He must have mulled the question for thirty seconds, but he kept his mouth next to her ear the entire time. “Not nervous. Uncomfortable.”
“And you want to comfort me.”
His grunt said yes, but the words that followed were more complicated. “Adjusting to the magic, this lifestyle ain’t easy. It’s not fair to throw you in the deep end, and hope you know more than a doggy paddle. Just want to help, doll.”
Callie wasn’t ready to deal with the implications. Did he sympathize or pity her? Did he actually have issues with this situation on her behalf? Was he working some sort of con on her? “Why do you call me that?”
“What?”
“‘Doll.’”
He hiked his huge shoulders up in an exaggerated “whatever” move. The move made him look like a teenager, and Callie smiled. “Feels right,” he said. “Plus, I figure you don’t want me using your name in public.”
If this was a con, it was working.
Phoebe set their drinks on the counter, and then moved to help another customer. Her diligence earned her some kind words at the other end of the bar, but Callie quickly began to suspect the hustle was more about avoiding Derek’s questions than upping her tips.
Derek pulled away from Callie, and settled himself on a black cushioned stool. Callie sat, too, and gave her margarita a cursory sip. Derek had called the concoction a stiff drink. He was right. It was heavy on tequila, and Callie relished the momentary burning of her sinuses when she took a longer pull. The familiar sensation hadn’t changed since she’d had her first taste of the liquor.
Josh had gone through a baseball phase when Callie was fifteen. She’d nipped out of school early to drive down the mountain for the minor league game with him. He’d placed an Isotopes cap on her head and tucked a mini-bar bottle of tequila in her pocket. She’d coughed and sputtered at her first covert swig in the stands. Josh laughed conspiratorially and slapped her on the back. Then they’d sipped their contraband drinks and hollered at the opposing team for hours. She’d felt brave and grown-up that day—more so than managing the bills had ever done. Like being an adult could be an escape, and not just a litany of responsibilities. When Josh was sober again, she told herself, she’d take him to a game. Minus the booze.
“Our man is here.” Derek had flipped to his scary, gruff voice. Callie should have been more unnerved than she was that she could recognize the difference.
She would give this target credit: He didn’t turn tail upon spotting Derek at the bar. His footsteps slowed, but he continued his initial trajectory. Derek stood, and indicated Casey should take his freshly vacated seat. What was Callie supposed to do, stand? They hadn’t discussed protocol for this. A list of basic rules of engagement for dealing with those who didn’t return rented souls would have been nice. So, not knowing what else to do, she remained seated, but put her glass back on the bar. The last thing she needed was for her fingers to go all icicle-like and drop the booze in her lap. Party fouls were much worse in mixed company, at work, and when you weren’t even drunk. She’d hit the trifecta if she flubbed here.
Casey followed Derek’s instructions with obvious false bravado. “Long time, no see, bro.”
The whites of Casey’s eyes were milky, but Derek met them without flinching.
“That’s true. Usually you’re better about coming back to the Charmer’s.” Derek sounded like a disappointed older brother. Callie was all too familiar with the tone.
“I meant to, really, but you know how it goes.” How had Casey landed a girl like Phoebe with game that bad?
Callie slid her hand into her pocket and thumbed the flask. It might have hummed under her touch, but she wasn’t willing to say it was anything more than her imagination yet.
“I don’t, actually. Why don’t you tell me?” Derek’s frustration began to show. Or was that part of his game, too, like the charisma with the bail bonds woman earlier?
Casey opened his mouth to offer additional bullshit—his cheekbones threatening to pop through his too-taut skin—when Callie realized Casey was only a foot and a half away from her, but her hands weren’t heating. In fact, they were getting colder. Wasn’t he supposed to have a borrowed soul inside him? What. The. Fuck.
“He doesn’t have it,” she said, mostly swearing to herself. She let go of the flask, which was frigid in her grip.
Derek tensed as he saw Casey’s eyes go wide and fists clench. Callie rose. If this was going to get messy, she wanted to be solidly planted on her Chucks.
