Soul Catcher

by Bridger, Leigh

  Great. Pig Face wasn’t around to spray the furniture anymore, so some new demon would confiscate his digs. I woke up one chilly morning not in my big attic bedroom but in a corner of the gallery where I painted. I sat up in the dawn light, aching from hours spent passed out on the floor, smeared with paint.

  “Oh, fuck, oh, no,” I whispered, afraid to raise my eyes to the big canvas propped across from me.

  No, no, it’s all right, Sheba whispered. She often snuggled with me, helping me relax.

  Yes, all is well, Tabitha and Nahjee agreed.

  Mary and Ian looked down at me. Together. They stood outside their cabin at Talking Rock, his arms around her from behind, her hands and his on her big, pregnant belly. They smiled at me.

  Together. They had each other again, and they had a baby on the way. They’d have their version of a life now, a parallel family. I probably wouldn’t see them again. We all have our own cake-layers of lives to lead.

  Mary had written me a message on the floor, in sweet blue acrylic.

  It’s time for you and your Ian to start over again, Livia.

  *

  It was a dark and stormy November day. I sat in the gallery window seat, knotting and unknotting my hands, watching gusts of wind maul the trees along the French Broad. The last of the red and gold autumn leaves burst out of the treetops like confetti.

  Something big was in the air.

  When the gallery’s portable phone rang I stared at it with a racing heart and a bone-dry mouth. I’d propped it on the window sill beside me. Nahjee and Tabitha wiggled happily against my throat. Answer, they chimed. Answer it!

  Hand shaking, I picked up the receiver and punched the button. I put the phone to my ear. “It took you five months to find a new body? Dante nabbed Detective Beaumont’s flabby ass in less than three days.”

  Ian laughed, the melody long, deep and happy.

  His voice, though channeled through a new throat, melted me as always. His attitude was the same. That and the blue eyes would always be with him. His laugh drugged me. I felt high. I shut my eyes. I inhaled him. I got off on him. When he finished laughing I said hoarsely, “Laugh some more. Just a little to the right. And faster.”

  “I best not, love. It looks a wee bit strange, considering the circumstances.”

  I climbed off the window seat. “What circumstances?”

  “I’m in prison, love.”

  “Where?”

  “They tell me this is the city of Raleigh. Not too far a drive from you, or so I ken.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Alvarez. John.” He said as if reading it off a patch on his prison coveralls. “I’m a fine-looking criminal,, if I do say so myself. This Alvarez, he killed some people, they say. You know, love, the soul can no’ be depended on to pick what the spirit tells it to pick, but it looks like my soul did a right good job of finding you a big-cocked—”

  “He’s a murderer?”

  “Well, ay. But he’s not all bad. He’s got some tattoos I think you’ll like—”

  “Ian, what’s the name of the prison?”

  “Ock. ’Tis ‘Central.’ Central Prison, I think.”

  My blood chilled. “Ian, that’s where the state of North Carolina keeps men who are on death row.”

  Silence. Then, with a certain grim embarrassment, “Ay.”

  “Are you on Death Row?”

  “Ay. But ’tis not all that bad a place—”

  “Is your case on appeal? You’re not close to an execution date are you? Are you?”

  Silence. Then, “How would you be defining ‘close?’”

  “Ian.”

  “We’ve got a full five days to figure this out, love. No problem, right?”

  Silence. Mine, this time. He was on death row. He had five days to live. Five days for me to spring a convicted killer out of the state pen. And then what?

  It’s just another life to lead, Nahjee whispered. Tabitha giggled.

  Sheba added, Go and see where it takes your souls this time.

  True. He was alive. Again. Nothing else mattered.

  “I’m leaving right now for Raleigh,” I said. “I love you. No problem, nope.”

  He whooped. “Is this Livia Belane Thornton I’m speaking with? Or have the boons taken her and put a kind-hearted woman in her place?”

  I heard the joy in his voice. The relief. The devotion.

