The Soulkeepers Series, Part Two (Books 4-6)

by Ching, G. P.

  Damien hesitated for a moment. Was this a trick? Did Lucifer actually expect him to choose the fourth curse? The brethren had heard of the challenge. All of the Watchers had. Why would the dark one trust such an important task to him? Unless he’d already chosen, and Damien was simply the vessel. And if that were the case, there was only one temptation apropos.

  “Greed,” Damien rumbled.

  “Absolutely,” Lucifer said. “So far, the good people of this city and country have survived by sharing what they have, but what will happen when we release you, my dear friend?”

  “Me?”

  “I’ve recently learned that Harrington could expand its reach if we entered the black market. We need to profit from the humans’ efforts to survive our apocalypse.”

  A tingle rose from his core and settled in the hollow of his chest. “You want to control the competition?”

  “Yes. Nothing shall be bought or sold anywhere without allegiance to me.”

  Damien rubbed his chin. “And you want me to make that happen?”

  “I want you to use human greed to my advantage. You will become the greatest gangster the world has ever known.”

  “How?”

  “Every business in this town with a Harrington Enterprises Security System has sworn allegiance to me. You will deliver the message that, from now on, a medallion isn’t enough. Protection will require a mark, my mark, burned on the back of their hand. You shall be the source of such a mark. Nothing shall be bought or sold without the Harrington seal, both buyer and seller. You will tell them it is for their protection, by order of the Council for the Eradication of the Unholy. Without a seal, how can we tell for sure the person is not a demon? Make certain the police are the first to incorporate this change in policy. Anyone they catch buying or selling goods without my mark gets arrested.”

  “What if they don’t comply? The humans have their own laws, their own consciences.”

  “My fourth temptation is greed. Our first step is to make the humans desire financial wealth above all things. Once their greed has taken hold, they will do anything to obtain more money, money they can only get by swearing allegiance to me by taking the mark.”

  “And how do we ensure their greed?” Damien asked.

  Lucifer reached into his pocket and retrieved a hundred-dollar bill. Damien rubbed his hands together; this was getting good. Pinching the edges, Lucifer stretched the C-note above his head and gazed at it reverently. A barrage of guttural syllables poured forth from the dark one’s throat, echoing unnaturally in the room. With a flash of fire, the bill dissolved into a thick green smoke that wafted toward the ventilation system.

  “In a few hours, the population of oxygen breathers will be extremely receptive to any opportunity you put before them,” Lucifer said.

  “And then?”

  Lucifer offered his hand. Tentatively, Damien accepted. At first, the handshake seemed as any other, Lucifer’s beaming smile accompanying the rhythmic pumping. But then, Damien’s palm began to burn. He tried to yank his hand away, but Lucifer wouldn’t let go.

  “Stop. STOP,” Damien cried. Blood oozed from their clasped palms, the internal workings of his hand liquefying within the devil’s grip. The sorcery wormed through the back of his hand and turned his fingernails black, even through his illusion. Damien dropped to his knees, jaw clenched from the pain. “Lucifer!”

  The dark one retracted his hand. “I’ve given you my mark.”

  Damien lifted his trembling hand and looked at his palm. His skin throbbed red but was otherwise normal. On the back, however, a circular image was branded—a pentagram with ancient runes in each sector of the star. Damien had lived among men for ten thousand years and could speak a hundred languages, but he’d never seen symbols like these.

  “This is my seal, Damien. It gives you alone the ability to hold your illusion in the sunlight. If you brand another with this seal, it will bind them to me. When you go to the police, tell them that if they do your bidding, they will be rewarded with a percentage of the money we earn in the street. Mark them with this seal, and there will be no turning back without the price of death.”

  “Yes, My Lord.” Damien flexed his burning hand and smiled at the mark. What power this would give him.

  “Then go to each of the shop owners. Anyone doing business must serve me. If they agree, shake on it. This brand will burn itself into their skin, and they are mine.”

  Damien nodded. “And what of the workers?”

  “All who work must take the mark. If the humans want to work to earn money to feed themselves, they must commit to me. And something else.” A slow smile spread across Lucifer’s face.

