Soulmates

by Nadine Nightingale

  Her melodramatic tendencies get worse by the day. “Just tell me what she wants, B.”

  Fingers clenched around the doorknob, she looks over her shoulder. “You really want to know?” Her voice is calm. A little too calm, maybe.

  No, I don’t. I nod anyway.”Then you better call her,” Bonnie says before slamming the door behind her.

  I fall onto my bed and glare at the ceiling. How the fuck did this morning go from I-want-to-kiss-the-world-because-I-had-no-nightmares to I’m-a-dumb-bitch-who-pissed-off-my-only-friend? Damn, Melinda really does bring out the worst in me.Exasperated with myself, I snatch my towel from the thrift-store chair I bought last week and head to the bathroom.

  When I get out of the shower, Bonnie is long gone. The nagging guilt in the pit of my stomach, however, is still very present. Normally, I don’t give a fuck about other people’s feelings, but I do care about Bonnie’s. An apology is needed. The girl has put up with my family shit for way too long. If I’m not careful, she’ll soon realize what a fucked-up friend I really am and, eventually, walk away. Just like Mother Dearest predicted.

  Getting ready for my lectures, I pour a cup of coffee. Chelsea looks up from her newspaper. “Where have you been all night?”

  I fling myself onto the sofa. “What are you? My mother?” There’s definitely some resemblance between the two.

  She fiddles with the sleeves of her silk blouse. “Of course not. My children would never be so godless.”

  Godless? Ha! I’m not the one who threw a fit when gay marriage was legalized. “Why don’t you go seduce a priest or terrorize some poor gay bastard, Nun?”

  She neatly folds her paper. “I don’t get it, Amanda.”

  There are a lot of things she doesn’t get. Unlike Bonnie, I refuse to play her games.

  I go through my emails and sip my coffee. “You seem to be a smart girl.”

  Bitch and Bitchier would disagree.

  “Why would you follow Bonnie’s example and become a sinner?” she continues.

  What she’s really trying to say is why does a white girl act like a black slut, and for that I want to fucking kill her. Bonnie and I argue a lot, and I don’t always agree with her choices, but I’ll be damned if a bitch like Chelsea talks crap about her in my presence.

  Murder on my face, I meet her gaze. “Know what, Chelsea? You pretend to be all righteous and good, but you’re really just a racist bigot who doesn’t know the first thing about Christian love.”

  Her mouth forms a shocked O. “What did—”

  Rising from the sofa in slow motion, I get in her face. “You heard me, bitch. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll never talk about my best friend again. If you do, so help me God, I will make sure you get firsthand experience of the viciousness of hell.” A wicked smile curls my lips. “Got it?”

  Distress creeps into her sturdy features. “You are so—”“Ready to kill you? Boy, you’re quick.”

  Stumbling backward, she grabs her paper and disappears inside her room.

  Good choice.

  Chapter 5

  I walk out of class with a headache from freaking hell. Majoring in psychology seemed like a good idea, considering how well I can read people. Sometimes, though, the purely scientific approach to people’s behavior bugs me. The brain has a great impact on attitudes, aggression, and moral thought and action, but so does the soul.

  Hoping lunch with Bonnie will be more rewarding, I stroll down the long hallway. I’d texted her earlier and asked her to meet me at the coffee shop on campus for a quick lunch before my shift at Lindy’s starts. She wasn’t really up for it, but having had the most convincing argument—which may or may not have involved a free latte, sandwiches, and as much dessert as she wants—she agreed. Thank God. Almost thought I’d have to do a naked I’m-sorry-your-friend-is-such-a-failure dance in front of the whole campus.

  I’m about to head down the stairs when two hands blind me. “Hey, sugar,” DeLuca whispers.

  Pulling his hands off my eyes, I spin. “Stop calling me that.” I hate nicknames.

  He brushes golden hair out of his face. “Can’t help it. You’re just too damn sweet.”

  I cross my arms. The guy is already starting to piss me off a little. “What do you want? And don’t tell me you missed me.” I have a feeling the warning is needed.

  A boyish smile tugs at his lips. “Would I lose points on the screw-buddy scale if I said I did?”

