Soul Thing (The Game of Gods Book 1)

by Lana Pecherczyk

  I held his wrists, too, throwing my energy into his body with a targeted hex. He lurched forward, grunting in pain. The suggestion I implanted traveled through the sweat from my palms like a virus. Planting the seed of suggestion would be easy, focusing acutely would be a risk.

  A strangled sound came from the man’s mouth, and saliva glistened on his cracked lips. White vapor curled from our hands. The smell of burning hair and skin made my insides heave. We both looked down. I used the crowd’s energy to boost my own, and my hex slammed into him. I repeated the same message over and over as my bodily fluids transferred to his: produce virus, pass on virus, sleep and dream until you are rested. Dream about peace. Dream about safety. Just dream.

  The dizzying pressure of the crowd eased, and I knew I’d siphoned enough of their energy. I released the man’s wrists and, like a zombie domino, he touched the people next to him and passed on the hex, then sagged to the floor. The crowd fell in a silent tsunami until the last silhouette had dropped. It was over in seconds. The smell of burnt skin and hair filled the air, and I wondered what the bodies inside would smell like if they burned at the stake. I shook the thought off, wiped my palms on my jeans and stepped through the fallen crowd.

  Surprised shouts traveled from the dark. A few people remained standing, and a scuffle took place. I squinted through the shadows, some had torches—sticks of fire—but I couldn’t tell who. Damn it, they must have been out of the mob’s grabbing range.

  “Stop moving. Put your hands up.” A voice carried across the dreamers. It sounded like Jed, but I couldn’t be sure.

  A shadow approached me in a crouch, hopping into the gaps between bodies. It was half-way through the pile of sleepers when I recognized the lack of aura.

  Cash.

  My relief was short lived. Cold metal knocked against my forehead.

  “That’s a gun pointed at your head.” His voice was flat.

  He jabbed my shoulder with something sharp, then held the object in front of my face. I gasped. A proximity collar.

  “I know what you did,” he said. “Take it and put it near the base of your neck.”

  The gun stayed on my forehead.

  “Cash. It’s me! Roo.” The squeak sounded so unlike my own voice, I feared he wouldn’t recognize me. Or maybe he did, and he hated me because I had violated his trust. But I would not be collared again. Adrenaline surged through my veins making my limbs jittery.

  He pressed the barrel of the gun harder to my head, bent forward and sniffed the air around me. He grunted, lowered his gun and stepped out of my personal space.

  “Urser?” he whispered.

  “Holy shit on a stick.” I could breathe again. “Yeah, it’s me. Who do you think sent everyone to sleep?”

  “They’re asleep?”

  “You thought I killed them?”

  He tilted his head and listened again. “You’re right. I can hear their heartbeats. Just. Good. Marc found you.” He surprised me with an awkward hug and pat on the back. I thought it was a rare show of affection, but he just needed his next words to be secret. “Let’s pretend you’re a colleague. Put on an American accent if you can.”

  “Yeah, look about the festival—”

  “Not now, Urser. The back door is locked tight. Is there another way into the bar?”

  “There are some loose tiles on the roof near the side, and a manhole in the ceiling that leads to the kitchen.”

  Cash released me but I jerked him back, my fingers clenching the fabric of his white button-down shirt. “Petra isn’t dead. And thank you for sending Marc to find me, I could’ve been stuck in that hole forever.”

  His body went deathly still.

  “Cash. Did you hear me?”

  “Yes, I’ll deal with that later.” A shudder rippled over his body. Deal with what? Petra being alive, me in a hole, or Marc rescuing me? He glanced back at the group near the front door, then led me towards the cluster. He turned to me and whispered, “I’m going to sneak off, enter through the roof then open the back door. Meet me there in five. I might be able to use your skills.”

  “Witch!” A woman’s scream pierced my ears as we drew near. Steve’s mother, Meerkat Maggie. Why couldn’t she have been one of the sleepers?

  “Lock her up, you saw what she did.” Her face was ugly with hate. In the torchlight, her shaking fists reminded me of the little boy—the Grimoire—shaking his fist at Steve.