Casey had one foot off the floor, in an obvious attempt to scramble backward, when Derek’s meaty hand grabbed him by the front of the shirt. The gingham fabric twisted into a ball of blue wrapped around the collector’s fist. “Care to explain?”
“Who’s she? You going to trust some rando?”
Derek thrust the arm holding Casey outward, and then yanked him in close. “I asked you a question.”
Callie preened at how Derek had kept her concealed. She wasn’t dumb. She wasn’t exactly hidden in this half-filled café. But they didn’t know her secrets or who she was or what she might be to Derek. A breath had caught in her throat when Derek had let loose his anger, but now her breath was steady again as a veil of acceptance draped over the violence. It should have been concerning, but her options for security were getting smaller by the day. Better to be on the side of the Big Bad Wolf than left meandering with all the sheep.
“He gave it to someone else.” Phoebe had leaned in, her voice dropped low, without skimping on the vehemence. Callie was ninety percent sure that was because Casey was causing a scene at her work. She understood the irritation. Josh had pulled a similar stunt back when she’d still been at the hospital.
Derek didn’t loosen his hold on Casey, but he did lower his hand so the guy could relax a touch. Well, as much as one could in the face of imminent bodily harm. Derek nodded toward the bartender. “Talk.”
When he went monosyllabic, he was in work mode. Callie’s trust in him bumped up at the realization. She’d gotten him to talk.
“Don’t get involved—” Casey started to say, but Derek cut him off with a rapid shake. The soul renter’s teeth gnashed together in a clank that turned Callie’s stomach.
“If I do, will you let him go?” Phoebe asked.
“Depends on what you say.” That was a no.
“That Tess something-or-other has been around here lately. You know the one.”
Callie didn’t, but Derek nodded.
“She acts like she’s hawking her frou-frou massage business, but our clientele ain’t much for woo-woo shit.”
Callie glanced around the room. Despite being in the arts district, work boots outpaced sandals three to one in the corner café. When Phoebe didn’t elaborate, Derek turned his gaze back toward Casey. “Care to add anything?”
“No,” the man squeaked.
“Wrong answer.” Derek stalked toward the door, dragging Casey along with him.
Phoebe hurried through the gate at the bar and rushed to block Derek from exiting. Whether she was brave or stupid, the lady had stones. Casey saw her coming, though, and finally piped up. “She wants souls.”
“You didn’t give her yours, though. You gave her ours.” Derek’s hiss conjured images of the Soul Charmer and his reptilian movements. Callie swallowed. Hard.
“She didn’t want mine, man.” Casey’s voice grew louder, his words now clumsy yelps.
Derek frowned. Callie should have waited for him to ask the obvious question, but apparently her mouth had other plans. “What’s wrong with yours? Every soul has its uses.” Fuck. Now she sounded like she was with the Soul Charmer.
Casey’s eyes darted between Callie and Derek, unsure of who to address. “She wanted the other one.”
His fear was so heavy it nearly turned the air rancid. There had to be more. “Why?”
“Fine, bitch. She wanted the Charmer’s soul.”
Derek sucker-punched Casey in the gut. The guy gasped and floundered a
s he fought for air. When he started to regain composure, Derek let go of his shirt, only to promptly throw a jab right at Casey’s nose. It snapped with a soft crack, and the power of the hit sent him flying to his back.
Derek took Callie’s hand. “We should go now, doll.”
As they sidestepped Casey’s bloody form, Callie quietly asked, “He gave us answers. Honest ones, I think. Why’d you hit him?”
“He disrespected you.”
“Oh.” Callie’s nape heated, and she licked her lips. Yes, definitely better to be on the side of the Big Bad Wolf.
Outside, the evening air had shifted from crisp to almost-winter cold. The mountains in the distance would be capped with snow tomorrow morning. Derek kept hold of her hand. The earlier wind from the day had died, and the rich moisture in the air wasn’t even close to enough to combat her simmering emotions.
