Soul Catchers

by Carrie Pulkinen

  Wren

  “Did I kill that dog?” I see the body from the corner of my eye, but I’m afraid to look at the carnage full on. I’ve watched as the wolf has killed many times now, but the thought of him killing through me—with my body—makes my stomach roil.

  “No, I did.”

  Covering my mouth with my hand, I look at the charred remains of the pit bull. A faint feeling of superiority flutters through my mind, but I shut it down. I can’t let the wolf’s emotions penetrate my own. This dog must have threatened Makkapitew’s dominance, and he had to prove he was the strongest. If we were in wolf form, the fight would have ended in seconds. I shiver as the memories of the attack come into focus.

  “Are you okay?” Liam looks at me, his eyes full of concern, as he clutches his arm. Matted blood trails down to his fingers, and he’s gritting his teeth so hard I can hear them grind.

  “I’m fine, but you’re not. You’re bleeding.”

  He flips his hand over a few times and pretends to examine it. “Thanks. I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Well, why are you just standing there? Can’t you heal yourself?”

  He chuckles. “If only.”

  “All that power inside you, and you can’t use it on yourself?”

  “Nope. Sure can’t.” He shrugs. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  “Let’s go back to the house, then. I’m sure we can find something to bandage it up.” I start to walk toward my mom’s house, but he hesitates.

  “I don’t think the house is the best place for you to be right now.” He squints at me like he’s trying to see through me. “Makka’s soul has calmed down, but I don’t want to trigger him again. I’ve got some bandages in the truck.”

  I pick up the discarded books, and when we reach the truck, he opens the tailgate and pours water over his wound. As he wipes away the muck from his skin, fresh blood pours from the bite mark on his forearm.

  “Dammit. Can you get the bandages from that bag?” He motions with his head toward a green canvas satchel.

  I pick up the roll of gauze and wrap his arm. Blood immediately soaks through each layer of bandage as I circle it around the wound. I’m almost to the end of the roll when he grabs my wrist.

  “Wait. You can heal me.”

  My heart sprints, and I try to pull away, but he doesn’t let go. “I can’t. I never learned. My mom . . .” I can’t finish the sentence.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t mean with herbs and oils. Use the energy.”

  “I can’t.”

  “All Soul Catchers can heal.”

  “I’m not . . .”

  He ducks his head so he can catch my gaze, and he holds me with his deep hazel eyes. “Everyone with our ability—to see and touch souls—can heal.”

  “I can’t.”

  He scoots closer to me, loosening his grip on my wrist but not letting go. “I’ve been the only healer at camp for three years. When Makka attacked me, Missy did her best with an ointment and some oils, but . . .” He gestures to his scar. “I wouldn’t have this monstrosity if someone could’ve healed me. Will you try? So I don’t end up with another scar?”

  I inhale deeply and release a slow, thoughtful breath. I guess I owe it to him to try after all the times he’s healed me. That dog nearly ripped my shoulder off a few minutes ago, and now it hardly aches. His arm must hurt, no matter how hard he’s trying to hide it. “Okay, but I’m not making any promises.”

  I unwrap the gauze and gingerly place my hand on the bite mark, trying to imitate the way he heals. He sucks in a sharp breath and grimaces, so I yank my hand away. “I’m sorry! I suck at this. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” He takes my hand and places it back on his arm. “I’m just a wuss.”

  “No, you’re—”

  He grins at me.

  “Whatever. Now what do I do?”

  “Open yourself up to the energy. Picture it flowing from the universe down into your head. Then let it fill your heart and travel out through your hand.”

  I do as he says. I imagine it, but nothing happens. The energy doesn’t respond to me the way it does to Liam. I try harder to focus, scrunching up my face in concentration.

  He laughs. “You look like you’re constipated. Don’t push so hard. Just let it flow.”

  I attempt to hide my humiliation by glaring at him. Heat flushes my cheeks, and my concentration breaks. I’m so frustrated, I blow up at him again, but this time the wolf isn’t the one who’s mad.