  Jesus, he acts like he wants to be your freakin’ boyfriend. Doesn’t matter. He helps me sleep. That’s all I care about. For now. “Kinda,” I answer honestly. My gaze drops to his crotch. “But you can always make up for it.”

  His rich laughter echoes through the hallway. “That’s reassuring.”

  I sigh. “Care to tell me why you’re stalking me?”

  He raises his brows. “I was going to ask if you wanted to join me for a bite.”

  Don’t say I didn’t warn ya! Sometimes, I wish there was a fucking kill-switch for the damn voice in my head. I hold two fingers up. “A: I already have a lunch date, and B: I don’t eat with my sparring partners.”

  He tries his puppy look on me. “Shame. I happen to know the best burger place in town.”

  “I’m vegetarian,” I murmur, suddenly thinking of Alex. He figured that out all by himself. No explanation needed.

  DeLuca shrugs it off. “You can always just sit there and appreciate the company.”

  I throw my hair over one shoulder. “Or I could walk away and pretend this never happened. Spare you the embarrassment and ignore the fact you’re acting like a lovesick puppy.”

  He closes the gap between us and leans in. “You’re a lot more fun when you’re pushed against a tree, moaning my name.”

  DeLuca holds my gaze when I get the feeling we’re being watched. I press my hand against his well-defined chest and shove him away. That’s when I see them—Bitch and Bitchier. They stand two feet away, staring at us as if we’re the new Tarantino flick.

  “What’s up?” DeLuca asks, peeking over his shoulder.

  “I think we have an audience.”

  He winks at the girls. “You know they think you’re a devil-worshipping witch, right?”

  I glare at the gossip-spreading bitches. “So they know my secret, huh? I should probably whack them.”

  The fact there’s not the slightest trace of humor in my voice draws DeLuca’s attention back to me. “Are you saying the rumors about you are true?”

  His shocked expression is mesmerizing. I bite my lip to keep from bursting into uncontrollable laughter. “Not the bathing in virgin blood part, but other than that?” I shrug. “They’re not that far off the grid.”

  For a moment, there’s fear in DeLuca’s eyes. Then, as if someone hits him with a baseball bat, he snaps out of his delirium and laughs. “Damn, you’re good.”

  I squint. At what? Scaring the shit outta people?

  “You should major in drama, not psychology.”

  Why is it when I try to tell the truth everyone thinks I’m joking? I’m close to asking DeLuca just that when Bitch walks toward us. “Bridge?”

  He turns around. “Hey, Jules.”

  Bitch’s gaze locks with mine, but she quickly looks away. “Can I talk to you?”

  DeLuca nods. “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Alone,” she emphasizes.

  I can take a hint. “I better get going. Virgins don’t bleed out by themselves.”

  Her jaw drops.

  I walk away.

  ****

  When I get to the coffee shop, Bonnie is waiting for me at the entrance. “You’re late,” she murmurs, pointing at her watch.

  I tilt my head to the side and smile. “And you look like someone just ruined your new Louis Vuitton bag.”

  She refuses to cut me slack. “Keep up the attitude, and I’ll order the whole menu.”

  I throw my arm around her shoulders and grin. “Anything to make my grumpy best friend happy.”

&n
bsp; “You’re unbelievable, Amanda.”

  I pull her through the door. “You still love me, don’t ya?”

  She sighs heavily. “Get me a double-shot latte, a mozzarella panini, two cookies, and a brownie. Then we’re talking.”

  “Your wish is my command, Your Majesty.” She lets me off the hook too easily. That’s Bonnie. The girl can never stay mad at me for long. Even when we were kids, and I got her into all sorts of trouble, she had that forgiving streak.

  I’m still nibbling on a lemon cupcake when Bonnie is on her second cookie. She’s so freaking delicate no one would believe she eats like the big green guy who smashes everything coming his way.

  “I know I’m sexy like that. Devouring cookies and all. But something tells me it’s not the reason you’re staring at me, is it?”

  Poking at the icing on my cupcake, I blow out a long breath. “You know how I don’t apologize. Like ever. Right?”

  She takes another bite. “Yeah, so?”

