A moment later the scent of leather and aftershave hit her. Derek. She’d forgotten he was still in the room, perhaps thought he’d scurried away to let his boss do whatever to her. The anger wouldn’t come, though. She’d stoke that fire later. For now, she would be happy she wasn’t entirely alone.
“You’re still untainted,” the Soul Charmer said. “Only you can mark your soul. I simply made it easier for you to detect other souls.”
“Why?” She kept the pleading tone out of her voice, but she couldn’t completely mask the aching need to know. Just how deep had she gotten herself?
“Someone is stealing my souls. If you can detect those in possession of too many or too few, you will be quite useful in helping me recover my products much more quickly.”
“Wait a second. I thought I was just the one with the flask. That was the deal.”
“The deal was you’d assist Derek in retrieving souls. You will continue to do so. If that means also finding the person who thinks they can take what is mine, so be it.”
Her body went rigid as she began to understand what he was getting at. “You can’t force magic into people.”
The Charmer glared at her, and the muscles in her neck snapped sharp like tension wire. If she turned her head, the squeal would echo for hours.
“Why don’t you use your fucking skills to make everyone able to find these souls?” Hysterics were a new one for Callie, but light-up fingers could do that to a person.
“Oh, child, you’ve primed yourself to take magic for years. You just never realized it.”
What the hell did that mean? The staccato beat of her heart tapped against her temples. Callie opened her mouth to reply, but Derek spoke instead. Finally. “I can handle hunting down the chakra therapist on my own.”
Callie held her breath, but the Charmer’s reply didn’t change anything. “Of course you can. Now you have a better tool to do so.”
How had her day gone from helping an underworld soul rental service to being a magical tool in a matter of minutes? The room rocked beneath her feet. Why had she thought she’d ever be able to get out of this unscathed?
Derek spoke over her shoulder, closer, as if he was trying to distract her from the fact the Charmer had just called her a tool. “We’ll start tomorrow.”
She wanted to argue. To fight. To be the badass everyone wanted her to be. She was Josh’s savior. Couldn’t she be her own, too? Derek’s gigantic hands emerged from behind and cupped her upper arms in a tight grip, steering her toward the door they’d entered through. When her legs didn’t immediately follow along, he whispered in her ear, “It can only get worse if we stay in here. Please.”
It was the please that got her feet shuffling across the floor and through that nasty hallway, even if she still hadn’t ruled out slugging him when they made it outside. The Charmer didn’t say a word as they left. Whatever he’d wanted with her, he’d already gotten it.
In the safety of the alley—she’d already adjusted her definition of safe—Derek edged to her side. “We should talk.”
Oh, so he could speak. With every step away from the Soul Charmer’s shop, the numbness Callie had endured from the oppressive magic inside dissipated a little bit more. A fiery anger quickly moved in to replace it. “You knew what he was going to do to me in there, didn’t you?”
“I’ve worked for him since I was twenty-two, and he still keeps secrets from me. You deserve more answers.” His guilt was painted in plain stripes over his face.
Derek could stew in his shame, though. He chose to hold all his words until they didn’t matter. Callie was too familiar with being tossed to the wolves and getting a sloppy apology when it was too late. She needed to quit being surprised when it happened.
“Yep. I do, but I’m done for tonight.” Her car was only ten feet away. A teensy drop of relief slid down her neck as she looked at her escape, haloed in the light of the streetlamp.
Derek stepped in front of her, blocking both her progress and her view of her beat-to-shit magic pumpkin. “That stuff in there, though—”
“Am I going to die?” she cut him off.
“What? No.” She’d thrown him off balance with that question. At least she could make him uneasy, too.
“Then I’m going home.” She stepped around him, and he didn’t move to stop her. “You have my number?”
His grunt was close to a “yeah.” She hadn’t given it to him, but then again, she wasn’t surprised he had it either.
She didn’t bother making plans with him. Derek wasn’t done with her any more than the Soul Charmer was.