  “I can’t do it, okay? You’re better than me. All I can do is move stuff with my mind, and I’m not even any good at that.” My mind is racing a million miles a minute, and I need to shut up before I say something I’ll regret. “You win, okay? You win.”

  I expect him to gloat or at least flash that goofy grin because I admitted he’s better than me. It’s what Seth would’ve done. Seth would’ve done a stupid macho dance and said, “In your face,” or something like that. But Liam just sits there cradling his injured arm, concern furrowing his brow.

  “It’s not a competition. I don’t want to be better than you. I want to help you, and I would like for you to help me.”

  “Well . . .” I cross my arms. “You are better.” I was ready for a fight, but his temperament has disarmed me.

  He shakes his head. “I’ve had more practice, that’s all. My arm hurts really bad, and it won’t stop bleeding. If you won’t try to heal it, will you at least make a tourniquet so I don’t bleed out? Please?”

  I’m acting like a spoiled little girl. I can’t do something the first time I try, so I give up? That’s not like me at all. I’m letting my competitive side get the best of me, and I need to stop. I settle onto the tailgate next to Liam and cover his wound with my hand again. The blood has congealed on his arm, warm and sticky to the touch. I can feel his pulse thumping under his skin, forcing more blood out of the wound with each heartbeat.

  Focusing harder this time, I grab on to the energy around me and pull it in, forcing it out through my palm. At first, nothing happens, but then my skin tingles, and I can feel the pain of his injury. I feel his slight relief when the tears in his muscles begin to stitch themselves back together and the bleeding slows.

  “You’re doing great,” he whispers. “Open yourself up and let it flow.”

  I try to open up, but as soon as I do, I lose my grip on the energy, and it gushes away. His wounds are only half-healed, but he smiles anyway.

  “That was a good first try.” He examines his arm and uses the water bottle to wash away the blood. “This’ll do.”

  “I’m sorry.” I stare at his still-injured arm and silently berate myself for not being able to help him. He’s done so much for me, and I can’t muster the strength to help him one time.

  “Hey.” He brushes the hair from my face with his fingers. “You did good.”

  “Really?”

  “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Elaine’s Journal

  Entry Seven

  I succumbed to weakness last night. The sinew beneath his tawny skin was too tempting, his kisses far too soft. His tender touch gave me shivers, and I gave myself to him. He made me feel alive with hope for the first time in years, and I don’t regret my actions.

  He’ll be moving on to the next community in a few days. And on to the next girl? I can’t think about it that way.

  On the pillow, after the passion, he told me secrets. It’s not enough for the government to label us as “infected” or “clean.” They are cataloging our abilities. The reasons are beyond my comprehension and far too reminiscent of the past for me to write about them.

  For now, I will focus on the passion and allow myself one night of freedom. One night to let the awful world slip away so I can just be a woman.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Elaine’s Journal

  Entry Thirty-Six

  My baby grows more powerful with each passing week. Today, I attended to Jacob in
his final hours. He was dying of leukemia and had only days—possibly hours—to live. I did my best to make him more comfortable, as his disease had progressed too far for even the energy to cure him. I made him a tonic of herbs to ease the pain and wiped his feverish skin with a cool cloth.

  The light in his soul was so dim. I was never able to see souls until I became pregnant. I know it’s my daughter’s power, which she’s sharing with me, and I’m amazed. Jacob’s light was going out, and the tonic no longer eased his pain. His breathing was labored, and he couldn’t form words. I closed my eyes and wished for a quick end to his suffering.

  That’s when it happened. I saw the cord connecting Jacob’s soul to his dying body, and I felt my child sever it. A final, peaceful breath escaped Jacob’s lips as his soul turned a brilliant sparkling silver and floated away.

  My daughter released him from his misery. Even in the womb, her power is greater than any I have seen.