They retraced their steps, walking back toward a cluster of art galleries. His motorcycle was monstrous, lit beneath the streetlight. The lamp’s glow only magnified the bike’s wicked black lines and feral glint. She’d never been a motorcycle person, but she’d make an exception for Derek’s. She stole a glance at Derek. He’d locked his jaw, the act making his cheekbone more prominent in profile.
“What’s next?”
His face relaxed when she spoke. Enjoying his reaction seemed normal to Callie. Acceptable, even. The bad guy was on her side—probably—which made him the good guy. For now. Lord, why was she so flustered?
“One more pick-up, and then I need to ask some more questions about Tess.”
“You say her name like you know her.” Unexpected jealousy tinged the words. How embarrassing.
He gave an amused grunt. “Not like that, doll.”
“Whatever. You do know her, and how to find her, right?” Callie blustered through the words as though it would make him forget the why-not-me from the first time she’d asked.
“Not exactly. I’m familiar with her, but she’s adept at only being found on her terms.”
That was a question dodge if Callie had ever heard one. “What exactly does that mean?”
“She makes a point of only being around when she’s expecting people, and she’s not too keen on taking appointments from the Charmer’s crew.” The edge of his upper lip lifted, the sneer more prizefighter than blues crooner.
“You can just say it’s woo-woo magic shit.” And they weren’t magical. Mostly.
His grin overwhelmed her. “She’s very much about the ‘woo-woo magic shit.’”
“Then can’t the Charmer handle her?”
“Not that simple. He ran her out of Gem City a couple years ago.”
“Ran her out?”
“You could say it’s a territorial business.” The brutal truth tiptoed between the lines. “No clue what Tess is up to, though, because last night was the first I’ve heard of anyone other than the Charmer within fifteen hundred miles being able to work real soul magic.”
“There are lots of ads—”
“You didn’t go to anyone else,” he cut her off.
“True. Doesn’t mean they aren’t legit.”
“I’m telling you. They aren’t. Little shit is easy, but grappling with pulling and pushing souls requires a long apprenticeship and a whole lot of dark dealings. Neither the Charmer or I believed Tess had next-level skill.”
Derek didn’t have to tell Callie the Soul Charmer wasn’t going to be pleased with the news. She didn’t want to be the one to tell him. “Why not?”
“She sucks chi.”
“Excuse me?” Was that a magic slur? Hadn’t that massage therapist at the home said something about balancing chakras? If Ford’s spy dabbled in soul magic, he was even more of a threat than Callie had originally thought. No wonder he wanted those police files.
“She tells people she can cleanse their bodies of toxins, purify them, shit like that, but her magic is more about siphoning their energy instead. She gives them a massage like any other asshole in town, but in the process steals bits of their souls or shoves extra souls into their bodies. From what I’ve heard, it’s like a life force dialysis.”
“Ew. What’s she get out of it?”
“Same thing every magic user does: power.”
A bolt of pure ice shot up Callie’s spine that didn’t have a damn thing to do with souls. Derek didn’t miss the shudder as her hand twitched in his. He stopped walking, and pulled Callie in toward him. He’d moved so quickly she didn’t lift her hands to stop her body from colliding with his. He must not have minded, as he gave her the satisfying weight of his arm across her shoulder blades. Safety. She languished in it.
“Magic?” he whispered in her ear. His breath tickled and she squirmed.
“Mmm?” So warm.
“Do you sense it, or was it too much info too fast?”
“Too much, I think.” She pulled in a deep breath, simply because he smelled so good.
“I keep forgetting this isn’t normal for you.”
She laughed without humor. “Fucked up is par for the course for me.”
His brows furrowed. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”
“Me, too.” Callie sighed, and then continued. “But I suppose there’s something to be said for being on the inside.”
“I’m going to keep you safe. You know that, right?” He nearly winced with the plea. This wasn’t simply a placation, and Callie doubted it was totally about her. That’s why she believed him. Maybe the touch of magic she’d acquired was working. They both had battered souls, and the earnestness in those grey eyes said he’d failed before and wouldn’t let it happen again. She understood the need for redemption.
“I do.”
