Soul Thing (The Game of Gods Book 1)

by Lana Pecherczyk

  From the way he moved, I had the sensation an immense force was barely contained within his skin. Each stroke and slide of his hand as he waxed sent off a chain reaction in the muscles in the rest of his body. It all worked together magnificently, and terrifyingly. I’d hate to be on the other end of his touch if he was angry, but then again, being on the other side when he wanted ... desired. My mouth went dry as my blood reached out for him, ached a little. Maybe we were linked. Somehow. But I knew the type. You didn’t get a hard body—or face—like that without laser sharp focus, and a single minded determination toward a goal. Obsessive repetitive actions driven by a relentless internal need. He’d do whatever he could to achieve it, even if that meant stepping on someone else to get there. He tucked the board under his arm and jogged down the path.

  Relief and guilt battled inside me as I came to terms with what I was going to do. Leave.

  Kitty’s apartment was in a boutique complex on the outskirts of town. It was one of many lined up like soldiers with corrugated iron cladding on the front. I parked my bike in her garage, next to her tiny, blue hatchback and rushed across the small span of lawn, ignoring the buzzing from the surrounding nature. I didn’t want to be seen. I just wanted to say goodbye, then go. It was better that way.

  The first thing I noticed when Kitty opened the door was her red eyes. The second was the steaming hot coffee in her hands. My stomach roared.

  “Babe,” she pouted. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She sniffed, scrunched up her nose and looked me over. “What on earth have you been doing? Is that how they treat prisoners these days?” She gasped, eyes wide. “Did you do a Shawshank escape, is that why you’re so dirty? You shouldn’t have escaped. I was going to get you out properly.”

  “No, no, no.” I pushed her through the door, closed it behind me and leaned against the hard wood. The thrum of nature instantly muffled. “I got out yesterday, Cash helped—he’s some sort of witch hunter with diplomatic immunity and rank to pull, or something. I’m dirty because I went for a ride off-road without a helmet. I needed to clear my head.” I glanced down at my outfit and regretted my spontaneous decision to take a dirt track detour into town.

  “Oh. Oohh, you mean the sexy American. So he’s a surfing hunter?” She flared her eyes dramatically. “With rank to pull, really?”

  “I’d hug you but I’m filthy.”

  She pushed the mug into my hands. “Come and sit down, tell me what’s happened. I’ll make another coffee. Do I need to call my lawyer?”

  “It’s okay. I think. I’m not being charged as far as I know, but it all happened rather quickly.” Careful not to spill my drink, I sat down on the red leather sofa, hoping I didn’t leave too much dirt, then took a sip and sighed as the warmth melted my insides.

  I didn’t know where to begin and stared at the coffee, trying to untangle my thoughts. Her bouncy aura skipped a beat. I glanced up sharply and locked eyes with her as she sat next to me, fresh coffee in her hands. The red around her green eyes stood out vividly. She’d been crying. She looked down and smoothed her blue peddle-pusher pants. Huh, I narrowed my eyes, even weirder—she never wore pants, not even for housework. I frowned. “Are you okay?”

  “There’s something I need to tell you.” Her voice shook. Her pink nose was shiny. “I have to go back to the city.”

  “What?” My stomach fell to the floor. For the first time, I noticed the packing boxes scattered around the small living room, half full of newspaper-wrapped items. “Why?”

  Because you cause nothing but trouble for your friends. She’s better off far, far away from you. They all are. You should’ve kept running. Why did you stop?

  Her eyes widened. “You don’t know? New temporary laws have been passed since the treaty was signed. Women aren’t allowed to live alone anymore. They need a male sponsor and, as no men have put up their hands, I’m forced to move back home.” She shrugged and attempted a half smile, then cursed under her breath. “Sponsor is just another word for controlling husband or father, bloody bastards.”

  “But you can’t. What about Joe? Surely he won’t let his best barmaid leave?”

