Soul Weaver

by Hailey Edwards

  As Nathaniel’s temper flared, the shears sparked to life and reached hungrily for his essence to fuel their awakening. For once, he was grateful Delphi had the forethought to create them with a fail-safe. Forged with Nathaniel in mind, they were nothing but sharp blades with handles until they siphoned energy from his particular soul.

  His brother leaned closer, his gaze lowered to the shears. “Mairi is there,” he said. “I know she is.”

  So were innumerable other souls. “It’s where she belongs.”

  Saul’s mutinous expression said he disagreed.

  Nathaniel dreaded Saul’s reaction if he ever learned of his indiscretion. His actions with the mortal woman skirted the line, but she had been alive when he saved her, though her grip on life had been slipping. What Saul proposed, after Mairi’s centuries of insubstantiality, would mean finding a new host to accept her soul. He would either scavenge a body or, worse yet, harvest a fresh one for her. How Saul thought to conjoin the two, Nathaniel couldn’t begin to imagine.

  While Saul continued to glare at him, Nathaniel’s patience wore thin. “Say I took you there—and make no mistake, I won’t—you’d have to find her, one soul in millions. Then you’d have to tether her, revive her, and unless you’ve been hiding a halo in your pocket, you don’t have the power or the knowledge to do either. Or access to anyone who does.”

  Otherwise, Saul would have completed this fool’s errand by now. “So, if by some miracle you made it that far, when you failed to tether Mairi, her soul would evaporate over time. She would be reabsorbed into the heavens and would cease to exist in any recognizable form.” Nathaniel sighed. “You can’t want that for her.”

  With a low growl, Saul rose. “I will save her, with or without your help.” His wings snapped out behind him as he opened them.

  “This is your grief talking,” Nathaniel said.

  “No,” he replied softly. “I’m talking; you’re just not listening.” Saul sliced a portal and launched himself through it with a thrust of his wings. A rush of air scattered newspaper sheaves and empty food boxes onto the floor.

  Lacking energy to much care at this point, Nathaniel let his head fall back against the couch cushions while he considered his own woman troubles.

  His plan had backfired, and his mark’s extension on life had run out before she could choose a different path. It made no sense, even all these months later, that she had no loving relationship with another living person. For whatever reason, she chose emotional isolation rather than involvement with her fellow mortals. A mistake she would pay for if some compromise couldn’t be reached.

  He’d seen her soul, held it. She deserved the gift he had given her, but she had still failed to make use of it. Her waste of his good intentions tempted him to go back. He wanted to shake her shoulders until she woke up to the truth. He wanted to demand her reason for squandering her second and final chance at ensuring her soul’s salvation.

  A mental picture of her sprung to his mind. She wasn’t flawed in any obvious way, but his time harvesting had taught him well that beauty was skin deep and a pretty face sometimes masked hideous intentions.

  Not that he thought she was beautiful, exactly. Her soul was, certainly. Her person… recalling her tumbled curls and the warmth of her skin made his cheeks flush. He set his drink aside and blamed the alcohol for the rush of heat spreading low through his gut.

  Chloe was such a simple name for such a complex problem.

  There was no choice. If he backed out now, she would pay a harsher price for his interference. More than his earlier impulse to help, he owed her now. Besides, how much time could it take to assess her situation and his risk? Not long at all. A day or so of observation would tell him what he needed to know.

  So he would watch her. Find an excuse to talk to her.

  He spoke with Nephilim often. How much harder could it be to talk to a full human? His hand went for his drink. Not hard. He could do it. Lifting the glass to his lips and draining the liquid, Nathaniel found himself recalling the room where he had found Chloe.

  She lived above a store carrying her last name, McCrea Books. Nathaniel searched his memory for clues about the building from the last time he’d walked through downtown Piedmont. The front steps had seen better days. One of the windows had been boarded over, but how long ago? He couldn’t recall. It could have been last week, last year, or ten years ago. He hadn’t passed through that section of Georgia much since Reuel moved out of Atlanta.

