Soulmates

by Nadine Nightingale

  I dig my nails into the palm of my hand, expecting the pain to chase away the deadness. My skin is already red, the claw marks deep, and I still don’t feel a thing.

  “What an asshole,” Bonnie barks. She looks at Jesse. “No offense.”

  A half-hearted smile is on his lips. “None taken.”

  A moment passes and then he gets up and walks toward me. “Manda,” he says, kneeling before me. “I know I should have told you the truth in Bakersfield. Almost did in the hospital. But I’m here now, and I’m begging you…Help me save my brother from hell.”

  I stare at him in disbelief. A pact with the devil is shatterproof. Once you’ve purchased a ticket to hell, there’s no going back, because it’s non-fucking-refundable.

  “Say something,” he pleads.

  I still wait for anger and madness to hit, but I remain calm. “What do you want me to say?”

  He puts two fingers under my chin and lifts my head so we’re eye to eye. “Say you’ll help him. Say you’ll save him. Say anything, Manda.”

  I jerk my head to the side and rise. “Anything, huh?” I pace the room. “How about this? When I summoned the reaper, and he told me he’d grant me one wish only, you kept your mouth shut. You could have saved him back then.” I stop dead in my tracks and face him. “Sorry, man, but now it’s too late. And this time, it ain’t my fault.”

  A heart-wrenching sadness fills his eyes. “So Alex was right? You really don’t give a shit if he lives or dies?”

  I cross my arms. “You don’t get it, do you? He’s already dead, Jesse. Even the big guy in the sky can’t save him.”

  “Amanda,” Bonnie shouts. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She points to Jesse, who’s at the brink of a breakdown.

  I couldn’t have hurt him more if I’d hit him with a fucking baseball bat. “He deserves the truth,” I mutter before I spin on my heels and move to my room, slamming the door behind me.

  ****

  I lie close to Alex. Hand on his chest, I feel his heart beating, listen to him breathing while he’s far away and dreaming. It’s past midnight, and the numbness inside of me slowly subsides. The pain crawling through the crumbling deadness isn’t much better, though. Hell, who am I kidding? It’s so much worse.

  I lost Alex the day I’d met him. Hey, I’m not a dreamer. Him being a hunter and me being a witch meant we were headed in two different directions. That was okay as long as I knew he still had one—a future that is.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” I murmur, brushing the hair out of his face. Damn, even with the ugly stitches running from his left eyebrow all the way down to his jaw, he’s still perfection. Michelangelo himself couldn’t have captured those flawless cheekbones, let alone those desirable lips.

  I hate crying. Hate everything testifying to my weakness, but Alex is going to die. His soul will be dragged to the fiery lakes, and there’s nothing I can do about it. How could I have been so blind in Bakersfield? Why hadn’t his aura betrayed what he’d done? Witches can only see so much, and Alex did a great job hiding his little secret.

  Tears well up and spill down my cheeks. Like Jesse, I don’t bother to wipe them away. What’s the point? There’s plenty more where they came from.

  I stare at his peaceful face. How could he do this to his brother…to me…to his—Don’t go down that road. Easier said than done.

  Slowly shifting to the edge of my bed, I lift the blanket to check if there’s fresh blood on his bandages. I breathe a sigh of relief when there’s none, but even if he survives the wounds, he could still die in a couple of days.

  I tuck him in. “One righteous jerk-face hunter you are. I mean, a deal with the devil, Alex? Really?”

  Why the hell did he do it? Does it really matter?

  I never meant to care for Alex. Never meant to care for anyone but myself. Look at me now. Where did all my selfishness go? What happened to the girl who believed no one could ever break her heart?

  “I need to talk to her,” Jesse says outside my room.

  “You gotta give her some time,” Bonnie mutters. “She’ll come around.”

  Jesse raises his voice. “My brother doesn’t have time, Bonnie.”

  “Okay.” She sounds exhausted. “I’ll talk to her, but you gotta stay here. Understand?”

  Talking to Bonnie or anyone else is the last thing I want to do, but when she knocks, I can’t bring myself to deny her entry.

  “Hey.” She sticks her head in the door. “Can I come in?”

  I shrug.

  She drags a chair from my desk to the bed. “How you holding up?”

