name is Alvin, Sammy. And reading this will give you some answers. You going to take this or not? It’s cold as a witch’s tit in a cast iron bra out here.”

  I grabbed the letter. It was a deep emerald in color and sealed with a little dollop of red wax. I checked both sides. It was devoid of any writing. Keeping one eye on Alvin, I popped the blank seal and ripped it open. On sudden instinct I tipped the envelope and shook it.

  “If you’re looking for money, my gran puts that in my birthday card,” Alvin said.

  “Beware of Greeks bearing gifts,” I quoted.

  Inside I found a folded single sheet of heavy-stock paper. Flipping it open with one finger, my eyes scanned the neat penmanship flowing across the page.

  Chancellor Samuel Walker of the Ordo Felix Culpa,

  You are invited with all honor befitting your position to the home of Norman Lockyer, friend of the OFC, tomorrow at the stroke of six in the evening. Prompt. No formal attire required.

  The card had no signature, simply an address on Mercer Island. I grunted. Whoever this Norman Lockyer
was, he had money, given where he lived. He knew who I was, that I was running the show here, and at least knew of the OFC. Curious. I stuffed the letter back in the envelope.

  “Who is Norman Lockyer?” I growled. Poorly. It’s hard to be menacing on a frigid Seattle night while shivering. “What’s this all about?”

  Alvin gave a shrug that could only be managed by a bored teenager. “My boss, for one. I don't know what he wants with you. A letter given, and a letter delivered.” He gave a bow that felt mocking, one arm sweeping out wide, opposite foot sliding back a step. “Letter delivered. I’m out.”

  “No, seriously,” I snapped. “This isn’t a game, Alvin. You shouldn’t know about this place, and sure as shit whoever this Norman Lockyer, is he shouldn’t know about who I am.” I took a step forward, face hardening to stone.

  You shouldn’t have to play games with the kid, Lauren said, a whisper just audible above the swirling wind. You’ve gone through way too much shit to deal with that. You’ve fought too many horrors to be disrespected by a child. Just get to the point and—

  Huh, I thought, cutting Lauren off, it turns out there is something more annoying than a teenager.

  Lauren quieted.

  Alvin stuffed his hands into the pocket of his slacks and gave me a wry smile.

  “Man, don’t shoot the messenger,” he said. “I just know what I’ve been told. You fight the bad shit from outside our reality, and I was given an invitation to hand-deliver to you. Been sitting out here freezing my balls off for the last two hours. You too important to just say ‘thank you’?” When I didn’t answer, he shrugged. Shoulders hunched against the cold, Alvin turned and strode away, cutting across the parking lot.

  I stood, wind gnawing at me. I heard the hum of traffic, but it was an indistinct haze. My gaze flicked down to the letter in my hand. Norman Lockyer, supposed friend to the Ordo? We had friends? Some guy that knows what we do — and, moreover, is aware that I’m in charge now, which isn’t filed under the Yellow Pages. Only Kate, Daniel and I should know about that.

  For a moment, I considered going, just to glean some useful info. Instead, I tossed the paper away into the darkness with a disgusted sound. I knew from experience nothing good would come of such things. I needed to keep my head down, figure out a way to build up our forces, pay them, eat, and get rid of my unwanted head guest. Doing house calls that didn’t also involve kicking demon ass wasn’t on the agenda. I stuffed my hands into my jacket pockets and got into my car.

  Out in the night, just at the edge of the light spewed by the single parking lamp, the envelope rested. It shuddered in the breeze for a moment and lay still. Crap. Could I afford to ignore it? If someone out there knew about the OFC and its current state, wasn’t that something I should look into as Chancellor? I could just imagine what Daniel would say.

  “Blah blah blah duty,” I said, breath frosting inside my car. “Blah blah blah obligation.”

  It had to be a trap. Definitely a trap.

  With trepidation, I crawled from my car, snatched up the letter and stuffed it into a pocket. Slipping back into my vehicle, my thoughts were racing.

  I didn’t like the way any of this felt.

  Chapter 4

  The restaurant had far too much Earth-tone for my taste. Brick walls, monotone wood ceiling, architectural accents of yet more wood. It had a hole-in-the-wall pub feeling while being an expensive place for people in flannel and beards.

  I hope the architect died in a monocolor accident of some sort, I thought.

  Still, Stefan and Dieter were buying, and it wasn’t as if the stores of food at Sanctuary were the land of milk and honey. It was a short walk from Pike Place Market and their shop and I had a few hours to kill before following up on the enigmatic note from the night before. So I’d swallowed my anxiety at meeting with them in exchange for a meal. With Kate and Daniel gone down to Oregon for a day trip of monster-slaying, it left me free to sniff around for that promised paycheck, hoping to buy name brand anything ever again.

  The hostess led the way between a plethora of nicked and worn wood tables, the gentle din of lunch conversation filling the air. I spied the Twins right as they saw me. Stefan turned and waved like an enthusiastic kid. Dieter rose, straightened his jacket and tie, and waited for me to arrive.