  Nathaniel’s trade had been carpentry for centuries before the modern era made living on his investments a simpler matter. He had once labored among mortals, earned whatever currency they dealt in, and hoarded his shares until he proved to Delphi he could afford to live in their midst. After all, Dis had been no place to raise a child with Bran’s fragile health. Later, he’d discovered he enjoyed his taste of freedom, his view of the sky too much to return to Dis.

  Nathaniel sat up, braced his forearms on his knees, and stared into his glass. All the stores downtown were old. Only a handful had been renovated and none of them recently, though he couldn’t remember the particulars. Maybe Chloe was in the market for a handyman. Lucky for her, Nathaniel knew someone perfect for the job.

  Chapter Seven

  Fury made Saul soar as he glided over the crumbling ruins of a forgotten castle. The turret jutted proudly amid scattered stones. He circled it, his nerves winding tighter the higher he flew.

  The base of his skull tingled. Another mind brushed against his in warning.

  “Keep your shirt on,” he muttered.

  Around him, the air charged and crackled. Lightning flashed spiderwebs across the sky.

  Saul took the hint and descended.

  Below him, a golden cherub sat perched on a rock at the base of their master’s feet. Zared. He didn’t lift his electric-blue eyes or bat his white-blond lashes. His full, red lips parted, but the rich words rolling from him belonged to the angel at his shoulder. “How fares your brother?”

  Saul lit at the base of the stone and knelt. He tried not to stare at the angel, but the chains glinted and drew Saul’s eye time and again. Focus. He cleared his throat. “He is well.”

  “Has he been swayed to our cause?”

  “No.” Saul modulated his tone. “He is, as you said, showing signs of stress. It is my belief he will join us soon. If he continues on as he is, his mind will break, and he won’t risk that.” His fists tightened. “Bran means too much to him. He would never risk leaving the boy in my care.”

  Stiff laughter shook the cherub’s shoulders. “His devotion to the child is noteworthy. That’s what makes him the warrior Delphi covets most. Nathaniel is selfless, loyal.” That remark stung Saul’s pride. “But if you command those he loves, then you command him. It is… his weakness.”

  Fresh anger sparked at the reminder that Saul was but a pawn in a greater game on a larger board than he could conceive of. “Why use me?” Must he always be second best? “Why not use Bran?”

  More laughter came. “Bran’s loyalty cannot be bought. Yours, however, can.” The cherub shifted to face him but maintained his indifference. “There’s also the fact that your brother fell from grace for you. He loves you. He’s watched you deteriorate, year after year, and it gnaws on his bones. If he thinks for an instant you can be saved, he will leap at the chance without thought.”

  “You overestimate his naïveté.” Tonight his eyes had lost that spark when he looked at Saul.

  “It makes no difference.” The cherub scowled. “You will continue on as you have been.”

  “Nathaniel requested some time off,” Saul pointed out. “I doubt he invites me to join him.”

  The cherub made a thoughtful sound. “Interesting. I wonder…” Several moments of silence passed. “Follow him. This might be the chance we’ve waited for. When you aren’t harvesting, you’re tracking Nathaniel. Understand? I want reports nightly, where he goes and who he sees.”

  “I will do as you ask.”
He had no choice if he wanted to remain on Azrael’s good side.

  “See that you do.” The cherub grinned in the vicinity of Saul’s feet. “Soon the gates of Hell will swing open for us. Our time is coming. Accomplish this task and your reward will be great.”

  “If I fail?” Nathaniel was more stubborn than Azrael gave him credit for.

  “Then you will learn the steps of resurrection through experience.” Zared snarled Azrael’s message. “Your soul is mine. I will not relinquish it, not to Delphi and not through your failure.”

  Saul ducked his head to hide the hate burning in his gaze. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “See that you do.” The cherub smiled, and it was a cold thing. “Now, I believe we have one final matter to discuss—your failure to appear at my summons.” He leaned close. “You were in Dis. I smell the sulfur on your clothes. You visited with our creations, then? How do they fare?”