  A pang of regret cut through me at the thought of Steve. I bit my lip. There was nothing I could do about that now, so I followed Cash’s lead. I’d deal with it later. Kitty and the women were inside.

  “She’s with me,” Cash said, ignored her frenzied squawks and spoke quietly to one of the shadows that turned out to be Jed.

  Maggie jumped at me, but was held back by another officer. His aura told me it was Warren, or Wozza, the semi-retired police officer from the precinct. He stood Maggie next to her husband and the last two protesters beside the balustrade started arguing about domestic terrorism.

  A groan came from behind me on the floor. I turned to investigate and almost squealed in alarm. A few people weren’t fully asleep. They reached out, twitching like zombies. Sleep or pass on the virus; that had been my instruction. I needed to close the hex chain and fix my colossal fuck up before it became a perpetual mission, infecting the entire world. I touched the wrist of each twitching hand, letting myself be the final link. A wave of sleepiness rolled through me, but I rejected the suggestion instantly. Small smiles flitted over their lips and tension eased from their faces. With their hex complete, they were free to dream.

  Jed’s gaze flicked to me. Without breaking eye contact he said to Maggie. “She’s not a witch, just the wrong person in the wrong place. Much like you.” He moved his gaze to Maggie, pulled out his handcuffs and waved them at the remaining four protesters. “This is your final warning, if you do not go home, you will be arrested.”

  “We aren’t going anywhere. This is public land,” Maggie said.

  “Actually,” Jed said, “it’s not. Head ten meters back towards the beach entrance and you’ll be on public property. I can’t stop you from resuming your vigil back there, but I do recommend you leave.”

  “What about all the people?” Maggie hissed. “Aren’t you going to do anything about them?”

  Jed smirked and jerked his head at the sleepers. “I’d call an ambulance, but it looks like that fella there is the local driver.” He spoke to Wozza. “Don’t know about you Warren, but it looks like they’re just taking a nap to me.”

  Warren shuffled his feet. He didn’t look convinced but, with a curt nod, he agreed. Jed’s expression turned sharp. “If I were you lady, I’d get out of here before the reinforcements arrive. The new Tactical Witch Response Group isn’t happy about this situation and if you’re caught making a nuisance of yourself, you’ll be detained and prosecuted to the full extent of the new law.”

  A scream erupted from the dark interior of the bar. We all turned to see a flicker through the tinted windows. A flame?

  “What was that?” Alvin asked trotting over. Tommy joined Alvin at the windows of The Cauldron to have a peek. The police officers directed the straggling protesters toward the parking lot, while Alvin and Tommy hatched a plan to break the glass, debating over the method. Throw a rock or shoot it?

  Cash had disappeared. Shit, had five minutes past already?

  I slipped into the shadows and crept to the back door. With any luck, Cash would appear, and I’d sneak in without my absence being noticed. While I waited, I hopped from one foot to the other, eager to get moving. Within a few seconds, the lock clicked, and the door opened.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CASH USHERED ME inside and we crept through the kitchen to the swinging door; I stood on tiptoe to peek through its circle window.

  Kitty, Mrs. Beaconsfield and a few other women were tied back-to-back, to chairs on the dance floor. Splintered wood and furniture had been scattered around the circle of
women. Mrs. Beaconsfield was a bit of a floozy, but certainly not a witch. A disgruntled and under-appreciated housewife had probably complained about her stealing someone’s husband.

  The tiny flicker of flames I’d seen from outside came from a medieval-looking torch in the Inquisitor’s hand. It cast grizzly shadows about the room and his pink uniform as he paced along the front windows. He mumbled in Latin, occasionally raising his voice before dropping it back to a mutter. His brow glistened, his ruddy complexion mottled, the crucifix pins on his lapels flashed.