  I shrug again.

  For some time, she sits there quietly, looking at Alex, looking at me. Bonnie knows how quickly my temper can take over when someone rubs me the wrong way, and when she sees the tears in my eyes, I can tell she’s scared to say the wrong thing.

  What’s the right thing to say in a situation like this though? Bonnie might not use her abilities, and she might hate her magical heritage, but she, too, knows there’s no way out of a deal with a demon.

  “His head looks good,” she says when she finally breaks the silence. “Seems like you’ve got some hidden talents.”

  I keep my mouth shut.

  She shoves her hands between her thighs, and another noiseless moment passes before her eyes lock with mine. “What are we going to do about this?” She points her chin at Alex.

  I swallow the pins and needles in my throat. “There’s nothing we can do, and you know it.”

  Bonnie’s lips slip into a frown. “Says the girl who cured a zombie without an antidote?”

  I give her a look. Not that I don’t appreciate what she’s trying to do, but I can’t handle false hope. “Zombies are one thing, B. Deals with the devil, or one of his demon bitches, is something else entirely.”

  “Someone once told me every poison has an antidote.”

  I wipe my damp cheeks. “Have you ever heard of anyone who got out of a deal, B?”

  She sighs. “I haven’t.”

  I bite on my lip. “That’s what I thought.”

  “But I’d also never heard of a zombie cure.”

  I hadn’t expected a “but” from her. Not from the most rational person I’ve ever met. “What are you saying?”

  She shifts to the edge of her chair. “What I’m saying is the Amanda Bishop I know wouldn’t just accept his fate. She’d move heaven and hell, and I mean that quite literally, to save him.”

  A messy lump forms in my chest. Emotions crush me. “Just leave me alone, B.” I run my fingers through Alex’s sweaty hair. “Please?”

  “All right.” She gets up and walks to the door. “But ask yourself this,” she says, hand around the doorknob. “Can you really live with the fact you didn’t even try to keep him alive?” Then she’s gone.

  Chapter 11

  Eleven days to hell

  Alex slept through the night. I didn’t. Couldn’t. His short breaths, cold hands and feet, and the swelling of his tongue worried me. I knew those were symptoms of anemia, and since our apartment wasn’t equipped for a blood transfusion, I sent Bonnie and Jesse to Chinatown to get some blood-building herbs. Little Remington thought it a clear sign I hadn’t given up on his brother. He was wrong. I just couldn’t sit back and watch him die when there was something I could do.

  I look at the digital clock on my nightstand, and my heartbeat quickens. I’ve already missed my lectures. Now it’s close to two p.m., and my shift at the wicked bitch’s diner started almost half an hour ago. Between worrying about Alex’s current condition and wrapping my head around the reality he’s going to be Hellboy’s new pet, the diner completely slipped my mind. Pretty stupid, considering I need this job to pay for housing and tuition. There’s no way I could have left him, though. He hasn’t come to yet, and Bonnie and Jesse are still MIA in Chinatown.

  I better ring my ruthless boss before I kiss my job goodbye. I can’t exactly tell Lindy the truth, so I decide calling in sick
is my best option. I work up the courage to give the wicked bitch a buzz and reach for my phone.

  My palms are dotted with sweat, and I pace the room. When my tyrannical boss picks up on the third ring, I hold my breath. “Lindy’s diner,” she barks into the speaker.

  I’m so dead. “Hey, it’s me.”

  “Now, now, if that isn’t Miss I-Ditch-Work.” She almost sounds cheerful, which terrifies me. “You calling to say you’re doing the night shift.” It might sound like a question, but Lindy doesn’t do questions.

  I’m in front of the window. “I can’t do the night shift.” I draw the curtain aside and glare at the clouded sky. “I’m…I’m kinda sick.”

  “Kinda sick?” She bursts into laughter. “Sorry, hun, but I thought you just said you can’t work because you’re,”—she laughs harder—“sick. Hilarious, isn’t it?”

  Her shrill voice gives me an aneurysm. In twenty-years of miserable life, I’ve never let anyone talk to me like this. Then again, I’ve never depended on a job. Until now. My stomach sinks. “I puked my guts out, Lindy.”