  “Soul-lust is riding them hard. They’re rabid, starving.” Zared grinned as Saul said that. “The seraphs think the creatures should be fed more often.” Saul agreed with their assessment. “They also said if conditions in the valley deteriorate much further, they won’t act as wardens. The creatures are antsy. Escape attempts are escalating. It would only take one escape for Delphi—”

  “Fine,” Zared hissed. “Alter their feeding schedule. We can’t afford to lose the seraphs.”

  “I’ll inform the twins.” Saul clenched his fists. Yet another task left for him to do.

  His schedule ran tight enough as it was. He alone could access the soul pits, so that meant he had no choice but to do this job. At least he didn’t have to worry that Delphi or the others might notice a few extra souls gone missing. Saul used pits that had been sealed after the harvester who filled them snapped. Those were checked every few decades, giving him time to cover his thefts.

  “You are upset with me.” Zared conveyed Azrael’s amusement. “Anger is fire for the soul.”

  “I knew the price of ignoring your summons.” Saul’s skin crawled to think of it.

  “Good.” He nodded. “Do you resent me for exacting the cost of insolence from your flesh?”

  “No.” Not when Saul tallied every lash, every cut, and every ache.

  He vowed Azrael would one day suffer every ounce of pain he’d dealt him.

  “Carry on, then.” The cherub waved his hand. “Let the punishment commence.”

  Zared licked his lips and Saul knew the cherub had regained control of his body.

  His eyes glazed as Saul removed his shirt and pants, headed for the thick wooden post set in stone. He grasped the handles, one to either side, and held on tight. Air stirred as the cherub lit at his side. Zared ran the whip down Saul’s flank. Saul bit his cheek to keep from crying out when the crack of leather split the backs of his thighs open. Blood ran down his legs, pooled at his feet.

  All the while, Saul counted. He let his mind drift to that dreamy place where Mairi was alive. She’d tend his wounds, kiss his mouth, tasting of paradise. His love for her tightened his chest.

  Too soon, the cherub fisted Saul’s hair and ripped his head backward so their gazes locked.

  Zared was panting; his hands trembled. “Thanks for that.” This time, his voice was his own.

  “My… pleasure,” Saul said through gritted teeth.

  Leather tickled his side. “No.” Zared dropped the whip with reluctance. “But it was mine.”

  Saul rested his forehead against the whipping post, and who but an angel too long gone from Earth would conjure one? Slowly the haze subsided, leaving him the agony of his shredded skin.

  “You may go now.” Zared’s voice was once again deep, rumbling, Azrael’s.

  Glancing toward the rock, Saul winced. The cherub turned its back. The angel didn’t move.

  Saul wasn’t sure if he could move. All those chains kept Azrael’s wings locked against his spine. His arms were bound against his sides and his feet were shackled. A cloth sack covered his head, and thick rope gagged him, stuffing the coarse fabric in his mouth. Since the angel used a proxy, Saul couldn’t place his voice. With Azrael’s head in a bag, Saul couldn’t place his face, either.

  He had only Zared’s word that the captive angel was Azrael, but it hadn’t mattered to Saul at the time. Only that the angel knew the secrets to life and to death that Saul had failed to uncover.

  Pain faded. It always did. Wasn’t Mairi’s freedom worth a little pain? Yes. It was.

  She was worth all of this and so much more. She was worth anything, everything.

  Chapter Eight

  Chloe couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling of being watched. It started in after she opened the store this morning and the sensation hadn’t let up yet. Glancing around, no customers picked through the sales rack or milled around her. No one paid her any attention at all, to her relief.

  A shiver worked its way down her spine. Her imagination did enjoy playing tricks on her.

  Last night should have left her rested and relaxed. Two dreamless nights in row, no nightmare man in sight, it should have been heaven. Instead, so much sleep made her anxious.

  Shrugging off the uncomfortable sensation, she went in search of Neve and found her bent over by a pair of armchairs. When Neve straightened, Chloe spotted a dark leather wallet in her hand. Much too chunky for a woman’s, it must belong to the young man she’d noticed reading in that spot earlier.