  “Joe’s got his own family to worry about. It wouldn’t look good for me to move in with him—you know what the ladies at the church say about me already. This whole thing stinks.” She sniffed. She squeezed my shoulder and looked me over. “But how are you? You seemed to have healed all right. I’m sorry about your sister. It really sucks what happened to her. How are you handling it?”

  “Thanks, I’m okay, I guess. But, I never really thought of her as my sister that way, so…” My voice trailed off.

  “What do mean? Of course she’s your sister.”

  “No, that came out wrong.” I took a sip of my coffee and thought of a better way to explain myself. “Do you remember that day at the bar when you found Gus Waterhouse screaming bloody murder at my face? He actually said he was going to kill me. Hog tie me, then roast me on a spit, remember?”

  Kitty snickered. “Babe, who could forget that face of his, it was almost purple. I thought he was going to explode, with all that steam coming out of his ears like a kettle!”

  She put her mug down, pulled her ears apart and held her breath until her face went red. We broke into fits of laughter. I snorted and coffee went up my nose then almost dropped the mug when she started whistling from her lips.

  But then her features darkened, and she frowned. “I didn’t like what he said. What a complete troglodyte—he still is. You know he married Mary Acton?”

  “Oh yeah, they deserve each other then,” I said.

  Mary was one of Kitty’s church frenemies. She never liked the way Kitty dressed or her outspoken ways but, as they went to the same church, they had to be civil to each other.

  “Kitty, he was a troglodyte. But you walked in and tipped a bucket of ice over his head to cool him down.” I sipped my coffee and smiled. “Do you know what the best thing was? You didn’t stop to ask questions, you just acted. You saw a big, angry man swinging his fist around, screaming profanities at me, and you stepped in. As it turned out, I’d accidentally spilled his beer over his lap, remember? And then tried to wipe it up!”

  Overwhelmed with laughter, we clutched our stomachs and doubled over in happy pain. Eventually the session settled into snorts and chuckles.

  “That’s what a sister should be like, Kitty,” I said quietly. “Someone whose first instinct is to be on your side.”

  Leila didn’t mean to hate me, she just did.

  “I don’t want to go,” Kitty blurted. “I want to stay here, with you.”

  I concentrated on the mug in my hands.

  “I was going to leave,” I admitted. “I’ve wanted to ever since I told Aunt Lucy I was moving out. I’m just… tired of dragging people into my mess.”

  Kitty gasped. “No! Babe, I gave you that key so you could be closer to people who care about you. It’s bad for all women, not just you. Please don’t leave when you’re needed the most. You’ve got skills, babe. Skills that can make a difference if you trust the right people.”

  I nodded and a glimmer of an idea sprang from my subconscious, just like when I was younger. I’d learned to cast hexes from those random ideas and believed it was my instinct speaking to me. Kitty was right, I couldn’t leave town. There was too much to do.

  “Maybe I can help with your situation,” I said.

  Kitty bit her lip.

  “Will you come and visit Alvin with me?” I asked. “I might be able to fix him. If I can, he won’t let you leave, Kitty. You know he won’t.”

  “Really?” She let out a rush of air. Her eyes brightened, and she wiped her nose. “That would be amazing. So, where have you been, if not in prison?”

  “I stayed with Cash and Tommy last night. I’ll probably stay there tonight too, if they aren’t too pissed off that I—”

  “What? All this time I’ve been running around speaking to lawyers and you’ve been having sleepovers with not one,
but two beautiful young men?”

  A wash of shame nuked my face. I should have called her. “I’m so sorry, Kitty. I didn’t think. My phone is still…”

  “At least tell me if you had any fun. He’s a hunter right? Did you play hunt and go peek?” She giggled.

  “No sexual innuendo’s please. There’s nothing going on, it’s a professional partnership.” One that I’d just ran away from.

  Her lids lowered, and she spoke in a husky voice. “I’ll bet you want him to be in-your-endo.”

  “Kitty!” I hit her on the shoulder. That was the Kitty, I knew. Lewd, inappropriate, wise-cracking Kitty. A smile crept onto my face. I was happy here, how could I leave?