  “Genius, I’m sure.”

  “Everyone who obtains the mark gets a job. Hire them at Harrington if you have to.”

  Damien grinned. “You are truly diabolical, Lucifer. No one buys, sells, or earns without aligning with you?”

  “Exactly.”

  “And we corrupt the police to enforce your new law?”

  “You are correct, my greedy friend.”

  “I can’t wait to get started.”

  “One more thing, before you do.”

  “Yes?”

  “We’ve lost a number of Watchers recently. Auriel tells me the bodies showed signs of holy intervention. The Soulkeepers are here. They’re hunting us.”

  Damien emitted a low growl.

  “They’ve blocked my power. I can’t determine where they are hiding.”

  Auriel turned away from the window, eyes widening with surprise. “You never told me.”

  “I’ll tell you when you need to know, Auriel,” Lucifer snapped. He waved a hand in the air, and, in a flash of fire, a parchment formed in his hand. “This document contains the names and photographs of all the known Soulkeepers.” He handed it to Damien, who unrolled it and inspected each of the ten faces.

  “What shall I do with it, Lucifer?” he asked. “Do you want me to find them?”

  “Give this list to all who wear my seal. Any who see these ten must report them to you immediately. If they bring me a body, I will reward them beyond their greatest imagining.”

  “And if I see one?”

  “Kill on sight,” Lucifer said. “Beware of this one.” His finger landed on Malini’s russet skin. “This is the Healer. Beware. She is stronger than she looks. If you find her, you must bring her to me.”

  “So be it.” Sirens and shattering glass attracted Damien to the window. With his demonic vision, he could see the streets below swarming with people, pushing and shoving each other, arms laden with goods. “Looting.” The word sent a pulse of pleasure through his body.

  Auriel placed her hands on the glass next to Damien, watching the chaos below. He could tell she longed to be part of it, to be in his place. He relished the sense of power the brand on the back of his hand gave him. Whatever Lucifer’s history with this one, she seemed to have fallen out of favor. In truth, Damien was only excited about taking her place because of how he might benefit from the experience. A short-term grovel at Lucifer’s feet could gain him and his brothers an independent and permanent empire of wealth. But, the gravy on top was her pain. To have gained what she lost made his skin buzz.

  “It appears the fourth temptation has taken hold,” Lucifer said. “Go, Damien. Show no mercy. Teach the humans about our new order.”

  Damien nodded and slipped from the room, disappointed to leave the opulence of the penthouse, but excited about the possibilities of running this city and beyond.

  Chapter 5

  Empty

  Bonnie stood across the street from the convenience store with the Harrington Demon Eradication System octagon in the window, hoping today would be easy. The Soulkeepers had been lucky the last several weeks. They’d kept up on their Watcher kill quotas and gathered supplies without much in the way of trouble or injuries. However, luck could be fleeting. Supplies were hard to come by these days, and more shops than not had the Harrington Logo. Those th
at didn’t often had nothing on their shelves.

  She’d done this dozens of times since moving into Sanctuary, but somehow today seemed different. Her gut ached with the sense of holding a position too long, innards stretched and twisted to their breaking point. Maybe it was her argument with Malini about Cord. Maybe it was the anger she nursed toward Lucifer over what he’d done to Abigail and Gideon. All she knew was she was twitchy and uncomfortable, even before walking into the place.

  It wasn’t easy to stay safe without showing any of the weapons that could keep her that way. She’d dressed in layers: jeans and a T-shirt, followed by two sheathed daggers, one on each wrist, and a longer blade that fit along her calf under her pant leg. A sweater went on next, followed by a jacket, a hat to cover her pinned-up red hair, and sunglasses. A switchblade fit in her jacket pocket. Chances were, if attacked, she’d reach for her sister not the blades, but it was always a good idea to have a backup plan. Plus, even meshed together into the giant ogre body they preferred to fight with, she and Samantha would need a weapon.

  “You ready to do this?” Samantha said, looking decidedly like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in her down-filled coat. Bonnie knew she was loaded to the gills with weapons too.

  “Yeah. Where’s our third?”

