Soul Catchers

by Carrie Pulkinen

  She can learn to live with the wolf. Todd did, sort of. I’ll take her back to camp with me, and she can live there. It’s not a bad life. It’s better than the life she’ll have here, being a lab rat for her father’s experiments.

  The truck stops, and I slip out from under the tarp and do my best to brush the fertilizer off my clothes. A large garden sits behind the buildings, full of bright-green leaves and flowering plants that will probably grow into the latest batch of GMO vegetables. A single bee buzzes near my ear and flies off toward the flowers.

  Don’t do it. It’s suicide! I want to yell at the bee. But people in stealth mode don’t yell, so I watch as it lands on a flower and falls to its death. Will these people ever learn that creating plants with built-in bug killer is a bad idea? If it kills the bees, it can’t be good for us either.

  One battle at a time. Right now, I need to focus on getting to Wren and getting her out. I’m confident I can find her. Getting her out will be another story. The sun is setting, so I’m going to have to deal with Makka.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Wren

  This is a wonderful predicament I’ve gotten myself into. I’ve spent the past week on the run, trying to avoid being locked up in this place, and now here I am. I walked right into it, and there’s no way to get out. I should have listened to Liam.

  But my mom told me to come here. Why would she do that if I was going to end up imprisoned? She thought my father had a cure. He obviously doesn’t.

  And Seth. He’s always had a knee-weakening effect on me, and I almost fell for his act. What was I thinking? If Liam hadn’t been there to ground me, I might have come here willingly. Not that it matters now. Still, I’m such an idiot.

  “I hate you both,” I shout at the camera in the corner of my cell. “When I get out of here, I’m going to kill you.”

  Makka’s anger is making me say these things, but I’m too tired to fight him anymore. My soul is tired.

  Though I have no windows in my cell, I can feel the night approaching, rolling toward me like a thick fog, ready to choke the light out of me. I feel dizzy, unable to control my own limbs as the wolf gains power over me.

  I jump to my feet and use my Sense to fling the plastic cot against the wall. I turn slowly, eyeing the camera, and use my mind to rip it from the ceiling and smash it on the floor. They don’t deserve to watch me transform.

  Next, I go for the door. I throw my power at the metal bars, willing the gate to break from its hinges. I focus so hard sweat beads on my forehead. The door doesn’t budge. I try again, flinging as much might as I can muster, but nothing happens.

  Footsteps echo in the hallway, and a low growl forms in my chest as I pace the small room. I’d like to sit down and speak calmly, but I can’t fight Makka’s anger burning into my soul.

  “The doors are coated in lead. Apparently they’re magic proof.” Seth stops two feet away from the door.

  I put the cot back in place and kick the camera into a corner. “What do you want?”

  “You broke the camera. I came to be sure you didn’t hurt yourself.”

  “As if you care.” I plop down on the cot and lean my back against the wall. The painted concrete cools my skin, but it does nothing to quell the burn of resentment in my heart. I can’t tell which emotions are mine anymore.

  He steps toward the door but stops just shy of arm’s reach. “I do care, Wren. Listen.” He peers down the hall, then looks at me, lowering his voice. “I don’t want them to hurt you, and I don’t think they will if you cooperate.”

  “Cooperate? You mean stay quiet and sit in my little cell for the rest of my life? No thank you.”

  More footsteps echo in the hallway, and Seth steps closer to the door. “I’ve never seen you so angry and violent. Are you okay?”

  “You mean aside from having a murderous wolf spirit living inside me? Then yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

  Makka’s power is growing. My body tingles as it prepares to transform into the beast. I fall to my hands and knees and look up through teary eyes to see my father setting up a camera on a tripod outside the cell.

  “I need to be able to monitor you,” he says matter-of-factly, like a doctor consulting a patient. “This.” He motions to the cell. “This is for your protection as well as ours. I know you have questions, and tomorrow we’ll talk.”

