The Lost Souls (The Holy Trinity)

by Sheehan, Madeline

  It was dark when Carrie awoke, feeling strong enough for the first time in days to sit up on her own. The only light in the trailer was coming from the flickering fire and a few candles on the windowsill. Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she stared at the shadowed figure bent down in front of her, tending to the fire in an archaic-looking stove.

  She realized she didn’t even know his name. Then again, she’d been half-catatonic until now.

  “Hey,” she said softly as she attempted to untangle herself from the pile of blankets covering her.

  He glanced over his shoulder and grunted.

  “My name’s Caroline,” she continued. “But everyone calls me Carrie.”

  “Marko,” he said.

  “That’s a weird name,” she mused.

  Another grunt.

  Maybe he was a caveman? With the full beard and long hair, he could certainly pass for one. Maybe none of this was real? Maybe she had died out there in the snow? Maybe she’d…

  “I’m starting to think I’m dreaming,” she said, shaking her head.

  Marko snorted as he straightened his body. Standing tall, he towered over her. “Then, do you mind waking up?” he asked. “Because your dreams really suck.”

  She burst out laughing because, well, she wasn’t exactly sure why, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Pretty soon, she was clutching her stomach, her body quaking and her stomach cramping as she continued to laugh with wild abandon.

  The expression on Marko’s face as he watched her only furthered her amusement.

  “I’m sorry,” she choked out, holding her hand up. “I’m…sorry.”

  But she couldn’t stop.

  She was laughing. It was a sound, a feeling, she’d forgotten.

  And then, just as suddenly as she’d started laughing, she was crying, shaking and sobbing and blubbering like an idiot in front of a total stranger.

  Her world had ended, she’d lost everyone, she’d been so sure she was going to die and she almost did, but…

  She’d been saved.

  Carrie’s thoughts slid back to before her little world had come crashing to a stop, and she began remembering all she’d planned for herself and how she’d wanted her life to go.

  Instantly calm, she glanced up at a bewildered Marko and studied him—his long black hair, brooding dark eyes framed with heavy lashes, the striking structure of his cheekbones, the strong jaw, the dusky hue of his skin. He looked like a younger, darker Joe Manganiello.

  “Do you ride motorcycles?” she asked.

  His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Uh, I rode stunt bikes in carnivals and…” He trailed off, gaping at her.

  She was laughing again, laughing and crying, releasing months of pent-up emotions—horror and grief from living in fear of the world outside her house, then in fear of her brother. And finally, in fear of living out the rest of her days alone, dying alone, never having done anything with her life, never having left Elderton.

  Then she laughed at the expression on Marko’s face as he watched her break down, put herself back together only to break down again, sobbing both joyful and devastated tears.

  “I think you need more soup,” he muttered, averting his eyes.

  Carrie laughed even harder because—yep, he so thought she was crazy. Maybe she was. Maybe all that time she’d spent locked up in her own mind had driven her over the edge, but she didn’t care because she was warm and her belly was full and—God, thank God—she was no longer alone. She wasn’t alone anymore. There was hope now. Marko, his heated trailer, his food, his clothes—it all added up to hope.

  “Thank you, Marko,” she choked out. “Thank you so much…for saving my life.”

  • • •

  Marko watched the girl lean over the stove, mixing the dried vegetables into the already boiling pasta with shaking hands. He felt bad. No, he felt more than bad. She was seriously thin. Skeletal, even. A few days ago, she had looked like she was damn near death’s door when she’d literally fallen at his feet.

  Her wavy blonde hair was clean now, full and shiny. Her pale face was flushed with a healthy glow, but dark circles still ringed her light blue eyes. He doubted she could be more than sixteen or seventeen, yet her tired eyes looked ancient. She had the eyes of a girl who’d seen too much, who’d been to hell and back. And whereas that pretty much sucked ass…she could join the fucking club. Anyone left standing today had been through hell and back.

  “Did you steal this trailer?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. “Or is it yours?”

  “Mine.”

  “So, you have gas?”

  He shook his head. “Ran out.”

  “Oh. This is my grandparents’ farm.”

  “Cool,” he muttered, and she went back to stirring. He continued to stare at the back of her head, not sure how he felt about her as a roommate, especially after that…episode the other day. He’d never known what to do when a female started crying or acting irrational. Usually he would just walk away, but walking away from Carrie would have entailed walking into a subzero snowstorm. So Marko had ridden out her emotional train wreck, continued to offer her soup, and eventually he had fallen asleep, sitting up. When he had woken up, it was over.

  He’d since formed a plan in case she went all hormonal on him again. He’d nap it out. He wished he’d thought of that strategy back when Nadya had thrown her temper tantrums.

  Nadya.

  Beautiful, sweet, and loving, yet kind of annoying when she would talk his ear off. Maybe she couldn’t cook very well and…well, who was he kidding? She was a fucking whore. He was in love with a whore who had apparently never loved him back. The word fool came to mind. All those damn years…how many? Fuck, it had been fifteen years since their betrothal. For fifteen years, he’d only had eyes for her. He had never been with anyone but her, had never wanted anyone but her.