—— CHAPTER SIX ——
Callie’s fingers were no longer glowing. She’d stared at them for the last hour and a half, and zero light had shot out. If she watched them all night, she swore she could convince herself the magic-fingers shtick hadn’t happened.
It might have been easier if her hoodie hadn’t held on to a mix of Derek’s clean masculine scent and the musky spice of the Soul Charmer’s shop. She’d taken the sweatshirt off and shoved it deep in the hamper an hour ago, but the aromas still filled her nose.
She needed to get a grip. Her fingers weren’t going to glow again. It was like a watched pot; it would never boil. She scrubbed her normal hands across her face, but the slight roughness of her palms against her cheeks wasn’t enough to remove the grime of what she’d gotten into that day.
Callie moved into the kitchenette. She scooped some Folgers and put it in the coffee maker. Caffeine could fix anything, right? As the machine did its thing, she gathered a mug from the cabinet. The flock of little chinstrap penguins on the cup made her smile. Her cheeks ached. Letting go of her locked jaw probably had something to do with that.
The aging mug with its chipped handle was a relic of better times with Josh, a souvenir from the Gem City Zoo, and one of the best days of her life. She’d been eleven, and any school field trip should have filled her with excitement, except she’d spent much of the fifth grade hiding the fact that she didn’t have much of an “immediate family.” The other kids’ moms dropped them off at school with kisses on the cheek and lunchboxes filled with snack packs. Her mom had missed every parent-teacher conference for the prior three years.
At the time, Zara, Callie’s mother, had been working three jobs. Later, as an adult, Callie understood. Mostly. Her mom hadn’t been around because she needed to wait tables or stock shelves to make sure there was enough money to cover her bills. It was normal for Callie to go days without seeing her, and the lead-up to that field trip was no different. She’d left the permission form on the kitchen table one night and it was signed the next morning when she got up. Per usual the box regarding volunteers was unchecked.
The other kids’ parents had been nice enough to her. She’d grown accustomed to latching on to a chaperone and pretending no one noticed she didn’t have her own. Only the trip to Gem City Zoo was different. That glorious sunny day, Josh had come through. As they stood in line to board the bus, her sixteen-year-old brother darted up beside her.
“Sorry I’m late, kiddo.” Back then he’d been like a god to her. Their five-year age gap meant so much more when they were little.
“You’re coming with us?” She remembered staring up at him. He’d had a growth spurt the previous month, and was already edging toward six feet tall.
He’d scuffed his knuckles in her hair. “Like I’d miss the chance to go to the zoo with you.”
“Mom know?” she’d asked, scared about the answer.
“Don’t start worrying on me. Your teacher’s cool with it, so we’re good.” Even then, she’d fretted over consequences. Josh hadn’t, but at sixteen he was better about coming through for her.
He had, too. She had the cool older brother who wanted to spend time with her. He’d stayed at her side, and explained how the chimpanzees’ shoulders worked to let them swing. He’d then demonstrated on a lamppost to the delight of her friends, too. For once, she had family others envied. Her chances to
relish in the sin of pride had been scarce at that age, and she’d reveled it. Probably best she wasn’t rich. That shit could get out of control.
Josh had bought her the mug, and wouldn’t let her worry about where the money came from. The penguins had been her favorite, and for the last nine years she’d used the penguin mug whenever she was sick. It was the feel-better mug.
It might not have the power to pull her out of the hole she’d dug herself into with the Soul Charmer, though. Josh was worth it, even if he’d hurt her as they’d both gotten older. His mistakes didn’t negate the fact he was the one who looked after her until she was in high school, when their roles began to reverse. Committing a crime on her big brother’s behalf was a new low for her. She’d said it was the farthest she’d ever go, but when she’d made those promises to Josh (and to Ford) she hadn’t realized just how much this would taint her.
She poured the fresh coffee into her cup. The Soul Charmer had a reputation, but magic was still the unspoken new evil in her world. Its prevalence during the last ten years didn’t make it less mysterious. She’d only spent one day as part of the Soul Charmer’s team, but already felt like he had changed her. True, her fingers were no longer glowing, and her skin wasn’t tingling. That didn’t stop her stomach from fluttering. Two weeks of souls and magic had sounded simple. Now she knew better.