  “Rocky,” I said, nodding at Stefan and dropping into a seat. My gaze switched to Dieter. “Bullwinkle. I can’t recall the last time I saw you two outside the shop.”

  Dieter took his seat to my left with Stefan to my right.

  Dieter’s smile was professional. “It’s good etiquette to discuss business over a meal, Samuel. Besides, it’s been half a year since we’ve seen you.”

  I shrugged. There was a good reason for my absence. Dieter could do a supernatural peeping Tom routine and tell if someone was possessed. While that required physical contact to work, I wasn’t sure how sensitive Dieter might be. The last thing I wanted was for its supernatural radar screaming when I was nearby.

  Besides, the Twins never really sat right with me. They were possessed humans, people who had demons riding shotgun for so long there likely was no way to separate them now. Under Christina, the OFC had tolerated a few cases. Only humans using magic earned an immediate death sentence, but certain Entities had fallen into a mild sense of trust. Dieter and Stefan. Hell, I’d even worked with the Archangel Michael back when I’d been on the clock.

  Before he’d tried to murder everyone I’d known. And succeeded.

  It had only been when Lauren had flirted with the idea that there had to be something out there in all those infinite realities that was good and altruistic. If God existed and was assumed to be good, didn’t that mean there was a dimension where Santa Claus ruled from a throne of wrapped presents, dispensing happiness to all?

  I’d had to kill her for those musings.

  “Free food is free food, even if it comes with a hook,” I said, snatching up a menu, my eyes going to the most expensive stuff.

  “This one is personal.” Stefan folded its hands on the table and peered at me over the menu. I hefted it higher.

  “Ah, now.” Dieter frowned. “No talk of business before the meal arrives. It’s poor form.”

  “Samuel never stands on formality,” Stefan said, abashed.

  “Or much of anything,” I added, folding my menu.

  “We, however,” Dieter said with a note of reproach, “observe proprieties.”

  Our server arrived. I listened while the others ordered, curious what sort of food a possessed person would find palatable, and found it mundane. I settled on a pizza, as my stomach growled the loudest when my eyes fell upon the word.

  “‘Asparagus, Bacon & Caper’ pizza?” I muttered. “Isn’t a caper a prank? ‘Grapes and bleu cheese’ is not a real pizza.” I snapped the menu closed. “Pepperoni and pineapple, please.”

  Stefan gagged.

  We sat around for a minute in awkward silence, all three of us looking anywhere but at each other.

  “We're having this conversation here, then?” I waved a hand at the other people seated around the periphery of the restaurant. “It’s a bit public for talking shop.”

  Stefan sighed. “I’m a ninety-one-year-old human from Germany who has merged with a being of pure willpower from another reality.” The demon waited a beat before sitting back in its chair and shrugging shoulders. “It’s Seattle, dear. I daresay I’m not the weirdest person in here.”

  “Point,” I said, folding my arms. “We crazy few that trained under the Ordo have different views on such things, but I guess a new day has dawned. Everything is permissible now. White after Labor Day. Socks with sandals.” I swept my gaze between them. “I’d still rather do this in private. It’s been a weird six months.”

  “Quite,” Stefan said. “Which is why we need your services.”

  The corners of Dieter’s mouth turned down at the talk of business, but stayed silent.

  Dieter and Stefan both are ancient by most reckoning
, Lauren said in my mind. More than a match for you, let alone the general riffraff in the city.

  Riffraff? I thought, bemused.

  They could handle what a dozen of you could, Lauren said. I could hear the exasperated sigh just beyond the words. You’re worth one tenth a Dieter. A demi-Dieter. Which means there’s a reason they need you to do the dirty work.

  Hmmm. Point.

  “I thought business was booming for you two, what with the destruction of the only major paranormal and supernatural extermination company on the planet and all.”

  “It is,” Dieter said, pausing as our food arrived. We waited in another awkward silence as a young man slapped overflowing plates down in front of each of us.

  I stared at the wood-fired meal and offered a prayer to the Patron Saint of Pizza.

  Once alone again, Dieter continued. “We can hardly keep up with the demand of late. We’ve been busy enough we’re contemplating seeking help for our shop.”

  “Is Kate available for—” Stefan began.

  “Hey,” I snapped around a mouthful of magma-hot pizza, “no poaching the help.”

  “You scratch our back, we scratch yours?” Stefan said hopefully. “She’s such a dear and would fit right in. In exchange we’ll help with some of the more pernicious incursions?”

  “Does that ever bother you?” I asked. “You know, going out busting demons when you, yourselves, are demons? Is that, like, a conflict of interests, or do you view it as survival of the fittest?”

  “Samuel,” Dieter sighed, pressing a hand to its forehead.

  “Normally we’d handle this ourselves,” Stefan said. “But the community has been…”

  “Reticent to help,” Dieter finished. He fixed me with a small, worried frown. “An associate of ours has gone missing, and all our attempts to investigate have been met with static. We feel you—”

  “The expert,” Stefan added. I nodded approval and held a slice of pizza high in a salute.