  Two goons with their arms folded stood on the other side of the bar. Tiny silver crucifixes matching their leader’s twinkled from their lapels. The second I noticed the one with the snub nose and circle reading glasses tucking his safari shirt into his cargo pants, I slipped onto my ass, knocking the breath from my lungs. He’d aged a bit, and I almost didn’t recognize him with the white facial hair but, when he sneered, his crooked teeth poked through his lips and I shivered. A bolt of fear sliced through me when I recalled his big-knuckled hands. During my witch trial, he’d been the Inquisitor’s right-hand man. He’d electrocuted me, beat me and drowned me. Those hands had been on my shoulders. They’d pushed me, held me under water. I forced my dry throat to swallow. I fucking hated that guy. The air thickened like Jello and I struggled to breathe. Cash shifted and sniffed the air next to me. He must have sensed my fear.

  “Don’t get scared, get angry,” he whispered.

  Someone spoke from the other room, snapping my attention back. “They’re quiet out there. Something fishy is going on. Hurry the fuck up. We’re starving and want to go home.”

  “You can’t rush exorcisms,” someone else growled. “I just need that bitch to turn up. Then we can pluck the source of evil from the root.” It was the Inquisitor. “Go get some food from the kitchen if you’re that weak.”

  I heard a whimper from the women. It could have been Kitty. I wanted desperately to burst through the doors and lay waste to them all, but a hand on my shoulder pulled me back. Footsteps grew closer, and I was sure we would be discovered. Cash tightened his grip.

  “Wait—no you’re right.” The Inquisitor said. “I don’t think she’s coming. We should get on with this. Six witches are better than one.”

  The footsteps receded.

  Cash tilted his head towards the cracks, listening. I couldn’t see his face clearly and wanted to be reassured by his confidence, but the kitchen was dark. The only light came from the torchlight filtering through the round window and the gap in the kitchen door.

  “We have her best friend. She’ll turn up,” another voice said.

  Cash pulled his gun from the back of his pants and sniffed. “Kerosene.” He stood up to glance through the window. He sniffed again and hissed, “And a witch.” He ducked down beside me. “I can only see three other hostiles. What about you?”

  A sister? The voices woke up.

  My hairline prickled with sweat. Was Petra inside? I took another peek. “Yep, only three,” I whispered.

  “Not with your eyes—with your energy radar.”

  “Oh.” I sent my awareness into the next room and felt the women’s frantic auras. Kitty was there, but there was something familiar about one of the others as well. I couldn’t place her. “Five. Two at the back. Not including the witch.”

  “Right, you take the back two, I’ll take the front three. Can you send them to sleep too?”

  What about our sister?

  “Shut up,” I mumbled to the voice.

  “What?”

  “Nothing… it’s just… I’ll need to touch them if I want to send them to dreamland.”

  “That might not be possible.” He was silent for a few seconds before adding, “I think you should remove your disguise.”

  “Why? Isn’t it better no one recognizes me?”

  “No, here.” He handed me his gun, hilt first.

  “Uh, uh.” I pushed the gun back towards him. “I don’t need a gun, I don’t even know how to turn one on.”

  “It’s a distraction. I don’t want you to use it—just pretend. Drop your disguise and deal with this like a normal human being. The gun will be easier to explain than changing skin color and moving things with invisible hands.”

  Oh. I had been ready to reveal my secret to the world, but I supposed he was right. If I could avoid it, why not?

  He pointed at my hair. “Now.”

  Right. I lowered my gaze to the greasy floor. My skin tingled with a million itchy ants as my hex spread to cover my body. I marveled at how Cash was so blasé about everything when my stomach rumbled and I clamped a hand over it embarrassed. Cash stood up for one last look through the window, then crouched back down to pin me with his gaze.

  “That’s better.” He waved his gun around my face and I flinched.

  “Don’t worry. The safety’s on. It won’t go off unless I squeeze the trigger.” He used the weapon to balance himself on the floor. “I’m going to go in first and try to talk him down but, if that doesn’t work, wait for me to take at least two of them out before you make your move. Your presence will surprise them and it’s better if we can do this without any casualties.”