  “Oh, man,” I said. “I missed you. I have so much to tell you,”

  “I missed you too.” She blocked her nose. “But first, babe, you gotta wash.”

  I surveyed my filthy legs and arms and could only imagine the state of my face. I couldn’t go to the hospital looking like this.

  “Can I borrow some clothes?” I blushed, a little hesitant at the thought of picking an outfit from her revealing wardrobe. But it would be nice to pretend things were normal, for one last time.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  KITTY AND I parked beside each other in the hospital car park. My new slick ponytail was a little worse for wear, but still lady-like. Kitty threw a distasteful glance at my head.

  “We are going to have to redo that do, when we get to work.” Her eyes lit up. “Maybe Courtney will be in. She can do something amazing.”

  “No.” Courtney was lovely, really. I just wanted to save my head from looking like a pineapple. “Never mind, I’ll fix it myself.”

  I had no place to store my bike keys in the tight, knee-length black skirt or red corset top, I’d borrowed from Kitty. I eyed off the black, strappy sandals in disdain. They’d be no help either. I dropped them in a pocket of my motorcycle jacket, then folded it over the crook of my arm and followed Kitty to the entrance of the hospital.

  We were almost to the front door of the small, brick hospital when Kitty spoke. “Babe, there’s something I forgot to tell you.” She slanted a look at me through her cat’s eye makeup. “We aren’t supposed to be in public without a male escort, so we could be arrested at any moment.”

  I stopped a meter short of the sliding doors. “What do you mean?”

  She squinted at me. “Shouldn’t your sponsor, Mr. Devilish, have told you about that?”

  I shrugged. “We were kind of busy.”

  “Oh, I see… busy. So that’s what the kids are calling it these days.” She dodged my attempt to punch her in shoulder. “I thought he was your sponsor. Isn’t he supposed to tell you these things?”

  “I dunno.” I chewed my lip. “I’m kind of in his custody at the moment, if that means the same thing. And I kind of left without telling him.”

  You can’t trust a man who lies to his brother.

  Shut up. I lied to my sister. I never told her about my abilities.

  And look where that got her.

  I swatted the words away and had a sinking feeling that talking to myself might not be the best sign of sanity.

  “Anyway, it’s just another stupid law. I’m doing my best to ignore it,” Kitty said. “But we’ll see how that goes.”

  We were about to cross the threshold when she held me back.

  “Wait,” she said, her expression grave. “We have to hop through the doorway on one foot, otherwise it’s bad luck.”

  I laughed. “Who told you that?”

  “Alvin.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but I’m pretty sure he’s pulling your leg.”

  “But it’s like black cats and sneezing three times, and traffic lights.”

  “Traffic lights?”

  “Yeah, if you go through an amber light you have to lift up your feet and touch the roof.” She looked at me with such earnest and unwavering eyes that I couldn’t bring myself to burst her bubble. Alvin was the biggest joker in the world. I groaned. “C’mon, let’s go.”

  We stopped at the front desk and I asked about Leila first and then Alvin. We received directions to their rooms. I sent Kitty ahead to Alvin as I wanted to visit Leila in private. She was quarantined in a section of the hospital reserved for witches—a makeshift room past the staff cafeteria and near the rubbish at the back of the hospital.

  The room was a cell—no chair for visitors, no flowers and no window. It smelled like old disinfectant. I peeled back the clear, plastic curtain. A tube ran into Leila’s nose and she sucked in short, shallow breaths. A tinge of yellow painted her skin and her flat, grimy hair lay in clumps on her pillow. How long since someone had checked on her? Guilt consumed me and my eyes burned.

  This was my sister.

  If I were lying there, who would fight for me?

  My fingers stroked her smooth skin. We’d been so mean to each other. Why? I pinched my eyes with my thumb and fingers and, for a moment, I believed in a happy ending. She would wake up and we would start again. But my senses told me there was little left—no soul, and no buzzing afterglow, just a sliver of energy generated from the body. The girl was gone.