  My belly cramps. “Let’s assume I wasn’t such a selfish bitch, and I actually apologize for my mistakes.”

  “Okay,” she says, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “I’m assuming.”Jesus, why the fuck is it so hard for me to say sorry? Keeping my gaze on the table, I dig my nails into my palm. “Well, if that were the case, I’d probably tell you I was a bitch this morning while you were trying to be a friend.”

  A half-smile curves up her lips. “Is that so?”

  I shrug. “I would also tell you the reason I believe blood doesn’t equal family is you.”

  Confusion paints her face. “What?”

  “Remember Grams’s funeral?”

  She tosses the last piece of her cookie. “Which part?”

  “The part where my mom threw me out of the house in the middle of the funeral party?” Bonnie’s uneasy. She starts bouncing her leg. “It’s not like anyone there could ever forget that. She called you Satan’s bride, Amanda.” Her voice is a mixture of sadness and resentment.

  I look around the coffee shop. “She did, didn’t she?”

  Bonnie rests her hand on mine and squeezes it gently. “Your mom is a real piece of work.”

  Pushing the memory to the darkest part of my soul, I nod. “But that’s not the point.”“Then what is?” Leaning back, I focus on George, the wannabe quarterback hitting on the poor barista. That girl is so out of his league.

  “Amanda?” Bonnie’s voice is soft.

  Damn, why the fuck did I start this conversation? Doesn’t matter. I did. Now I gotta pull my head out of my ass and finish it. “Remember what you said when she dragged me out of the house by my hair?”

  Bonnie blushes. “That it takes evil to recognize it?”

  The look on Mother Dearest’s face is branded into my brain. Thought she’d have a stroke or something. “Those were your exact words, B. What about Melinda? Do you remember what she said?”

  Bonnie props her elbows on the table. “No, not really. Why?”

  I force a weak smile. “Because Melinda never said a word. She just stood there, watching her haul me out of the house and… Didn’t. Say. A thing.” I draw a deep breath. “You were the one who stood up for me. The one who tried to protect me. You always have, Bonnie.”

  Her eyes glaze. She’s close to bursting into tears. “Your mom had no right to talk to you like that. And Melinda…well, she was too scared to do what was right. So, I took a stand and told her off. It’s not a big deal.”

  Not a big deal? She’s big on modesty these days. “You fought for me like a sister would, like a sister should. That’s what makes you the only family I have.”

  Bonnie’s gaze drops to her half-eaten cookie. “If that was an apology,” she says, shoving her plate away, “which clearly it wasn’t, I would totally accept it. But you shouldn’t be too hard on Melinda. She’s been through a lot, and she’s still the one who takes care of—”

  “I know, and I’m grateful for what she does…” I wrap my fingers around the takeaway cup. “But it doesn’t change how she treated me.”

  Bonnie plays with her cookie. “She’s worried about you.”

  I’d laugh, but I’d have to apologize again. “That would be a first, B.”

  Bonnie pulls her curls into a high bun. “Trust me, Amanda. Melinda sounded terrified when she called me. Never heard so much fear in her voice.”

  “What, does she worry I’ll set the campus on fire?”

  “No.” Her voice turns dead serious. “She thinks you’re in danger.”

  I almost stab my eyes out with the plastic fork. “What?”

  Bonnie traces her eyebrows with her index fingers. “She said something about your grams having warned her.”

  “Grams?” My voice turns sour. “That’s bull. Why the fuck should Grams come to her and not me?” When we were kids, Melinda and Grams were like one, but at some point their relationship went downhill. I blamed my mother for it but came to understand there was more to the story than I’d thought.

  Bonnie shoves a piece of cookie into her mouth. “I don’t know why your grams came to Melinda—probably because she’s the medium. Anyways, when I told her about your nightmares, she—”

  “You what?” I yell, lava flooding my veins.

  She makes a face. “Calm down. I didn’t mean to. It kinda…it just came out, all right?”

  Calm down? The girl never told on me. Not when I set fire to my mother’s beloved rose tree or when I took my dad’s car for a joyride. Now she throws her loyalty out the window over nightmares? “Since when are you such a snitch?”