  I’m excited and fearful for what’s to come. Today’s events have deepened my resolve to keep her existence a secret from her father. No one can know of her powers. I can’t bear to think of the torture she would endure in the name of science if the government got their hands on her. If the legend is true, and they capture her and her consort, the consequences could be dire.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Wren

  I close the journal and slide it into my backpack. We’re almost to Roswell, and I need to focus on the task at hand. I crack the truck window to let in some fresh air and clear my mind.

  “Wow,” Liam says. “You were a Soul Catcher from the womb. That’s pretty amazing, ain’t it?”

  “Amazing.” Why didn’t I know about this ability until recently? Seeing the souls is one thing, but being able to physically touch them? And being able to sever a soul from a dying body? Why didn’t my mother tell me?

  Oh right. Because I wouldn’t let her talk about the Sense.

  I stare out the window and close my eyes as the warm wind rustles my hair. I’ve learned so much over the past few days . . . so much information to process. I can’t believe it all, yet at the same time, I know in my heart it’s true. There are so many things I could have done, so many ways I could have helped people if I’d only accepted my powers.

  “Liam? I have a confession.”

  “Uh-oh. What’d you do? Did you put Ex-Lax in my chocolate pudding? Because my stomach’s been rumbling kinda funky this morning.”

  I backhand him on the arm. “Stop it. I’m being serious.”

  “Sorry. Continue.”

  I take a deep breath and swallow down the lump that’s formed in my throat. “You know that lady at camp? The one with cancer?”

  “Mabel?”

  “Yeah, her. Well, I could see the cord that kept her soul in her body. And I did know how to cut it. I felt compelled to do it, and it scared me to death.”

  “Oh, I know.” He stares straight ahead, giving me space to handle my guilt.

  “Do you think she’s still suffering?”

  “Could be.” He shrugs. “Maybe not, though. She didn’t have much time left.”

  I lean my head against the window. Patchy brown grass and an occasional tree dot the otherwise-barren landscape, and waves of heat rise up from the cracked blacktop road. I turn to Liam. “But if she is alive, she’s suffering.”

  He presses his lips together and nods.

  “She’s suffering because of me.”

  He rests his hand on my knee, but even the warmth of his touch doesn’t cure the chill in my heart. “She’s suffering because of the cancer.”

  “Because I didn’t release her soul.”

  “Now, let’s not play the blame game. That’s my game. Your power is a tricky one. A moral dilemma. The gods were smart giving it to someone so responsible. You did what you thought was right at the time.”

  The gods. He says it like he believes in them. “Do you know what legend my mom was talking about?”

  “Lots of ancient cultures have a Soul Catcher legend or something similar. I don’t know the specific one your mom’s talking about, but I’ve heard a few stories.”

  I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t continue. “Will you tell me the story? I don’t think I’ve heard it.”

  “Well . . . you know we’re supposed to be descendants of the gods, right? Everyone with the Sense?”

  “Which gods?”

  He shrugs. “All of them. A lot of ancient cultures worshipped the same gods; they just called them different names. So anyway, enlightened people like us . . . hey, did you know in some countries we’d be considered celebrities? People would actually admire and respect our powers?”

  “So I’ve heard. But about the legend?”

  “Right. According to the legend, some god . . . he’d have a different name depending on the culture . . . he angered the other gods, and his punishment was to be sent to earth and live as a mortal. Since humans don’t live forever, the dude wasn’t too happy about his sentence. His last act as a god before they cast him down was to get these two human women pregnant with the first set of Soul Catchers.” He returns his hand to the steering wheel, and I immediately miss the comfort of his touch.

  “That way, whenever his human body got old and he was about to die, his kids could transfer his soul to a new body. One kid could sever the soul . . . like you . . . and the other could catch it and put it in a new body . . . like me.

  “Every generation or so, a new set of Soul Catchers was born. Up until the gods decided humans were abusing the Sense, and they took it away. Now that we’ve gotten it back, I suppose we’re the first or maybe second generation of Catchers.”