  “And you think I care because?” She couldn’t sound more hateful if she spit venom in my face.

  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I think of McSorley’s Old Ale House down the street. Bonnie had gotten me an interview there. I never went. Thought I could make it on my own. Pride’s a bitch, huh?

  “I ain’t got all day,” Lindy shouts. “You coming in or not?”

  “I’m contagious,” I blurt, hoping she cares more about the health of her customers than mine.

  “Is that so? Well, let me tell ya something, missy. I wouldn’t care if ya had the plague. Now, you either get your ass over here, or ya can find yourself a new job, and I sincerely doubt anyone other than the strip club down the street will hire such an incompetent blonde disaster like you.”

  I’m tempted to put a hex on her ass, but in view of my recent luck, it would go horribly wrong, and my already monstrous boss would transform into Godzilla. “You can’t fire me because I’m sick,” I try to reason with her.

  “Watch me,” she barks. Fuck. Losing this job, no matter how fucked up it is, means giving up my new life. I can’t let that happen, but neither can I turn my back on Alex. Shit. I forget all about dignity and pride and get ready for a first. “Please, Lindy. I need this job,” I beg. “Don’t matter.” Her voice is bitter. “You’ve got twenty minutes to haul your butt to the diner.” Then she hangs up on me.

  I’m soooo screwed! I don’t think screwed quite cuts it.

  “Manda?” Alex croaks.

  I shove my cell in the back pocket of my jeans and spin. “Hey.” A smile I don’t feel shoots over my lips. “Look who’s returned to the land of the living.” He explores the cut on his face. It’s going to leave a nasty scar. “Very funny, Manda.”Boy, he looks miserable. The small blood vessels around his left eye are damaged, and a big shiner has developed. The massive blood loss paled his skin, and he’s shaking with chills.

  I saunter toward him. “How do you feel?” I ask, checking his pulse.

  Alex pushes his elbows into the mattress, trying to sit up. “Awesome.” I don’t believe him for a second. Why should I? Ever since he walked into the Salty Dog Tavern in Harpers Ferry, West Virginia, three months ago, he’s done nothing but lie to me.

  “Wait, I’ll help you.” I shove a few pillows under his head. “Some water?” I mutter, reaching for the glass on the nightstand.

  He nods, and when I pass him the glass, he downs half of it at once. Then he scans my room. “Where’s Jesse?”

  “In Chinatown with Bonnie, getting some blood-building herbs for you,” I explain while I pull the blanket away to take a look at the bandages. No fresh blood, but the veins around the wounds are darker than they should be—almost black. Odd. I’ve never seen anything like it, but it can’t be good.

  I plop down next to him and check his temperature with the back of my hand. I’m not a clinical thermometer, but I’m pretty sure his forehead is way too hot. “I’m gonna check if the Nun has some ibuprofen in her room.”

  I get on my feet, but Alex winds his cold fingers around my wrist. “Manda.” His glassy eyes lock with mine. “Ain’t no ibuprofen going to save me. You know that, right?”

  A scream forms in the depth of my soul, but I swallow it. “All I know is you lied to me, Alex.” I want to sound mad. Defeated is all I manage.

  His gaze drops to his scarred knuckles. “What was I supposed to do? Tell you the truth?”

  I give him the Amanda Bishop psycho-killer look. “Of course not. I mean, why the fuck would you tell me you sold your soul, right?” He draws circles with his thumb onto my palm, as if he’s trying to ease the thunderstorm brewing inside me. Doesn’t work, though. “Why did you do it?”

  He looks out of the window. “I had my reasons.”

  I almost laugh. “Oh really? Then tell me, Alex. What could possibly justify deportation to hell?”

  He scans my bookshelves, avoiding my eyes. “You’re not going to let this go, huh?”

  I raise my brows and keep quiet.

  “I can’t tell you, Manda. I really can’t.”

  I wrench my wrist out of his grip. “You can’t? Like you couldn’t tell me the truth in Harpers Ferry or like you couldn’t pick up a goddamn phone to tell me you’re going to bite the dust?” I sound like a madwoman, but today madness comes as a two-for-the-price-of-one bargain.

  His lips part. When he sees the fury blazing in my eyes, he quickly shuts his mouth.