  “Tomorrow.” I grumble as the wolf takes full control.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Liam

  With my back pressed against the wall, under the cover of darkness, I wait for the delivery driver to exit the building. He swings the door wide, letting it slide shut behind him as he jogs to his truck to drop his load.

  Before the door clicks shut, I catch it with my foot and slip inside. A woman stands at a filing cabinet with her back toward me, so I tiptoe around a desk and dart into the hallway. So far, so good. I doubt this lucky streak will last, so I pull out the pistol and hold it down by my leg. I’ve never shot a human before, and I really don’t want to. But I think this is a case where I might have to.

  Fluorescent light illuminates the short hallway, casting a sickly green tinge on everything it touches. The stairwell sits at the end of the corridor, and if I can make it there undetected, I might be able to breathe again.

  One step. Two steps. One foot in front of the other, and I’m almost there. I have five more feet to go when I hear voices down the hall. I fling open the first door I see and duck inside the room. Luckily it’s a utility closet. Shelves stacked with toilet paper and cleaning supplies line two walls, and a mop leans in the corner. I press my ear to the door, listening for the voices to pass.

  “I prefer to do it in the morning,” a woman’s voice says. “You know I hate being here when the wolves are out. It’s so creepy.”

  “It won’t take you ten minutes to mop that room, Jessica,” another woman says. Her voice is raspy, like a smoker’s. “The mop is right here.”

  The doorknob jiggles. Her hand is on it. She’s going to open the door and find me. Maybe she won’t even look, and I can just hand her the mop like they do on the cartoons. No, that doesn’t work in real life. I wipe my palms on my jeans and grip the gun with both hands, pointing it low, toward the door.

  “So I’ll come in ten minutes early tomorrow,” Jessica says, her voice whiny. “I promise it will get done, but I need to get out of here now.”

  The doorknob jiggles again. She’s removed her hand, and I release my breath.

  “All right. But I’m going to check as soon as I clock in tomorrow.”

  Footsteps recede down the hall, leaving me with only the mop to contend with. “You saw nothing,” I say to it, and I open the door a crack. The hallway’s clear, so I light foot it to the stairwell and throw myself inside. Missy said Michael’s lab lies three floors down, so down I go.

  When I get to the landing, I peer through the door’s vertical window. The hallway looks empty. Maybe everyone’s gone home for the night. Like they’d go to all that trouble to bring Wren here just to lock her up and go to bed. No, they’re here somewhere.

  I see one camera in the hallway, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t more. I crack the door, and a gust of bleach-scented air chills my wet skin. I didn’t realize I was sweating. Lining up the small black dome in my sights, I squeeze the pistol’s trigger. The silencer quiets the gunshot, but the camera explodes in a shower of obsidian glass. Ducking back into the stairwell, I breathe deeply to slow my heart. One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes go by, and no one seems to have noticed the camera. Most of the staff has probably gone home for the night, and I’ll bet Seth and Michael are more concerned with Wren than an empty hallway.

  Those women upstairs sounded like civilians, so maybe if I act like I belong here, no one will notice me. I straighten my posture and step into the hall. Walking confidently, I stride down the corridor and make a left. I’m not sure how I know, but Wren is close. I can feel her power. My pace quickens as my connection to he
r grows stronger. I’m almost at a run as I turn a corner and skid to a stop.

  An enforcer stands in the middle of the hall, his eyes widening in a look of surprise when he sees me. “Hey, you’re not authorized to be down here.”

  He strides toward me, and I shoot him in the knee. I don’t think about shooting him; I just do it, like an instinct or something.

  The soldier bellows in pain, clutching his leg as he falls to the floor.

  “I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.” I think I’m going to be sick. How could I shoot a guy without even thinking about it?

  He reaches for his sidearm, but I manage to kick it out of his hand before he can take aim. Wren is so close; I can’t stop now.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again as I stomp on his wound.

  He buckles with the pain, and I manage to yank his handcuffs off his belt and bind his hands. He’s sweating and turning white as milk, and I feel awful for shooting him. But I drag him into an office and cuff him to the desk while he calls me a few choice names.

