“No.”
“And he just turned me into his own personal soul magic detector? Are you going to take me out to the beach to hunt for treasure, too?” Caustic words weren’t enough to cauterize the knowledge that she was being used.
Derek flinched, her words like a proverbial slap to the face. Too fucking bad. “He did make it so you could sense these things.” At least he wasn’t lying to her.
“He said I’d already prepared myself for this, even if I didn’t know it. What did he mean?” She’d practically choked at the memory of the Charmer’s delight, and leveled a glare that dared Derek to deny her an answer.
“You’re not going to like it.”
“It involves the Soul Charmer forcing magic into me. No, I’m not going to fucking like it, but I didn’t ask you that.”
He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. To take in magic, you have to be morally agnostic.”
“That doesn’t sound offensive, so there must be more.”
He glanced away. “You have a pure soul, but you don’t actually have anything against sinning.”
“And?” Father Gonzales would be aghast, but it wasn’t news to Callie. She attended church because it was socially and culturally necessary. Shops didn’t open until noon on Sundays. Prayer cards were available at every restaurant. There were more churches per capita than there were grocery stores. Gem City was Cortean Catholic through and through. Whatever was necessary to survive, Callie did. If God had a problem with her stealing in order to keep her and her brother fed, then he’d take it up with her after she bit it.
“Most people wouldn’t like others knowing sin means nothing to them.” The tremble in his voice was too personal. The sooner he let go of that shame, the happier he’d be, but it wasn’t Callie’s place to instruct him.
Also, she had more pressing concerns. “Why didn’t he do this to you?”
“He can’t.”
“Bullshit. He’s a scary mystical whatever, and you and me have more in common than you’re going to admit.”
“No, honestly, Callie.” He shook his head. “He’s real picky about who can do what. Says he can read it on the soul. And I don’t know if I’m fucked up so he can’t do it to me, or if you are so he can. I just know he’s never done it to me, and I’m actually sorry he did it to you, and I don’t have every answer.”
“That was a lot of words for you all at once.” Did she say that out loud?
His deep, rumbling laugh suggested, yes, she had. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Maybe my skills are detecting people screwed by soul magic, and getting you to talk.” She was rambling, but if she didn’t laugh, she was going to cry.
She was saved by the arrival of their waitress with two loaded plates. Callie wasn’t done questioning Derek, especially if he was willing to keep giving her honest answers. But first she was going to ignore her shitty day by sinking her teeth into the fiercest patty melt in the whole state.
—— CHAPTER SEVEN ——
The second day in the soul business had to be better than the first. Right? If Callie helped collect even a single soul, she’d be ahead of the game. Derek had spent their meal convincing her that the more they got shit done, the less they’d need to deal directly with the Soul Charmer. That’s about all it took to get her to climb onto the back of his motorcycle again, and go for round two.
“I’d like to avoid bar fights tonight, too, if that’s an option,” she said while handing over her helmet. He’d parked the bike near a street light with a cluster of three frosted bulbs. The Eastender District’s traditional adobe buildings often made tourists think they were in the Plaza, but they wouldn’t find the Basilica or the Governor’s mansion anywhere nearby. The wear on the buildings and the cracked cobalt tiles near storefronts should have clued them in. It wasn’t as downtrodden as last night’s locale, but Callie’d bet the house they weren’t going to find their first collection target in the Ritz, either.
“Don’t be stealing the fun from the job, doll.” His wry grin bolstered her confidence a smidge.
“We’ll see,” she muttered.
He lifted his chin toward a bail bondsman’s office. “Can’t promise there won’t be brawls in there, but there should be less booze.”
She followed him toward the building. “This person has a bond out on them? Isn’t that, like, toeing too closely to trouble?” She thought about the job Ford expected her to complete in two weeks. The flip of her stomach almost made her regret the patty melt.
“Nah, Nicole works here.”