  No matter how hard I push the topic, he won’t tell the truth. He’s too damn stubborn. Drawing a deep breath, I try a different approach. “Wanna tell me who went all Wolverine on you? Clearly wasn’t the demon you warmed up to, or else you’d be dead.”

  “Don’t know,” he murmurs. “One minute I was sleeping in my cell, the next I woke up with excruciating pain in my chest.”

  I arch a brow. “And you never saw what or who attacked you?”

  “There was a shadow, I think. And I’m pretty sure I heard snarling before I blacked out, but other than that”—he shakes his head—“nothing.”

  Snarling? I remember the fractured vison. Had I witnessed the attack? “When did it happen?”

  He presses a hand against his chest and flinches. “Last night.”

  A relentless pang hits me in the chest. Had I seen a live broadcast of Alex’s attack? Or worse, could I have prevented it from happening if I had called him?

  “Manda?” Alex’s hand lands on my arm. “You look like someone forced a raw steak down your throat.”

  I shove my shaky hands into the pockets of my jeans and ignore his comment. “Care to share what an FBI agent is doing in a prison cell?”

  “Long story,” he says, breathing heavily through the pain.

  “Give me the blurb version.”

  “A couple weeks after Bakersfield, Jesse and I quit the bureau.” He forces a smile. “Figured I’d better enjoy my last hell-free days.”

  “In prison?” I blurt out.

  He rolls his eyes. “No, Manda. Not in prison. We hit the road. Went to all the places we’ve never been before. Grand Canyon, Disney World, Warner Brother’s Studios—”

  “I get it,” I say, holding up my hand. “You thought seeing some stupid theme parks was more important than finding a way out of this mess.” I wave for him to continue. “Moving on.”

  “There is no way out of this,” he grumbles, casting me a sidelong glance. “We were heading toward Niagara Falls when I got a call from the United States Penitentiary in Hazelton. I bet you can guess how surprised I was when the operator asked me if I’d accept a call from an inmate named Francois Matthieu.”

  A muscle in my jaw pops and my eyes widen. “Psycho-bokor-asshole called you?” I’d heard he was moved to a federal prison in West Virginia, but why on earth would he call Alex, the hunter who put him behind bars?

  Alex applies pressure to his chest and nods. “He wanted to make a deal. Said he co
uld get me out of this mess if I helped him get out of prison.”

  “What did you say?” I ask, though I already know the answer. Alex is like the United States of America—doesn’t negotiate with terrorists, or in this case, child-abusing bokor dicks.

  He smiles. “That he can shove his offer up his ass. I’d rather spend an eternity in hell than let a monster like him walk. But when Jesse heard what he’d offered, he insisted we go and talk to him.”

  I raise my brows. “Talk to him, huh?” I don’t think talking alone could have convinced Francoise.

  Alex’s chest rises and falls quickly. “Things took a pretty bad turn once I sat in a private visitor room with him.”

  I rub my aching temples. “Define bad.”

  He glares at his hands. “Let’s just say Francoise got himself a date with his pal, Samedi.”

  “You killed him?”

  He gives me the if-you-believe-that-for-just-a-second-you-clearly-don’t-know-me-as-well-as-I-thought-you-did look and lets out a sharp breath. “No, I didn’t kill him. But something or someone did. Snapped his neck right in front of my eyes. It happened so fast, I never saw it coming. Goes without saying what the guard thought when he walked in.”

  I need a second to process the news. Francoise is dead. Not that I’d shed tears over the asshole, but the fact he was killed by an invisible hand in the middle of a state prison blows my mind.

  “Why didn’t you call Carter?” I ask after the initial shock loosens its grip on me. He could have surely gotten him out of that fucked-up situation.

  Alex scrubs a hand over his good cheek. “I did. He said he needed a few days to pull some strings. Whatever attacked me obviously didn’t feel like waiting. The cops who found me called an ambulance. Jesse subdued the paramedics. The rest”—he tilts his chin at me—“is history.”

  This shit is worse than I thought.

  Alex’s eyes grow distant. “He should have let me die.”

  The blood in my veins turns into lava. “What’s that supposed to mean, jerk-face?”

  He knits his brows. “C’mon, Manda. You know I’m already dead.”