  A peek out the door reveals a clear hallway, so I focus on Wren’s energy again—a beacon in this subterranean maze—and dart around another corner. I run past more offices and a series of laboratories full of metal instruments and tables with restraining straps. One room is lined with cages, and the sad moans of tortured animals call to me as I zip by. I want to stop and set them free, but there’s no time. I’m not even pretending to blend in anymore as I hightail it through the halls.

  I turn another corner and stop. Wren is here. A camera monitors the corridor, but I don’t bother taking it out. I’m sure I’ve been spotted by now, and I’ve only got minutes—seconds—before they come after me.

  Four cells line each side of the short hallway. They all sit empty except for one. A camera on a tripod stands outside her door, and I’m sure her father is behind a video monitor somewhere, in the safety of his office, watching her suffer.

  I tiptoe forward and stand beside the camera. Makka paces in the cell, his eyes wide with anger. Back and forth, back and forth, then he slams his body into the bars. My heart leaps into my throat, and I stumble back. But Makka keeps pacing. Wren’s amulet warms my skin; he doesn’t see me.

  I turn the camera off and set the tripod aside. Sparks are already forming in my hands, so I rub my palms together to concentrate the energy.

  “I know you’re in there, Wren, and I need you to listen to me.”

  Makka’s head snaps toward my voice, and a deep growl rumbles from his chest.

  “I’m going to melt the lock and open the gate, and then we’re going to run. Okay, Wren? We’re going to get out of here; just please don’t let him eat me. I’m coming closer to the door now.”

  I take a tentative step forward, expecting Makka to lunge for me. He tilts his head sideways and steps backward, which is a good thing. But he’s crouched, his muscles tight like he’s wound up and ready to spring, which isn’t such a good thing.

  Still, I step all the way to the door and ignite a blue flame in my hand. It’s exhausting making fire this hot, but I need to melt the lock to open the door.

  Makka stares intently at the door, waiting for it to open, but the lock won’t melt. I touch the metal with my other hand, and it’s not even hot. What the—?

  The wolf snarls and lunges, and I stumble back into something hard. An arm wraps around my chest, and a piercing pain spreads through my neck. Warmth flows through my body, relaxing my muscles, making my knees buckle under my weight. The arm guides me to the floor, where my breathing slows and darkness closes in around me, tunneling my vision.

  Michael Crane’s face fills my sight, and he shakes his head like he’s disappointed. “Your fire is impressive, but it’s made of magic. Magic can’t manipulate lead.”

  I try to respond, but my sluggish body won’t form words. Blackness eclipses my sight.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Wren

  I squint my eyes against the bright fluorescent lights that jab daggers through my pupils. My body aches from lying on the cold, unforgiving concrete floor. I push myself up and onto the cot, fighting the urge to vomit. If only Liam were here, he could fix this wretched headache.

  Liam.

  “Liam!” I jump to the door, grabbing the bars and pressing my face against the metal. He was here last night. I remember now. He tried to save me.

  “Liam!” My voice is gravelly, my throat parched like I’ve swallowed half a desert.

  A woman in blue scrubs, flanked by an enforcer in gray, approaches my cell. She carries a stack of folded fabric and a small plastic bag. Her blonde hair is tied in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, and a kind smile brightens her porcelain face.

  “Step away from the door.” The enforcer’s voice is harsh, a stark contrast to the woman’s appearance. He holds a pistol in one hand and opens the lock with the other. “If you try anything, I will shoot you. Understood?”

  I nod. His name tag reads “Simpson.” The door opens, and I shuffle into the hall. My vision swims, my knees giving out from the pain in my head. The woman catches me by the arm.

  “Whoa there.” Her voice is soft and gentle like a summer breeze. “My name is Clarice. We’re going to get you cleaned up, then Mr. Crane wants to see you.”

  “I need Liam. Where is he?”

  She smiles and rubs my back. “I heard about that boy that broke in here last night. You’re a lucky girl to have someone who loves you so much.”