  She holds her hand up B-style. “Would you stop it already? We both know something is wrong with you, Amanda.” Her gaze burns through mine. “Sure, you slept through the night after screwing DeLuca, but what about the fact you can’t read auras? Hell, you don’t even get visions anymore.”

  “I do get visions,” I say, defending myself.

  “Yeah?” She ogles me suspiciously. “When was the last time you had one?”

  I cross my arms. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I had one just yesterday.”

  “What?”

  I lean back. “I had this weird customer. Name’s Legend—”

  She bursts into laughter. “Let me guess; his best friend is a German shepherd?”

  The name really is weird. “No,” I moan. “But the guy had a weird tattoo, and when I looked into his eyes…” The picture flickers across my mind, and I shiver. “I saw him standing over a dead man.”

  She shifts closer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  I shake my head. “When, B? In Penrose’s lecture or at The Bitter End, when you walked out on me to get lucky with Cappuccino Douchebag?”

  Guilt washes over her face, turning her soft features into hard granite. “One word. Just one word, Amanda, and I would have ditched Jason.”

  I never questioned that. Bonnie loves sex as much as life itself, but she’d send every guy to hell if I needed her. “It wasn’t a big thing,” I say, trying to ease her conscience. “The guy is probably a cop or something, and the vision was random.” I don’t tell her about the sigil carved into the dead man’s forehead or that Legend thought “whatever” killed him and not “whoever.” She’s freaked out enough as it is. No need to make things worse.

  “Random vision?” She runs a hand over her face, smearing her mascara in the process. “You never have a random vision. Besides, don’t you think it’s sorta weird the guy shows up just when you’re going through a magic crisis?”

  She has a point. The nightmares, my fucked-up abilities, Melinda’s warning, and Legend—all happening at once—is strange. Yet, I don’t see how any of it can be connected.

  “Amanda.” She waits till I look at her. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need to call Alex.”

  “No.” Even if I was surrounded by a horde of demons, I wouldn’t call jerk-face.

  “What if that Legend dude is a hunter?”

  “He’s not.” Am I trying to conv
ince her or me?

  Bonnie gives me a look. “One day that stubbornness will get you killed.”

  A half-hearted smile spreads across my face. “We all have to die one day.”

  She stirs her latte. “Yeah, but I’d rather go to your funeral later than sooner.”

  I’ve survived my mother, a psycho bokor, a freaking pedophile, and hunter-heroic. I doubt nightmares or a guy named Legend can kill me. “Don’t worry, B. Bad weeds grow tall.”

  She silently stares at her coffee for a while. When she looks up, there’s a flash of excitement in her eyes. “Hey,” she says, grinning from ear to ear. “I have an idea.”

  I’m in deep shit.

  Chapter 6

  I glare at the depressing snow clouds dimming the afternoon sky. “I can’t believe you talked me into getting a tarot reading over cookies and latte,” I snarl, fighting the urge to pick another fight with Bonnie.

  “I’m convincing like that.” She flashes me a brilliant smile. My face stays frozen, and she adds, “It’ll be fun. I promise.”

  I’m a witch. Walking into a fortuneteller’s place to ask about my future is as bad—maybe even worse—than doing the walk of shame in front of a whole frat house.

  Bonnie’s hand lands on my shoulder. “It’s just a reading, not the end of the world.”

  “Says the mambo who refuses to practice magic.”

  Bonnie’s gaze drops to her new Prada boots. “This isn’t about me. We need to figure out what’s going on with you, Manda.”

  Manda? I stop dead in my tracks. “Don’t call me that.”

  She pulls her brows together. “Call you what?” I’d say she’s messing with me, but she looks genuinely confused.

  “Manda,” I say, hugging my winter coat closer to my chest.

  “I didn’t.”

  I give her the don’t-mess-with-me-’cause-I’m-crazy look. “Stop fooling around, B.”

  Bonnie narrows her eyes. “I’ve known you for ages. Never called you Manda, did I?”

  I’m not deaf. I heard her. “Whatever,” I snap as we turn into a dark alley. “Where the hell are we, B?” I scan the surroundings, wondering if the fortuneteller has chosen this fucked-up area for a reason. I would have. It adds to the mystery. Plus, people love to be scared.