  Her stomach dropped when Neve cracked it open, thumbed through the contents, and made a withdrawal. Before all Chloe’s insecurities could escalate, she saw Neve snap the wallet shut, then head for the register. Neve stuck the wallet in the back of the cash drawer, then held up a card and dialed a number. She was all smiles and warm laughter while on the phone. She even patted the register before she ended the call. Without hearing a word, Neve’s message was clear. The wallet was safe and ready for pickup whenever the owner could manage it.

  Chloe exhaled on a sharp breath full of relief… and a smidge of guilt. Trust had been as easy as breathing when her parents were alive. Now she struggled with the concept. She’d never really had to protect herself or judge another person’s trustworthiness all on her own. Without Mom’s prodding questions or Dad’s silent observations, Chloe felt out of her emotional depth.

  Neve caught her staring and waved, no doubt uncertain why she was the center of her attention. Chloe waved back, content everything was as it should be. Then she hefted a box of new arrivals from the storage room and lugged it to the sales floor. The oversized travel books were backbreakers. And the hefty titles never failed to belong on the top shelf.

  After a quick check of the author names at nose level, she rose on her tiptoes and tapped her way down the spines until she found the letter she was looking for on the second shelf down.

  “I was wondering if you could help me,” a deep voice asked from over her shoulder.

  “What the—” She jumped and then turned toward the unexpected sound. Her shoe caught the box’s edge and she tripped. Hands thrown out, she braced for impact. Instead, she got a handful of man as the customer caught her against his chest. Her palms slapped his shoulders, fingers bunched in the flannel of his shirt. She gasped as his hold squeezed the air from her lungs.

  “Are you all right?” His full lips twitched into a hesitant smile.

  Chloe’s mouth ran dry. The reply perched on the tip of her tongue? Gone.

  Their gazes locked. “I’m fine.” She had never seen eyes like his before. They were a brilliant shade of blue, as clear as the Caribbean waters featured in the books at her feet.

  His eyes crinkled at the corners while she stared, dumbfounded, right into them.

  He probably knew from experience women had trouble talking when he looked at them that way.

  She hissed as a sudden headache made her vision waver from pain. I need some aspirin.

  “Would your friend have something you could take?” His large hands rubbed circles against her lower back.

 
“I don’t know.” She rubbed her temples. “I have some in my office.” Her head snapped up. Had she said that first part out loud? Her skull throbbed as the cascading discomfort built.

  He dropped his arms and the terrible bubble of pressure burst, ringing through her ears.

  “You look pale,” he said. “Do you need help getting up?”

  What did he mean up? Chloe glanced around. When had they sat on the floor? And…oh snap… what was she doing sprawled across his lap?

  She scrambled across the hardwood planks and leaned her back against a bookshelf while he chuckled softly at her expense. Unfortunately, the ground didn’t do anything helpful, like open up and swallow her whole.

  “I’m looking for Chloe McCrea.” His leg bent while he waited for her answer.

  Trying not to choke on her tongue, she replied, “I’m Chloe.” His broad hand appeared in her field of vision. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. “What can I help you with? Are you looking for a particular title or author?”

  “No.” His smile made her insides quiver. “I’m looking for you, in particular.”

  She hadn’t realized they still held hands until he pumped her arm as he introduced himself. “I’m Nathaniel Berwyn, with Handel’s Handymen. I noticed the porch out front could use some work, and I thought I’d offer my services.”

  The size of his hand wrapped around hers distracted her. “I, ah, appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I’m in the market for repairs at this time.”

  He tipped her chin up so their gazes collided. “Are you certain I can’t change your mind?”

  His thumbs were at it again, smoothing over her cheek with easy familiarity that really should bother her. She was sure it would. Any minute now.

  When dots swam in her vision, she realized she hadn’t taken a breath since their gazes met. “No?” With doubt thick in her voice, she wasn’t surprised when he pounced on her indecision.

  “What if I make you a deal?”