Derek’s sigh of relief blew a few loose strands of Callie’s hair across her cheek. She watched his hand, waiting for his fingers to reach out and lightly caress her face as he moved them into place behind her ear. Instead he let her go and shook himself.
The spell was broken. He urged them along to the next stop, where there was another soul to retrieve.
—— CHAPTER EIGHT ——
Callie regretted teaching her mother how to send text messages.
Her phone buzzed against her kitchen counter. The rattle was loud enough to make Callie wonder if the countertop would crack. Doubtful. The material was cut-rate, but not that cheap. Besides, her lazy super would probably throw a roll of duct tape at her and wish her Godspeed.
Two years ago, showing Zara how to text message had seemed like a brilliant idea. Josh had been crashing with Callie at the time, and her mom had wanted to touch base. Unfortunately, she thought six in the morning was the absolute best time to talk. Josh might have been up then, but Callie was a firm believer in only rising before nine if you were getting paid to do so. Her mom hadn’t offered any cash, so the texts became the preferred way to communicate. She could leave a message, and Callie would get back when she was available.
Fast-forward to today, and Zara had forgotten about the waiting part of the equation. She’d sent six messages while Callie was out with Derek last night.
Where are you?
Where’s your brother?
Tell Josh to call me.
Tell me you got this.
Calliope! Call me!!
You do this on purpose.
Callie had read each one surreptitiously while walking from one target to another. They’d collected two more souls last night, and talked with another three people who had seen Tess, but couldn’t tell them how to find her. The last one of the night had been a banker who lived on the northern outskirts of Gem City. The fabric of his navy blue starched shirt strained against his belly. He wasn’t subsisting on barebones sandwiches. He’d even fessed up that it was his wife who brought Tess into their lives. While the husband rented semi-regularly from the Soul Charmer, his better half sought absolution through Tess’s chakra massage. He was trying to get right with more than the Lord, and had produced a new flyer for Tess.
After some not-so-g
entle prodding from Derek.
Working magic was exhausting. She didn’t have to control the energy within the flask, but Callie’s muscles had ached by the time Derek dropped her off at home. She didn’t let him walk her to the door—it hadn’t been a date—but he stayed on his bike out front until she waved to him from the front window nevertheless.
A scalding shower hadn’t been able to singe the phantom tingle of magic skittering beneath her skin, but it had relaxed her enough to sleep. Calling her mother would have undone all the work from the steam. So she’d left it for the morning.
To say Zara was mad as a bull the next day would only disparage bovines.
She’d started with the next round of messages around 6:30 a.m. When Callie finally admitted to herself that she wouldn’t be sleeping in, it was 7:15, and the messages hadn’t said anything new. Zara worried over Josh and stockpiled all her anger for Callie. It’d only been in the last year Callie understood that was weird. She was the youngest, the little sister. Why was she deigned her brother’s keeper? In the last couple years, she’d certainly taken care of him, but their mother had been the one to put them in those roles so long ago. Callie’d been fifteen when Josh had moved out. From that point on, Zara had expected her to know where he was and keep his room ready in case he came back.
“It’s not like he’s shipped off with the navy,” Callie had told her mom.
Her cheek had stung at the fast crack of her mom’s hand against it. “Don’t you say things like that. You’ll jinx him.”
Callie had known better than to roll her eyes, but the idea Josh would enlist was asinine to the extreme. She’d mumbled an apology and hid in her room for the rest of the night. She’d eaten three Little Debbie’s snacks from the stash behind her bed in lieu of dinner with her mom that night.
At 7:40 a.m., Callie stopped avoiding Zara. More than an hour of buzzing texts and missed calls—no voicemails—had worn her resolve. This was where Josh got his tenacity. It might also explain why she’d agreed to work for the Charmer. Dealing with the mafia and magic were easier than enduring familial responsibilities.
“Hi, Mom,” Callie answered the phone. She settled at the end of the couch, pulling her knees against her chest. Fetal position couldn’t save her from the spackle of guilt Zara was about to apply, but it was better than nothing.
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