  And she’d fucked Xan Deleanu. She’d chosen Xan over him. Xan was a goddamn man-whore with a jacked-up attitude and a drinking problem. He preferred fighting to talking, and his solution to working through his emotions consisted of jacking his cock off inside another man’s property. He was a guy who didn’t so much as blink at the thought of killing another human being. He was coldhearted and single-minded and just an all-around asshole.

  Marko’s fists clenched as old anger boiled up anew inside him.

  “Are you okay?”

  He glanced up and found Carrie staring at him.

  No, she wasn’t staring at him. She was gaping at…his glowing fists.

  Shit.

  Marko had never learned how to control his powers when he was angry or aroused. That was probably because when he got angry, he was all in. There was no in-between, and the same could be said for his libido. But that was neither here nor there. Here was the teenage Gaje girl gaping at him because his hands were glowing with internal fire and his eyes were undoubtedly a solid glowing white. Taking a calming deep breath, he tamped down his power and shoved it back into stasis.

  “I don’t wanna get into it,” he said gruffly. “But seeing as how there is a goddamn snowstorm outside, I don’t have any gas, and we’re both fucking stuck her…then you might as well know that I have magic.”

  Pursing her lips, her expression thoughtful, she nodded.

  She just nodded.

  What the hell? No freak-out? No questions? Was this the calm before the next emotional storm? And more importantly, would he be able to sleep through what was going to come?

  Marko shuddered at the thought of how much more hysterical she could get.

  “Do you think I’m the only human left?” she asked.

  His eyebrows shot up. “Say what?”

  “Well, those things out there,” she said, making an all-encompassing gesture, “are definitely not human anymore, and the only two people I have seen since this whole crazy mess began is you, and before you, a woman who was definitely not human, but she wasn’t like those things either. She was more like you except she had black eye
s and black stuff coming out of her hands.”

  Marko’s heart thundered in his chest. It couldn’t be a coincidence. “Black eyes?” he repeated and Carrie nodded.

  “Long black hair? Olive skin?”

  She gave him another nod and his heartbeat triple-timed it.

  Trinity. It had to be her.

  “Where?” he demanded. Oh crap. “And when?”

  “Um, it was fall, October or maybe November, at a house in town. We, um…my brother had me hold her at gunpoint. He, uh, wanted the keys to her car, and then she…she killed him.”

  Killed him, huh? Well, what had he expected? He’d seen what she’d done to that hospital where he’d found her. She’d decimated the entire structure by accident. She probably hadn’t meant to kill the girl’s brother either. But the woman was a force of nature beyond anyone’s comprehension.

  Gerik Hjemsäter was the most powerful Rom of their time. He was, according to the prophecy, “The One” and Trinity was his soul mate. Together they shared a soul, shared powers, and shared what-the-fuck-ever else. Add dark magic into the mix, and the final outcome was going to be a big magical mess just waiting to blow up in your face.

  Whatever. He still needed to find her.

  Only…

  He glanced out the window at the snow, and thought about his lack of gasoline.

  “Is she evil or something?” Carrie asked.

  With a disappointed sigh, he turned away from her. Slowly, he crossed the trailer and sat down heavily on the small sofa.

  “Evil,” he repeated, staring across the small space at nothing in particular. “Nah. Or at least, I doubt it. Trinity’s just…” Letting his head drop to the back of the couch, he sighed again. “She’s just one damn unlucky fată.”

  “Fată?”

  “Girl,” he said absentmindedly. “It means girl.”

  “So, she’s human?”

  Marko let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah.”

  “And you’re human?”

  He lifted his head. He was accustomed to chatty females, but this particular one was getting annoying.

  “Do I look like an alien?” he snarled.

  His temper didn’t seem to faze her in the least. Damn.

  “Are you from another country?”

  What the fuck? Did he sound French? “No,” he bit out. “I’m Romani. I’m not from any country. I’m from everywhere…and nowhere.”

  “What’s a Romani?”

  “A Gypsy,” he growled.

  “Wow,” she breathed. “Did you travel in a caravan and stuff?”

  Okay, so the rapt expression on Carrie’s face was kind of funny. She was romanticizing everything he was saying. As if living off the land, making everything from scratch, bathing in lakes was, like, totally the best thing, like, ever.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “Sorta.”

  “So, what happened to your…your caravan?”

  “Fată,” he said, sitting up straight and glaring at her. “Do you ever stop talking?”

  Her lips twitched. “I haven’t had anyone to talk to in months.”

  Oh. Great. And he was getting the side effects.

  “Clan,” he mumbled, leaning back, getting comfortable again. “They’re my clan, and nothing happened to them…at least nothing recently. I left them in Ohio, backtracked to Pennsylvania, got thrown off course because of the storm, and here I am.”

  “Why did you come back?”

  “Enough questions,” he said and pointed to the stove. “More cooking.”

  Looking disappointed, Carrie bit her lip, but thankfully turned around and began slowly stirring the pasta.

  Thank fucking God.

  “One more question,” she asked, spinning around.

  “What!”

  “How do you know that woman? Was she part of your clan?”