  I was afraid, really afraid. Maybe it had to do with the weapons. Super-fast flying metal bits that blew holes in chest cavities were out of my league. A memory stirred deep in the pools of my mind—something about using witchcraft and telekinesis against bullets, but I couldn’t pinpoint it. Instead, visions of Steve’s blood spraying my face caused my head to swim. Dizziness gripped me and I slapped my hand against the door to steady myself.

  The door was on hinges.

  It squeaked as it swung open and I toppled into the bar. The smell of kerosene assaulted my nose, and confusion dominated the room. A shot rang out. The ceiling cracked, dropping plaster debris on my head.

  “Fuck.” Cash launched into action, discharging his weapon before I could even stand up. I smelled gunpowder and, by the time I found my footing, he had fired twice more and leapt over the gleaming bar. I scanned the bar for a weapon, and found the small, serrated knife we used to cut lemons. I grabbed it and vaulted over the counter. I had to save Kitty.

  I stepped toward the women, but a man blocked my way. He had no crosses on his lapels and no weapons. He looked frightened when he saw my knife, stepped back and averted his gaze. I couldn’t harm him. He might be an innocent bystander. Where did Side-kick go? Another gunshot cracked, and I ducked, covering my head with my arms. Wood splintered from the bulkhead above the bar—above me. The girls screamed. Someone shot at me. Oh, shit. Adrenaline surged.

  I flicked my gaze in Cash’s direction, but he was a blur as he fought with one man. Another was already on the ground, arm extended, gun lying a few centimeters away.

  “Put it down Mr. Donohue,” Cash yelled at the Inquisitor. He finished off his second opponent, leaving him disarmed and unconscious.

  I headed for the women. Kitty’s green and blue hair stood out amongst the group and, in my rush to get to her, I stumbled over the kindling, almost stabbing myself with my knife. “Kitty, I’m here.” I scrambled up and moved to break her cable tie restraint, but she shook her head.

  “No, get the others first,” she said.

  I changed trajectory to her neighbor. It was the mousy-haired girl I’d tried to save from the Inquisitor when I was released from jail. Fresh tears ran down her cheeks when she saw me lift my knife. She thought I was going to hurt her. I angled the knife behind her to cut the cable ties around her wrists.

  “Don’t worry, I’m just trying to get you out of here.” The cable tie snapped, and I moved to the next woman. The girl hadn’t moved. “Get out!” I waved towards the kitchen. “Go through the back door.” The second cable tie snapped, and the woman grabbed her frozen companion and disappeared.

  Just as I bent to Mrs. Beaconsfield, a burst of white-hot needles shot through my shoulder and I was yanked backwards to crash onto my rear. Mrs. B screamed profanities at something ove
r my shoulder. Her brown, permed hair bounced as her head shook.

  Someone was behind me. The vague buzz of an aura reached me through a haze of pain. I turned to find the side-kick holding a much larger weapon in his hands, hatred boiling in his eyes.

  Now, that’s a knife.

  Yes, it was. Jagged on one side, curved and sharp on the other, it looked like something you’d kill a bear with. Blood ran down the length of it then dripped off the point to the floor. I winced, then looked down at my bleeding chest. His knife dripped with my blood. He’d stabbed me. Was he fucking kidding me? Pain seared from the bloody spot over my left breast. The wound was centimeters from my heart—no, millimeters. It could have been all over in seconds. My left arm swelled with pins and needles.

  Shock. I was going into shock.

  I hissed as my skin itched and pinched as it knit together, undoing the damage from the knife. But it wasn’t fast enough. Stinging needles exploded along my scalp. The side-kick had speared his fingers into my hair and yanked my head. All I could see was his white bearded face as he stood over me. He sneered, showing his crooked teeth.

  Disorientated, I watched him, upside down, as he lowered his knife toward my neck. Sparks reflected off the shiny blade—where had that surge of light come from? The sadist yanked on my head again. He wanted to see my pain. It had taken three years, but he’d found his way back to finish me off. My recent failures flashed before my eyes. Maybe I should let him.

  Far away, someone screamed.

  The knife paused at my neck. Light exploded with a roar as the kindle ignited, and the air crackled with skin-singeing heat. The pyre had been lit.