She needed to fight to stay the same Callie. She might not want to know this world, but she was a part of it now. She wrapped her hands around the hot mug, appreciating its warmth. She needed to put Derek in his place tomorrow. An ally would sure as shit help her get through the job, but he’d failed pretty miserably there at the shop, and he needed to know that. She sipped the coffee. She’d find strength to do it all, for Josh. Stubbornness had gotten her this far in life. If she could keep the steel in her spine from melting every time she was near soul magic, she might have a chance.
Callie muddled through the breakfast shift at the retirement home the next morning, dishing up the eggs, toast, and occasional slice of bacon at a pace more akin to the home’s residents than her usual speed. If any of the clients complained, it didn’t make it to her ears, though she wasn’t exactly giving them much attention. A collective two and a half hours sleep the previous night wasn’t enough, especially when it came in twenty-minute intervals.
She grabbed the list for the special diets and began filling the trays accordingly.
“You’re slamming those things in the rack with some force,” Louisa said, not missing a beat as she diced a handful of green onions.
Callie glanced at the rolling metal rack. It had scooted back a couple inches from when she’d started loading it, but all the food was still secured under the lids. “Sorry for my bad mood.” She meant it to be a genuine apology.
“Do I need to slip a couple fingers into your coffee?” Louisa’s tone was light, but Callie knew the woman was dead serious; she stashed a couple bottles—tequila and whiskey—in the drawer beneath the aluminum foil.
Callie surprised herself with a genuine laugh. At least someone was looking out for her. “Nah, Lou, I got more problems than a shot of your shitty tequila can fix.”
“You underestimate just how much tequila can fix.”
“It’s been a rough one.” Callie bit back the details. As soon as Josh had been taken, she’d needed to pluck her heart from her sleeve and stash it deep. Bottling her feelings was second nature to her. “Too bad they don’t make something strong enough to make you forget how sucky your life’s gotten.”
Louisa put down the knife, clearly not kidding around anymore. “They do. It’s called meth, and you and I both know it ain’t worth it.”
“Yeah,” Callie whispered. Lou’s son was addicted to the bathtub drug. He’d stolen from her, but hadn’t liquidated her savings. Callie hoped her experiences with Josh could keep Louisa from making those same mistakes, but deep down, she knew they wouldn’t. She and Lou were the same. Family came first, even if that family abused your love.
Lou grabbed a fresh batch of green onions. “You want to talk about it?”
Yes. “Not now, but thanks.”
Lou’s voice lowered when she spoke again. “Some of the ladies from my church have tried that soul borrowing thing. Bette said it eased her guilt. Father Domingo told me the church wouldn’t look down on anyone who used it to ease past transgressions. I know you wouldn’t be using it to cheat on anyone, so it’s safe to try it, I suppose. Don’t know what you’re caught up in, but maybe it could help.”
Callie stiffened. She couldn’t escape her thoughts of the Soul Charmer. Last week the comment would barely have scratched the surface. Now it dug under her skin. Seven days ago, soul magic was merely an easy escape whispered among sinners or advertised next to strip joints in the final pages of Gem City Weekly. How quickly perceptions could shift. “Nah,” she eked out, for Louisa’s benefit.
Her boss nodded, and turned back to her vegetable prep. They worked quietly for several minutes. Callie prepared meal trays and Louisa chopped everything she needed for her chicken tortilla soup. It was nice to focus on the mundane. Food was security, and today, more than usual, Callie clung to it like her favorite blankie.
It couldn’t last; it never did. “Trays are done,” Callie eventually called over her shoulder as she wheeled the cart near the kitchen’s side door and locked it in place.
“Thanks, but can you go ahead and take them on down to the ward?” Louisa was asking a big favor, and yet she couldn’t have been more casual about it. Either that, or she was full of bullshit. “Jo’s out sick today,” she tacked on after seeing Callie’s death glare.