Derek switched gears, adopting a saunter a few yards from the door. He timed it perfectly, just as he and Callie walked past the first pane of glass for Gem City Bonds. The entire storefront was covered in floor-to-ceiling windows. It might have looked nice, if not for the wrought iron bars spanning each pane. Better black bars than bricks through your windows. They reached the front door, but Derek stilled Callie’s hand when she reached for the handle.
She furrowed her brows, but gave him space as he rapped his knuckles against the door. A moment later, the camera mounted above the doorframe panned toward them with a dull hum. Derek smiled up at it, oozing charm. She told herself she’d never trust a grin like that, but she also doubted her knees would remain solid if he ever turned it on her.
Inside her coat pocket, Callie took hold of the flask. Soft warmth emanated from the stone inlay at her touch, but as a short, curvy blonde came to the door her fingers began to sizzle. The heavy application of kohl around the woman’s eyes didn’t hide the charcoal underscores or the hollowing below her cheekbones. The blonde shot Callie a curious look before stepping out to join them on the sidewalk.
She would have given her a doubly dirty one if she’d known what Callie had been thinking. Her fingers had started to tingle as soon as Nicole had opened the door, and as the heat rushed to fill her palms and her grip tightened on the flask, Callie knew Nicole had a bonus soul wedged beneath her pushup bra. She really was not the bail lady’s biggest fan.
“Hey, Derek,” Nicole cooed. They were on a first-name basis. Great.
“Time to return it.” No matter how benign the phrase was, dark menace laced Derek’s words.
Callie’s fingers tried to burrow into the onyx of the soul canister in her hand until they burned. If only she could make herself believe it was a lava rock and not her hand heating the stone.
Nicole brushed a hand along Derek’s sleeve. A bold move when you were blocking a big man from doing his job. He shot a pleading glance Callie’s way. It was so quick, she was almost convinced she’d imagined it. Still, her fingers ached and she wasn’t enjoying watching the soul renter in front of her get her flirt on. Callie pulled the flask from her pocket.
“I sure wouldn’t mind keeping it a little longer, help take the edge of stress off another day. I could come meet you downtown after work, you know, to return it and we could grab a drink,” Nicole purred.
Callie decided it would be a good time to join the conversation. “We’ve got shit to do.”
Nicole blinked, as though she’d forgotten Callie was even there.
“And you are—” the questioning tone was cut off as Callie smacked the open flask against Nicole’s sternum. The woman’s face paled, but Callie’s palm immediately began to cool and feeling quickly returned to her fingers. As the magic metal-and-stone container did its thing, a fluttering sensation blossomed in her sternum. It was as though feathers were grazing the insides of her rib cage. Unnerving, but also … reassuring? She pulled the flask back, capped it, and looked at Derek.
He was beaming. Not the smarmy Rico Suave look he’d given the camera earlier, but a “you’ve got to be shitting me” grin. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and that didn’t have a thing to do with soul magic. Callie averted her gaze and, thankfully, the blood rush quelled.
Derek stepped backward a couple paces, ready to beat feet. “Thanks, Nicole, but I think we’re all set here. See you next time.”
Nicol
e’s cheeks regained a hint of color, but she didn’t say anything as he moved away. She cast a bewildered gaze in Callie’s direction, but Callie was more worried about following her ride than the spurned soul renter.
They hurried toward his bike, and as Callie neared him she heard him mutter, “Can’t keep her damn hands to herself.”
“Not your favorite client?” Callie asked, not bothering to hide her amusement.
“None of them are my clients.” He scrubbed his hand against his bicep, as though to remove the memory of her touch.
“That’s not really an answer.” One really shouldn’t poke at lumbering beasts, but sometimes the temptation was too much.
He rounded on her. “No, I don’t like her. Better?”
No, his answer didn’t give her enough. He was the Charmer’s thug. Why would he let her manhandle him if he didn’t like it?
As if he could read her thoughts, he added, “Not everyone needs a rough touch to return what’s ours.”