  I was already heading for the door, reaching for my tote bag, grabbing a coat. “Oh, don’t get cocky. I’m going to kick your arse as soon as I get there.”

  “Now that,” he said cheerfully—my old man in a new body, the love of my many lives, the man I would die to keep, and who had died to keep me, repeatedly—“is a woman worth coming back to life for.”

  “See you soon,” I promised.

  “Always,” he answered.

  I smiled as I headed his way.

  THE END

  Coming in 2010

  Soul Hunter

  Book 2, The Outsider Series

  Livia finds herself struggling to adjust to another new incarnation of Ian, this one doomed to be executed for heinous crimes. At the same time, she and Ian must battle the rising threat of a powerful new demon and the arrival of a Soul Hunter who has competed with Ian for Livia’s love over many centuries.

  Also From Bell Bridge Books

  Once Bitten

  Kalayna Price

  Book One, The Haven Series

  Trade Paperback

  Available at all online booksellers and bookstores everywhere

  Kindle Edition at Fictionwise.com

  A top ten ebook bestseller!

  “Urban fantasy readers who enjoy the works of Kelly Armstrong and V.K. Forrest will have a great time reading this exhilarating story.”

  -- Amazon.com Top Reviewer Harriet Klausner

  Dead cats don’t cry. Kita Nekai finds that out the hard way.

  For the past five years, Kita, a shapeshifter, has faded into the background of the human world, but when a rogue shifter begins littering the city of Haven with bodies, Kita becomes a suspect. Hunters are after her. She barely avoids being plucked off the street, and owes the near miss to the fact her second form is a five pound kitten—an unexpected size considering she’s descended from lions and tigers. As the night wears on and she is unable to skip town, her luck runs out and she is forced into a confrontation she can’t win. Rescue arrives in the form of vampire Nathanial Deaton, and Kita soon wishes it hadn’t.

  Nathanial accidentally turns her into a vampire like himself, robbing her of the ability to shape-shift. Kita thinks her life has hit rock-bottom, but then a vigilante underworld magistrate accuses her of creating and setting loose the murderous rogue who is tormenting the city. To avoid an instant death sentence and to clear her name, Kita and Nathanial agree to hunt down and deliver the rogue.

  Excerpt

  In the last ten minutes I’d gone from miserable to totally screwed.

  An hour ago I’d thought a city named Haven would be good luck. Now I wondered who it was supposed to be a haven for—polar bears and penguins? Next time I snuck aboard a train, I would remember to check whether it was headed north or south. The snow-laden streets were the miserable bit; “screwed” began two blocks back when I picked up the scent of something never meant to exist in the human world. Well, a something other than me.

  A woman cut a beeline through my path, her attention on a curbing taxi. I stopped, the man behind me didn’t. He shouldered by with a grunt, his briefcase slamming into my thigh. I scowled after him but he didn’t look back, let alone apologize.

  I hated crowds. Any one of the bundled-up people trudging down the street could be hunting me. Of course, that same anonymity protected me. Shivering inside my over-large coat, I resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder as I matched pace with the pedestrian traffic. Remaining inconspicuous was key.

  A “do not walk” sign flashed, and the crowd stopped on the corner of 5th and Harden. Horns bla
red and drivers shouted, but despite the green light, there wasn’t much room for the cars to move. Some of the more impatient foot traffic wove through the vehicles, earning a one-fingered wave from a cabbie as another car slid into the space that opened in front of him. I debated crossing but decided keeping a low profile among the suits on the corner was safer. Shifting my weight from foot to foot, I held my breath as a city bus covered us in a dirty cloud of exhaust.

  A hand landed on my shoulder.

  “Kita Nekai,” a deep voice whispered. “Come with me.”

  I froze, unable to turn for fear any movement would betray me into running. Breathe. I needed to breathe, an impossible task around the lump in my throat. My first gasp of air brought the hunter’s scent to me, and the skin along my spine prickled in a response more primal than fear. Damn Wolf. The blood rushing through my ears drowned out the street sounds so the crowd moved silently, in slow-motion.