“Fine,” she muttered, as she unlocked the wheels and started rolling the metal cart out of the kitchen.
The unyielding astringent scent of the Home grew stronger with every step she took toward the psych ward. Not that anyone at Cedar Retirement ever called it such. No one needed to be reminded that getting old could make you crazy. There were plenty of things out there that caused mental health issues, but the reminder that time was one of them was simply too unnerving for the staff.
Callie neared the first set of locked double doors, and fished in her pocket for her access card. Ninety percent of the residents in the ward were dementia patients. They were the reason Callie didn’t want to visit. She could handle sick. She could cope with old. She could not, however, swing sweet people whom you couldn’t trust. That was the ward. She wanted to be a better person, but the wing behind the locked doors gutted her. She’d been stabbed with a pen the first time she’d visited.
She’d been in the process of setting a tray out for a kind lady, commenting on the beautiful floral arrangement on a side table. The irises at the center were Callie’s favorites. The woman, Sara, said her son had brought them, and invited Callie to take a closer look. She’d obliged. The head nurse later told her the lighting change in the room had set Sara off. The woman had become convinced Callie was her long-dead husband’s mistress who had arrived to steal her flowers. That kind elderly woman had then jammed a ballpoint into Callie’s thigh. A couple centimeters to the right and she could have nicked the tendon.
Trusting people was a luxury. The ward illustrated that beautifully.
“Excuse me. Can you let me in there?” A woman with a thick braid draped over her shoulder and piercing blue eyes stopped Callie outside the ward’s entrance.
Occasionally family members—the ones shitty about visiting—asked for directions. Callie could put on a customer service smile when required. “Who are you visiting? I can point you in the right direction.”
“I’m not visiting. I’m here to treat the residents.” Saccharine sincerity bubbled over the confidence in each word. The lady was laying it on thick, and Callie didn’t quite buy it.
The woman might actually need to be secured in the ward herself, despite being a couple decades younger than most residents. It wasn’t the weirdest thing to have ever happened at the Home, and it didn’t hurt to be a little ext
ra careful. “Oh, I see. Can I see your employee badge?”
“Oh, honey, I don’t work here. Not like that, anyway.” With a sweet smile plastered on her face, the woman wiggled her fingers at Callie. “Massage.”
The flowing skirt and spacey countenance she wore matched the profile of those who visited for therapeutic massage. Except for one element. “Okay. Where’s your table?”
“With the elderly, it’s simpler to ease them in their own beds,” the woman replied.
“Oh. The others always bring tables.”
“I focus on energy and overall well-being more than deep kneading.” Her voice had a lulling quality. It was probably helpful in her profession.
“Like chakra alignment?” Callie remembered her cousin Jackie saying that crystals had reinvigorated her. The business cards Jackie had shown her called the woman she was seeing a healing specialist, for what it was worth.
“Something along those lines.” The woman paused to offer an overly sweet smile again, the kind strangers flashed before coming in for a hug. Callie resisted the urge to step backward, and the woman kept her distance. “I ease their souls so they can improve the world.”
For as long as Callie could remember, a strong undercurrent of the mystical had run beneath the smothering omnipresence of the church’s religious authority in Gem City. In fact, most of the state was open to both healing crystals and Cortean Catholicism. You had to travel fairly far over state lines to find skeptics. That temptation to escape to the land of non-believers had been palpable when she was a teenager who had no interest in church confessions or having her aura read. Before she knew soul magic existed.
The woman was too woo-woo for Callie. She didn’t care much about energy and chakras and hunks of rock hidden under beds. One could find a massage spa or three in every Gem City neighborhood, and the therapists were good about visiting Cedar Retirement for real work. Still, Callie hadn’t seen this woman before. “Right, well, I can’t let you into the locked wards. Visit the front desk and someone can escort you to the patients you’re cleared to help today.” She pointed toward the hallway leading to the information desk.
Borrowed Souls: A Soul Charmer Novel Page 6