Callie bet that woman wouldn’t have minded a rough touch from Derek. And he sure as hell hadn’t given McCabe the soft sell the night before. Goddamn it, heat was flooding her cheeks again. Luckily, they’d reached Derek’s bike and he was already strapping on his helmet. Callie put hers on as well, and willed herself to stop thinking about the pleasurable ways Derek could be rough. She’d watched him flip into violent mode in a split second, and he could do the same with charm. Maybe her trust in him was less warranted. The thought slowed her thundering heart.
Callie didn’t bother asking where they were going, or who the next target was. She slung her leg over the motorcycle and scooted closer to him. She tried to take his strength via hug osmosis again, but it wasn’t the same. Her mind buzzed with new questions about Derek, the business, and, most of all, its clients. What was Nicole’s deal? She didn’t work in the noblest profession or the nicest area, but that meant exactly jack shit. Callie made food for old people and got paid fifty cents above minimum wage. Though, her pay was set to bump up another quarter if she made it to the end of the year. If, you know, she didn’t get arrested working for the Soul Charmer, or Ford, or Lord knew whom else.
Derek drove them to the Arts District. Banners proclaiming new shows by local painters hung from lampposts, while sandwich boards atop the brick sidewalk directed tourists to the brochure-worthy galleries. Callie hadn’t been in the area, other than passing through, in years. Hell, the last time she’d visited the district she wasn’t old enough to drive.
He parked the motorcycle beneath an iron street lamp. Its safety was less in jeopardy here than any of the other places they’d visited thus far. She dismounted and tried to guess their next stop. The Sofia Museum was across the street. The wide windows set into whitewashed building turned grandiose under floodlights. The twenty-four-hour security was merely a shadow at the structure’s corner. It displayed local art, and served wine. She’d never been there. The Gem Museum was on the next block. The name confused the hell out of tourists. It wasn’t one for fans of rocks and minerals. Instead it showcased relics from the Native American tribe on the nearby pueblo.
Callie’d visited several times on field trips as a kid. Josh hadn’t attended those, so few memories stuck, but she did remember asking a teacher why they didn’t name the museum after the people whose work it proudly displayed. She’d been chided for her “rude question.” As an adult, she’d guess the name had more to do with city officials being dicks than anything else. If one thing was consistent in Gem City, it was that the politicians weren’t the most upright folk. The fact they could partake in the Soul Charmer’s services now wasn’t likely to help matters. If proof soul magic facilitated crime finally made it to the legislature, Gem City would go downhill fast. How quickly would the church extricate itself?
“What’s next?” Callie asked, mostly to distract herself. It was that or ogle Derek, and given their current situation, that wasn’t going to help anyone.
“We find Casey.” He loped off to the north, away from the Gem Museum. When Callie didn’t immediately follow, he reached back to grab her hand, pulling her forward. When she reached his side, he threw his arm across her shoulders. The leather of his jacket pressed against the nape of her neck, covering the gap where a scarf would have warmed her, if she’d thought to wear one. The weight pressed down on her shoulders, but somehow it made her want to stand taller. Safety wasn’t so simple for her, but on this street, right now, no one would touch her.
“She an artist? Hard to picture how borrowing a soul could help anyone be creative. It’s not like injecting yourself with a muse, right?” She willed her voice to stay steady.
“First, Casey is a guy. Second, he’s not an artist, though I bet he’d say he were if he could get a peek at your panties in return.”
Callie’s pace slowed, and she started to sputter. Before she could protest her virtues or whatever she thought would save the discussion, Derek continued. “Finally, no, souls don’t make you creative or a genius or whatever, but don’t tell them that. Assholes try it all the time, get addicted to the freedom, and the Charmer charges ’em double.”
“Oh.” She liked being in on the secret. Dopes being robbed for their own greed and stupidity didn’t exactly earn her pity. “What kind of freedom?”
“When the fear of eternal consequences disappears, it opens a lot of doors. We’re a fucking guilty lot.”