  The fingers digging into my shoulder tightened, and my eyes darted to them. The manicured nails and white cuff peeking out under his brown coat sleeve marked the hunter as a suit. He’d blend in nicely with this crowd.

  “Let go of me.” I didn’t bother whispering, and the woman beside me coughed as she glanced at us.

  A half turn put me eye level with the hunter’s red silk tie. I grabbed his wrist, a weak illusion that I was the one doing the restraining, and cleared my throat.

  “Thief! Pickpocket! He stole my purse!”

  People turned, their eyes taking in the hunter’s pinstriped suit and my Salvation Army duster. The suits closest to us shuffled further away, casting leery glances from the corners of their eyes. But they watched. They all watched us, and the hunter couldn’t just drag me off the street with so many human witnesses. I saw that realization burn across his amber eyes.

  The light changed, and the crowd surged forward, filling the small gap that had opened when I created my scene. The hunter clung to my shoulder, but the push of bodies dislodged his hand, and I let myself be carried away. The businessmen in tailored suits and women in pumps towered over me. I never thought I’d be grateful for being short, but with any luck, that would hid me from the hunter’s view—if only I could cover my scent that easily.

  The crowd flowed down a set of cement stairs to the subway. The voices of hundreds of commuters bounced off the underground walls, a symphony of impatience accented by flickering florescent tubes. As they pushed into lines in front of the turnstiles, I realized the flaw in this plan: money, or really, my lack thereof.

  Okay, no time to panic.

  A weathered sign advertising public restrooms hung on my side of the turnstile and I hurried through the door. The hunter wasn’t likely polite enough to obey the little girls sign, but I was willing to bet the line of women waiting inside would give him pause.

  I bypassed the line, ducking inside the first open stall and locking the thin door against the angry murmurs of protest. The cramped space boasted dingy walls covered in scrawled insults and just enough room to stand in front of a rust-rimmed toilet. What a lovely hiding place. The need to pace itched my heels, and I rocked back and forth on my toes, hugging my arms around my chest.

  Someone pounded on my door.

  “Stall’s taken.”

  “Hurry up,” an agitated, but clearly female, voice said.

  I ignored her. There were two other stalls she could use.

  I rocked on my heels again. I needed a plan. The bladder-heavy humans aside, if I tried to wait-out the hunter, the after-work crowd would thin, and I needed human observers to protect me. The bathroom had only one door, and if the hunter saw me enter, all he had to do was watch for me to exit. Of course, if I could slip out without him recognizing me…

  How much did he know about me? He knew my name and clan, but did he know anything else? It was a chance I had to take.

  Balancing on the toilet seat, I tucked my knees to my chest so I wasn’t visible under the stall walls. Around me, agitated voices complained about everything from the wait to the grey weather. I closed my eyes and tuned them out. I needed to center myself. Mentally I stroked the coiled energy inside me. It boiled. Spread. I anticipated the pain but still drew a ragged breath as the energy burst to the surface.

  A sharp sting shot down my back, and the skin split open. My clothes vanished. A whimper trembled in my throat and I choked it back, but it escaped as my skin slipped off and reversed itself. My joints popped loudly as they reformed.

  Someone banged on my door again. Could they hear the fleshy sound of my muscles and organs rearranging? I hoped they were just impatient. Then I passed into the seconds of the change in which I had no awareness of my surroundings.

  My skin sealed around my body again, and the dingy stall snapped back into focus. My right foot slipped, and I fell up to my hips into the toilet bowl. Hissing, I scrambled over the seat and landed with a wet plop on the tiled floor.

  Great, now I resembled a half drowned rat.

  Twitching my tail, I shook my back legs and tried to dislodge as much of the water as possible. I only accomplished further soaking the gritty tile. My back paw slipped, leaving grey streaks in its wake across the brown tile.

  Disgusting.

  I craned my neck, then hesitated. Did I really want to give my fur a quick bath? That was toilet water. It was better for it to be on my fur than my tongue, right? I struggled with that thought a moment, my instincts demanding the offensive substance be removed.