  Ghost materialized at Samantha’s side, a hatchet from Eden in his hand. “Ready as I’m going to be.” He slipped the weapon into a secret compartment inside his coat.

  Bonnie looked around her, but there was no one watching. “Jeez, Ghost, could you be a little more careful flaunting the hatchet? We’re in public. It’s not going to help if we get arrested.”

  “No one notices me, Bonnie. That’s part of my power. Trust in it.”

  “Like they didn’t notice when you were trying to kill Cord?” During their Harrington mission, Ghost had captured the Watcher Cord and had a knife to his neck when a crowd of do-gooders saved the fallen angel.

  “That was different. They noticed Cord screaming and came to his rescue. They didn’t actually notice me until the very end.”

  Samantha placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head, frowning. “Jesse…”

  “I’ll be more careful,” Ghost grumbled. “Who has the money?”

  Sam raised her mittened hand. “Malini gave me five hundred and the list. We’re out of almost everything. We might need to make multiple trips. Jacob said not to avoid the Harrington Security places. He thought the others might be too unpredictable, especially with the weird looting last night. Hope needs formula.”

  Bonnie and Ghost nodded.

  “Let’s do this. I want to be done before dusk,” Bonnie said.

  The three crossed the street and Ghost opened the door for the twins. A bell chimed over Bonnie’s head.

  “Welcome to Harold’s,” a man called from the front of the store.

  Bonnie couldn’t see him because of the placement of the shelves, but she returned a polite greeting. She pulled a cart from the corral at the front of the store. “Let’s divide and conquer,” she whispered to the others. Sam and Ghost each grabbed a cart and headed down separate aisles.

  Squee, squee, squeeeee. It would figure she’d get the cart with the squeaky wheel. Bonnie groaned. The front left barely reached the floor and spun noisily every time she advanced, but she was feeling too anxious to waste time going back for another. She attempted to ignore the annoyance and mentally ticked off the items she retrieved from the shelves: formula, diapers, antibiotic ointment, paper towels. Her cart was full in no time. She met Ghost at the end of the aisle.

  “I think we should check out and take a load back to Sanctuary,” she whispered. “This is as much as we can carry.”

  He nodded. “Wait. There’s a customer.”

  Sam joined them at the head of the aisle, eyeing a shelf of shampoo to keep herself busy and avoid suspicion. Soulkeeper protocol was to avoid contact with the public as much as possible. High noon, Bonnie wasn’t concerned the woman buying a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread was a Watcher, but humans tended to want to talk and talking wasn’t good for keeping a low profile, especially when both shopper and clerk were wearing medallions with Lucifer’s face on the back.

  “She’s gone. Come on.” Ghost led the way to the counter. Bonnie followed. Since Sam had the money, it made sense for her to go last.

  “Good afternoon,” the cashier said. Bonnie noticed his name tag read Mr. Harold. Did he own Harold’s or was the name a coincidence? She didn’t risk the small talk to ask. A small patch of bright red blood soaked through a bandage on the back of his right hand. Bonnie frowned at the injury. Her stomach churned with nervous energy.

  “Afternoon,” Ghost said, reaching to unload his basket onto the counter.

  “Wait a moment, son. I need to see proper identification before I can ring you up for that.”

  “Identification?” Ghost asked.

  “Your Harrington medallion. We don’t serve demons here. No medallion, no service, unless of course you have one of these.” He peeled back the bandage to expose a scabby red burn in the shape of a pentagram with symbols in each of the star’s sections. He’d been branded. Bonnie forced herself not to jerk away from the bloody mess and rancid smell. She held her breath.

  “Oh, is this something new?” Bonnie said, digging in her collar as if trying to find the chain to her medallion.

  The man narrowed his eyes. “Haven’t you read your email? This is the Harrington upgrade, Demon Eradication 2.0. A medallion used to be enough to protect you. Now the demons are posing as humans. If we are going to beat these monsters, we’ve got to make sure they are not among us. From now on, you’ll have to have one of these to buy or sell anything, even to work, by dictate of the Council for the Eradication of the Unholy.”