Wasn’t that the truth? “But what if you don’t buy into the whole heaven thing?”
He cocked a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me brow and shook his head. “Do you really think anyone in Gem City is denying the church’s truth?”
“Doesn’t matter what we say aloud. I’m talking true belief.”
“We have souls. It’s a fact. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t. I don’t know what happens after death, but I do know that I’ve never met a person who rented a soul who said they didn’t like getting to be someone else.”
“Does it really make you into a different person?” Renting one of these things better not change her. Callie didn’t always love who she was, but she trusted herself more than anyone else. To thine own self be true and such.
“Nah. You’re still you.”
“So what’s the point then? Placebo effect?”
“It really doesn’t mark your soul. From what I’ve learned working for the Charmer, the shit that makes it hard to fall asleep at night, those niggling thoughts, they don’t dig in the same way as they would if you were sinning on your own soul.”
He didn’t elaborate further, and maybe he couldn’t. She wasn’t about to bulldoze the foundations of friendship they’d constructed by prying.
After a moment, Callie accepted the subject was closed. “Well, where do we find Casey?”
“His girlfriend serves bar at the cafe on the corner. If Casey isn’t there, Phoebe will know where he is.”
“You think she’ll give him up to you?”
“Phoebe is not a fan of soul magic. You have that in common with her.”
Callie shrugged.
“Why are you so bent on getting a soul from the Charmer when you hate the magic so much?” His gaze burned into her. Callie studiously focused on the cracks and poor patch-jobs in the sidewalk’s aging concrete.
She opened her mouth to answer, but what was she supposed to say? There was the temptation to tell him the truth, to expose the guilt laid deep inside her gut, and to explain why she owed it to her brother to do this. But while Derek was off to a start as her safety net in this world of soul rental and magic, that didn’t mean she needed to fork over all her secrets after less than forty-eight hours of nonstop trust exercises. She was trust-falled out.
“Family first,” was all she said.
His brows furrowed, and he offered her the disappointed grunt. He didn’t push, though. Smart man.
Callie eyed the glass case filled with pie when they entered Café on the Square, but Derek offered a dude-bro two finger wave to the bartender. He received a nod
in kind from the petite woman with chubby cheeks. The café balanced 1950s diner aesthetics with a gluttonous dose of jalapenos, chiles, and fried eggs. As they bellied up to the bar, the faint lines at the corners of Phoebe’s eyes became more visible, but her baby face still had to make most do a double take when seeing her sling tequila. Probably also earned her hella tips. More power to the woman.
“Casey around?” Derek’s tone was casual, but the tension holding his shoulders locked back still evoked a threat. Or at least the potential for one.
“He’s smoking. Should be back in a minute.” Phoebe removed a table tent offering last call on Hatch chile specials, wiped the counter in front of Callie with a damp rag, and then placed a small, square cocktail napkin down. This was much better than last night’s bar debacle. “What can I get you?”
Callie shook her head to decline. A clean countertop was nice, but she wasn’t ready to chat with these people. Phoebe looked nice enough, but the more they knew her, the more she was truly involved. Smacking a flask to people’s chests and walking away was probably safest.
“Why don’t you make us both the house margarita?” Derek suggested. He then looked at Callie and, mostly to himself, said, “You take salt? Nah, you don’t.”
“Two margaritas, no salt?” Phoebe’s gaze pinged from Callie to Derek and back again like they were pillars in a pinball machine and someone was racking up points. Callie couldn’t help the girl figure them out. This dynamic was too fucked.
Callie shrugged. She didn’t like salt, but what about her screamed anti-sodium? Their bartender moved around behind the counter and flexed her drink-making skills with tidy efficiency. When Derek’s lips unexpectedly grazed her ear, Callie jumped a little. The reaction was enough to elicit a little, pleased grunt from the man.
“Figured a stiff drink would help calm some of the nerves,” he whispered.
“Do I look nervous?”
Borrowed Souls: A Soul Charmer Novel Page 8