  “Trinity,” he grumbled. “Her name is Trinity, and she was married to the clan asshole. Long story short, she got separated from my clan, and the asshole she married sorta…freaked out. Did some shit he shouldn’t have…with my fiancée.” Marko’s jaw clenched. “And I did something I shouldn’t have. The. Fucking. End.”

  “Your eyes are white again,” Carrie whispered.

  “Yeah,” he shot back. “Because this shit makes me mad.”

  “Maybe talking about it would help.”

  He shot up off the couch, wishing he were the kind of asshole who didn’t have a problem with punching a female in the face. Grabbing his coat and hat, he dressed quickly and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, her voice shrill, her words laced with panic.

  “Gonna see what I can get from your tată mare’s closet,” he grumbled.

  “What’s a tată mare?” she asked.

  Yanking open the door, Marko stepped out into the roaring winds. “Grandfather!” he shouted and slammed the door closed behind him.

  Suddenly, freezing to death seemed like the best thing ever.

  Chapter Nine

  “Your turn, Hockey,” Rachael said, smiling. “Tell us something about your life…before.”

  Hockey looked up from his meal and glanced around at the waiting faces surrounding him. He’d made it months without incident by keeping mostly to himself, helping out as much as one man could with as little interaction as possible. But he supposed this was bound to happen sooner or later. After all, the six of them were stuck with one another, at least until winter passed.

  “You don’t have to,” Rachael said. “We can move—”

  “No,” he said, clearing his throat. “It’s all right.”

  What to tell them?

  He couldn’t exactly be forthcoming about his clan or the magic they embodied. Anything he told them about his life would have to be an altered variation of the truth. They’d think he was crazy unless he proved it by using his own power. And that could go one of two ways. They either accepted it or they freaked the hell out, and out of fear, tried to kill him. Not having known many Gajes in his life, and just from gauging the personalities of these five people—Mira being the only exception—he found them to be high-strung, easily excitable, and not at all pliable in their opinions. All of which told him they wouldn’t understand what he was and, after finding out the truth, would fear him as much as the creatures they were hiding from. Therefore, he would be keeping both his and the abilities of his clan to himself.

  Hockey didn’t want to talk about his family either. Every day he worried about Becki and the baby, his mamă and tată, his frate and soră. Even his dreams were riddled with horrifying scenarios of finding his clan, their trailers all burned to the ground and bones scattered around the camp. A baby was always crying off in the distance, but no matter how far he ran in every direction, he couldn’t find it before the crying would suddenly stop and he was left standing alone, surrounded by carnage and deafening silence.

  “I’m married,” he said quietly. “She was pregnant when I left her, but she would have given birth by now.”

  “If she’s even alive,” Chris muttered, “which is highly unlikely.”

  “Shut up!” Mira snapped. “We’re alive, which means others could be, too!”

  Hockey didn’t say anything. Chris was right. Becki might very well be dead…or she might be alive and well and safely hidden away under the protection of magic.

  “I was married,” Tyler said, thankfully drawing the attention away from Hockey. “Two kids, a dog, no picket fence, but you get the picture.”

  “Ty,” Rachael whispered. Turning in Tyler’s lap, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Their relationship had been a recent development, and one that had woken them all up in the middle of the night. The following few days had been awkward for everyone except Hockey; he was used to living in close quarters. He had heard many, many different couples sexually expressing their feelings for each other. He’d initially woken up to the sounds of soft crying and heavy breathing. Knowing exactly what was happening, that no one was h
urt or needed his help, he had rolled over and fallen back to sleep. But the rest of them…

  David, who was now staring daggers at Tyler, had spent the following weeks cursing and moping over their couple status, only furthering Hockey’s suspicions that the man could eventually prove to be dangerous.

  Chris, too, was jealous, but hadn’t done much more than make suggestive and lewd comments, yet Hockey could sense the jealousy.

  Hockey remembered being seventeen, wanting nothing more than to be inside a fată, but he had curbed his baser needs with hard work and prayer. Chris had been raised differently than him. This boy was spoiled, moody, and rebellious. He’d had everything given to him on a silver platter and, despite the current state of the world, still felt himself every bit as entitled.

  Chris’s attitude made Hockey thankful that he’d grown up as he had—hardworking and with a love and deep respect of the land. He appreciated his family and his clan, and their reasons for continuing the traditions of their people by staying in touch with nature and valuing all that was given to them. If they hadn’t, if they’d succumbed to Western civilization, to the ways of the Gaje society, they would have lost their magic years ago.

  Hockey smiled to himself as one of Maisera Popa’s many fireside stories echoed inside his head.

  “Once upon a time, all of mankind possessed the ability to wield nature’s elements. But like most Gajes nowadays, having this power wasn’t enough for some. They thought they were entitled to more, and they wanted the ability to control everything around them, not just nature but animals and people.

  “Out of greed, they used the elements to create a much darker and infinitely more powerful version of magic, manipulating what was good and natural into a more twisted version of its former self. A darker version.

  “Kings were born from the darkness.

  “Totalitarianism.

  “Slavery.

  “Hatred.