  I listened to her short gasps. The sound recalled my own gulps for air after I almost drowned during my trial. The Inquisitor had decided to test the ancient theory that witches would float and women would sink. He’d put me in a tank. If I came up for air before the three minute mark, I was a witch. If I didn’t, I would drown. Absurd. My only hope was to try to hold my breath for that long. His sidekick held me down, his fingers digging into my skull, while my father watched from the sidelines—silent. I struggled at first but, after two minutes, a calm settled over me and I was still. My mind drifted until, suddenly, I was pulled out of the tank and sucked in great gulps of air. I’d almost given up that day because my father hadn’t fought for me.

  I blinked away the memory and my despair was replaced with rock-hard resolve. Everyone needed someone to fight for them and I would fight for Leila. Stopping Petra would be a good start.

  I fussed and tidied, straightened the sheets, then smoothed Leila’s hair and tucked it behind her ears. She’d had so many battles. Her life had been filled with psychiatrists, nightmares and sleepless nights. My father hadn’t fought for me, but I would fight for her. I would help Cash get Petra.

  But first, there was someone else who needed my help—Alvin.

  As I approached the corner to Alvin’s room, I heard voices in the hallway. I stopped, sensing four unknown energy signatures. I flattened my already tight clothes and plowed around the corner. Two sets of hate-filled eyes focussed on me. I took a step back and reached behind me for someone—anyone—but was alone.

  Two middle-aged couples stood between me and Alvin’s room. I recognized one of them as Steve’s parents—Meerkat Maggie and Captain Redneck.

  My secret nicknames for them were juvenile, but during the trial they had slain me each time they interrupted with accusations. “You bewitched him,” they’d said. “He never loved you.” And my favorite, “Nobody loves you, just ask your sister.”

  They had been the inciting force in my prosecution and had rallied the public to stand behind their cause. They’d posted anti-witch propaganda online and splashed my face across it and also arranged hate-filled demonstrations. I was the detested and feared subject of public scrutiny and my old friends from high school deserted me. On top of that, my father dumped us on Aunt Lucy and conveniently disappeared.

  I snapped back from the past and scrutinized my ex’s parents as they whispered ferociously to the other couple.

  What would Prince do? I thought.

  Prince would take his lion from his pocket and get ready to Roar, with a capital R, that’s what he’d do. My fingers curled around my folded jacket and I hustled toward Alvin’s room.

  Meerkat Maggie and Captain Redneck rushed away at my speedy approach. Huh, that was easy. I focused my bravado on the remaining couple. Alvin’s parents, I assumed.
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  It occurred to me that I didn’t even know Alvin’s last name and felt my mouth go dry. How could I call myself a close friend?

  I shifted my jacket to one hand and stiffly stuck out the other. “Hi, I’m Roo. I’m friends with your son.”

  I stood with my arm outstretched, waiting for one of them to reach out and meet me. Neither did. I let my hand fall to my side and patted my pocket, thinking of my lion. He was still in there, pacing, alert but not alarmed.

  They looked like country people. Alvin’s stocky mother had blonde freckles to match her short blonde hair. His father was the same height as his wife, dark-skinned and weathered, like he’d been working outdoors his entire life. Alvin inherited his Asian features from his dad.

  Alvin’s father placed an arm on his wife’s shoulder. Their stares didn’t waver. “We know who you are and we don’t think you should be here considering you’re the cause of all this.”

  My heart sank and then tumbled right past my lion’s den. It surprised me to hear the words, but he was right. I hated to think I was the cause of all this pain.

  “Mr and Mrs—” I paused expectantly.

  “O’Connor,” the mother replied. She seemed surprised at her response and quickly narrowed her eyes, turning them to slits.

  I scanned the doorway to Alvin’s room and could see a bumpy white blanket on the end of a bed. His aura felt weak and small, like an emergency beacon blinking in a stormy ocean. There was no time to waste. My lion swatted my heart back into my chest where it beat strong and steady.

  “Mr. and Mrs. O’Connor, I am so sorry that your son was caught up in all this. I’m the one the witch was targeting, and I’d like to make this right. Could I visit him for a moment?”