  “So, the brand is to make sure demons don’t buy anything?” Samantha asked. The last word petered out as if she’d run out of breath. Before this, medallions were used for protection, not identification, and their money was always good enough. Bonnie’s heart sank as she met her sister’s gaze. This meant trouble.

  “You have a day to get yours from city hall. Tomorrow, even a medallion won’t be enough.” Mr. Harold’s lips pulled into a straight line. “Now let’s see those medallions.”

  Ghost backed away from the counter. “On second thought, I don’t think I’ll be needing anything today.” He abandoned the cart and moved for the door.

  Bonnie found Sam’s hand and pulled her past the end of the counter. “Thanks anyway.”

  Mr. Harold eyed the three carts. His face reddened. “Hold it right there, kids. You can’t leave this stuff here.” His hand reached out for Bonnie’s shoulder but snagged her crocheted hat instead. As he pulled back, her red locks fell around her shoulders.

  “Sorry,” he said, handing her the hat. “If you don’t want this stuff, you need to return it to the shelves.”

  Bonnie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and grabbed the corner of her cart, pulling it toward her body. “Okay.” Mr. Harold glared at her with a look that could cut glass. “We’re going to put it all back,” she said.

  “Please remove your glasses,” Mr. Harold said.

  “Why?” Bonnie asked.

  Mr. Harold bent down to retrieve something from under the counter, revealing a poster on the wall behind the register. Bonnie glanced at the notice and froze. Her picture, all of their pictures, stared back at her from under large red letters that read Wanted Dead or Alive. She hadn’t noticed it before because Mr. Harold’s body had been blocking her view of it from the counter.

  “What the hell?” she murmured.

  Mr. Harold straightened, pointing the long barrel of a gun in her direction. Bonnie dodged left, and the shelf behind her head exploded. Damn. Bonnie thanked the lord he wasn’t a good shot.

  “Soulkeepers,” Mr. Harold growled.

  A random woman in one of the aisles screamed at the sound of gunfire and kept screaming as Bonnie raced for the exit. Ghost had already grabbed Sam and was
dragging her through the double glass doors.

  Bonnie’s hand connected with the door pull, but she didn’t have a chance to open it. A man tackled her from the side, knocking her into a display of postcards. She toppled with the rack, glasses flying from her face and skimming across the floor. Using her superhuman speed, she ousted herself from under the man and flipped to her feet, pulling the switchblade from her pocket. The door was blocked by another store patron. In fact, every human in the place was closing in, and Mr. Harold still had the gun. A large, scary-looking gun.

  “Wait, you don’t understand,” Bonnie said, holding her hands up. Mr. Harold’s finger twitched. She grabbed the man beside her, pulling him into a chokehold and pressed her blade into his jugular. “Don’t shoot. You’ll hit him.” These were humans, not Watchers. Don’t panic, she told herself. You are stronger and faster.

  She glanced out the window, looking for Ghost and Samantha. Unfortunately, she found both of them running for their lives from a crowd of humans, some with baseball bats. Help was not coming. Rattled, she looked back at Mr. Harold.

  From behind the barrel of the gun, the man bared his teeth. “Unfortunately, I can’t let you go, Soulkeeper. There’s a price on your head. You’re dangerous.”

  Bonnie’s pulse pounded in her ears as she sidestepped along the window toward the exit. She didn’t make it. The gun fired. Instinctively, she blocked the bullet with the man’s body. There was no time for guilt. She tossed him aside, then dove through the window, somersaulting over the patch of grass out front. As she bolted toward the alley across the street, gunshots bombarded the ground around her. More shattering glass.

  Digging deep, she scrambled between buildings. Dead end. The alley was segmented by a stretch of chain link. The stomp of feet behind her motivated a vertical jump worthy of an NBA star. Not good enough. She slammed into the top of the fence and tumbled over, limbs flailing. Her landing was hard, enough to buckle her knees. The crowd behind her screamed obscenities, their bodies slamming into the chain link, but she didn’t look back. Panting, she darted from the alley and wove through a parking lot at super-speed, racing for safety until her legs burned so badly from the effort she couldn’t take another step.