  “Anybody in there?” Someone shook the stall door.

  My attention snapped back to more important matters—time was of the essence, a bath would have to wait. I was taking a risk by shapeshifting into my second form. If the hunter found me, I wouldn’t be able to defend myself, and no one would question him chasing down a cat. But, I had to get out of this subway station.

  A child pointed as I crawled under the bathroom stall.

  “Look Mommy, a calico!”

  I sauntered closer to the girl, staying just out of reach—children had the tendency to pull tails.

  “Stay away from it,” her mother said, jerking the child back. “It might be rabid.”

  My lips curled to hiss at the insult, but I curbed the desire. Hostility wouldn’t get me anywhere.

  Purring, I wound around the legs of the next lady in line. She pressed a tissue to her nose and backed away. Great.

  Who was my most likely ticket out? My gaze landed on a woman washing her hands. She’d been shopping and several large department store bags stood staunchly at her feet. Slinking over, I dove into a fancy white bag and curled up beside a hat box.

  The sink turned off, and I repositioned myself as she claimed her belongings and bustled out of the bathroom. The bag swung in her grip, propelling me into something hard. The turnstile was a nightmare as she pushed through it, and one of the packages squeezed all the air out of me. I thought the worst must be over as the bags swung free again, but the swaying made my stomach threaten to rebel.

  No, I won’t be sick. I refuse to.

  I got sick all over her hatbox.

  Shaking, I eased away from the box. The swish of the train doors opening initiated another barrage of attacks as people pushed their way into the car. The train lurched into motion, but the movement of the bag settled.

  I peeked out, and found myself at eye-level with a startled brunette. She screamed, dumping the contents of her lap to the floor. I guess the cat was out of the bag—well, not yet, but I needed to be. Dashing through a forest of legs, I hid under the seat of a man in mud-caked construction boots.

  From the limited shelter, I sniffed the recycled train-car air. Not a hint of the hunter’s scent.

  Thank the moon.

  In the past five years I’d caught a hunter’s scent maybe half a dozen times. Most cities had at least one stationed somewhere in the social structure to watch for rogues and strays, but I’d never before had any reason to believe they were hunting me specifically. They obviously were now.

  Clos
ing my eyes, I mentally touched the tight coil inside me. It would be awhile before I could return to human form. Well, chances were good that the station where I ended up would be far from the hunter. Tucking my tail around my body, I resigned myself to a long ride.

  More Fantasy From Leigh Bridger

  Writing as Deborah Smith

  Alice At Heart

  Deborah Smith

  Trade Paperback 14.95

  www.bellebooks.com

  Order at Amazon.com or wherever books are sold

  Ebook at Fictionwise.com

  Audiobook read by the author

  at Audible.com, iTunes, Amazon.com

  Get ready for a new take on mermaid mythology. In Alice At Heart, modern, southern-belle mermaids and their mermen lead glamorous lives on the Georgia coast. The legendary Bonavendier sisters discover their long-lost half-sister, Alice, languishing far from the ocean. They lure her to their island and transform her into a confident mer diva.

  Excerpt

  1

  This morning I stood naked beside the icy waters of Lake Riley, high in the Appalachians of north Georgia, above the fall line where the tame Atlanta winters end and the freezing wild mountain winters begin. A mile away, in my dead mother’s hometown, Riley, people were just breaking the ice on their gravel roads and barnyards and church lots and sidewalks, stomping the mountain bedrock before little stores with mom-and-pop names, most of which belong to heavy-footed Rileys. But there I was, alone as always, Odd Alice, the daughter of a reckless young mother and an unknown father who passed along some very strange traits. I had slipped out to the lake from my secluded cabin for my morning swim, stripping off my dowdy denim, doing the impossible.

  It is February, with a high of about twenty-five degrees, and the lake has an apron of ice like the white iris on a dark eye, narrowing my peculiar view of the deep world beneath. Not that that scares me. The water is the only element in my life I never fear. I stood there in the cold dawn as usual, not even shivering.