  “He doesn’t . . .” I shake my head, and it feels like my brain is bouncing off the inside of my skull. I groan.

  “Headache?” Clarice asks. “Come with me. You can take a shower, and I’ll get you something for your head.”

  “I need Liam.”

  “I’m sure you do.” She leads me down the hall and around the corner.

  I follow her in a daze, bleary-eyed from the pounding in my head. She shows me to a shower stall and pushes the stack of fabric into my arms. I look at the bundle—a stiff white towel and a set of khaki scrubs—and furrow my brow. Why is she giving me clothes?

  Clarice sees my confusion and sighs. “Shower.” She points at the metal fixture on the wall. “Clean up and put these on. I’ll be back for you in a few minutes.” She turns to go, but hesitates at the door. “Please don’t try to escape. Simpson will be right outside.”

  She closes the door, leaving me alone with the ever-expanding wolf spirit trying to split open my skull. I wash my hair, but my shoulder aches when I raise my arm. It’s probably stiff from sleeping on the concrete floor. It would be nice to scrub my whole body, but my throbbing head is threatening to make me pass out, so I rinse my hair and shut off the water. This will have to do. I throw on the scrubs, which are two sizes too big. The pants have a drawstring I can cinch to keep them up, but the shirt hangs halfway to my knees. I shove my feet into my boots and open the door to find Simpson standing there, arms folded across his chest, with a bored expression on his face. I guess guarding teenage girls is beneath him.

  “Come on.” He jerks his head to indicate I should follow him and turns around.

  “Where’s Clarice?” I’d much rather deal with the sweet nurse than the bully enforcer, especially when I can barely see straight.

  “She’s busy.”

  When I don’t follow, he takes me by the arm, leads me toward another room, and shoves me through the door. I stumble in, and Liam rushes to catch me.

  “Wren! Are you hurt? Are you okay? I tried to get you out. I tried to save you.” He has me wrapped in a bear hug, my face buried in his chest. He smells like soap and mint, and if I weren’t in so much pain, I might get lost in the comfort of his arms.

  “Liam.” His shirt muffles my voice, so I pull away. “Headache.”

  “Oh right! Sorry.” He cradles my head in his hands, and the pounding pain subsides.

  I blink away tears and focus on my would-be savior. He’s clean, wearing matching scrubs, and his familiar grin stretches across his flawless face.


  Flawless.

  “What?” I trace my fingers down his cheek where the scar used to be. Not even a trace of the injury mars his skin. “Your scar.”

  His cheeks flush pink as he covers the side of his face with his hand. “I can thank your dad for that, I suppose.”

  “But how?”

  He shrugs. “I woke up this way. He said he’d answer questions when you got here.” His gaze cuts to the back of the room, where my father sits in a leather office chair.

  He leans back and laces his fingers behind his head, spreading his elbows wide, an amused grin brightening his stoic features. “The connection you two share is fascinating. And your healing powers are astounding.”

  “I’m glad we can provide your morning entertainment.” Makka’s fury bubbles at the base of my skull, but my own anger boils to the surface. “What are you planning to do with us? Make us your monkeys?” I use my mind to lift a pencil cup from his desk and slam it against the wall. The plastic container shatters, sending the pencils clattering to the floor. “We aren’t afraid of you.”

  My father folds his arms on his desk and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t do that again if I were you.” He picks up a small device that resembles on old cell phone. He flips it open, and a screen flickers to life. “I’ve embedded a drug delivery system in each of your shoulders. Normally these are loaded with pain relievers for our patients. Yours contain tranquilizers. One wrong move, and I will release a dose large enough to render you unconscious. If you become too much of a threat, the dose will be lethal.”

  I reach behind my back, feeling the skin beneath the scrub. Running my finger along my shoulder blade, I find a small protrusion, no bigger than a quarter, underneath my skin.

  “Why?” is all I can think to say. “Why do all this? Why heal his scars when you plan on killing us anyway?” I’m trembling. Liam steps closer and rests his hand on the small of my back. The gesture gives me courage, and I straighten my posture.