  “But why make them a pair? If it was his last act as a god, why didn’t he make it so one person could move him to a new body? It seems easier that way.”

  Liam inhales deeply, rubbing his chin as if deep in thought. “Maybe to keep things in check? It’s an awfully powerful gift for one person to have. And I suppose if you sever a soul, you probably can’t catch it too. All your attention would be on the cutting.”

  “I guess. But what happened to the god, then? Is he still around?”

  “Nah. A couple of generations down the line, the Catchers wised up and killed him. It’s not natural for a mortal to live forever.”

  “But that’s just a legend. You don’t actually believe all that stuff about the gods, do you?”

  “All legends are based on some sort of fact. Who am I to say which part’s real and which part’s made up?”

  We’re silent as we enter the gates of Roswell. Enforcers stand guard at the entrance, rifles at the ready, and I can only hope my new hairdo is enough to let us slip by. I cover the torn, blood-stained part of my shirt with my hand as a soldier stops us for questioning, and Liam pours on the charm.

  “Good afternoon, sir,” Liam says. The enforcer isn’t much older than he is, but a little respect—even if it’s faked—goes a long way with these guys.

  The officer lowers his sunglasses and peers into the truck. “Where are you coming from, and what’s your business here?”

  “We hail from Las Vegas. I’m James, and this is my cousin Lynette. Say hi, Lynette.”

  “Hey.” I wave at the man and quickly avert my eyes. My hair may be different, but my face hasn’t changed. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I wish Liam would cut the small talk and get us through the gates before my nerves give us away.

  “We’re here to visit family . . . our aunt.”

  He looks at Liam skeptically. “She military?”

  “No, actually. She works at the library. Could you point us in the right direction?”

  The enforcer takes off his sunglasses and puts them in his pocket. He pulls out a cell phone and starts punching the screen. His gaze flicks from me to Liam, to me, and then to his phone again. “I have to report the entry of every young woman. There’s a fugitive on the loose.”

  Oh crap.

  “Right. That Native American girl. I heard abou
t her.” Liam looks at me with wide eyes like he’s expecting me to do something. He’s always been the one with the plan, but this time he’s at a loss, apparently.

  The enforcer motions to a parking space off the road. “Could you pull over here and step out of the car, please?”

  Okay. Don’t panic. We can get through this. We need a distraction. Something. Anything that will get this guy to let us go. The guardhouse door is open. I could slam it shut with my mind, but he’d probably just think it was the wind. If the small structure isn’t attached to the ground, I might be able to levitate it. That would certainly distract him, but I’ve never tried to lift something that heavy before. Plus, with my luck, he’d figure out I was doing it, and then we’d be screwed. I need to do something subtler.

  I clutch my stomach and double over like I’m in pain. “Oh God. I think I’m going to hurl.”

  Liam raises his eyebrows and joins in the act. “Oh man. I thought you were over the virus. Don’t puke in my truck.”

  “So did I, but—” I cover my mouth and make a gagging sound.

  The soldier’s face distorts in disgust, and he hesitates like he’s not sure what to do.

  “Pull over like the enforcer asked. I need to get out of the car and—” I cough and gag, really laying on the drama. “Maybe I’m carsick. Pull over.”

  Liam looks at the officer. “Over there, you said?”

  “You know what? Never mind.” He shoves his phone in his pocket and waves us through. “The library’s on the second street to the left. Have a good day.”

  As soon as the checkpoint is out of sight, I sit up and look at Liam. I try not to laugh, but the longer I hold it in, the harder it is to keep it down.

  “That was classic,” Liam says, and he cracks up.

  We laugh and laugh until my sides hurt and I snort. I cover my mouth with my hand, but the snort makes me laugh harder.

  “Did you see the look on that guy’s face when you were gonna hurl? Priceless. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

  I manage to slow my breathing enough to respond. “Neither did I, but we had to do something.”