The Soul Collector (previously released as Angel's Fire, Demon's Blood)

by Tamela Quijas

  “I think there's someone else that looks like you. Reese says,” she huffed for a moment, struggling to recall unfamiliar words. “There’s another man wearing the devil’s coat.”

  An uncomfortable sensation of stinging warmth burned his eyes, and he swiped the back of his hands across the offending orbs.

  “How can you be so certain?” A thickness assailed his throat, and made speech nearly impossible.

  “I see some things,” she whispered.

  “You see things?” Lucien felt disconcerted and numbly repeated her.

  “Reese says I can see inside you.”

  “Ah, my poor little princess,” an unspeakable pain filled him. She would never comprehend what existed within him, or grasp the extent of his damnation.

  A slow ache filled his chest and Lucien winced, afraid to shut his eyes as the pain increased. The tip of one fingertip unfurled from about her legs and, without the slightest bit of hesitation, the child reached for his face. He drew forward, unconsciously making himself more accessible.

  Timidly, she wiped the saltiness of an unfamiliar teardrop from the deathly coldness of his skin.

  He gasped, shuddering, his senses detecting the echo of a strange thudding sound he hadn’t heard for centuries--his beating heart. The organ fluttered painfully before it began to throb, the stinging warmth of heated blood flowing rapidly through the arid expanse of his veins. He stifled a throaty cough, and the peculiarity of long forgotten feelings flooded him.

  “I think I know what you are.”

  “Princess,” he growled, the throbbing blood painful. “You don’t know what I’ve endured.”�

  “You don’t want me. There isn't no one who wants me,” her words were gloomy. Absently, she moved a sodden strand of stark whiteness from his suddenly flushed skin.

  “Why do you say that, princess?’

  She huffed, her breath a bit of fog. “I see things my mommy and daddy don't want like.”�

  Her words stung and unashamed tears dripped from his aching eyes. The soft pressure of her fingers halted the glistening drops and wiped at the dampness, her expression solemn. The glow about her increased, as if she were absorbing his pain, the salty trickle miraculously disappearing into her fingertips.

  “Why are you here?” Lucien whispered, wanting to know what drew the child out into the night, alone and unafraid.

  “I'm running away,” she declared with stunning bluntness, her hand falling to her legs. He felt his heart sputter, and the warmth of his blood ebb. He wanted to scream his outrage, longing for her touch, and the forgotten sense of life she granted.

  “Why?” He questioned, realizing her sorrow seemed to diminish the radiating brilliance.

  “I saw someone today. When I told my mommy, it made her cry. My daddy said I was mean, and he don't like me.” The whispered words quivered.

  “Your father loves you, princess,” he soothed, wanting to ease her pain. “You understand most parents love their children.”

  “My daddy don't,” she continued, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, her breath trembling. “He don't like me because I'm different.”�

  “How can you be so different, if I'm like you?” He attempted to inject levity into his words.

  “Does your daddy not like you, too?” She asked in her quivering voice. Her dark eyes searched his face and the edge of tears remained heavy in her dulcet tones.

  “I frightened him,” he admitted, granting her a reluctant nod. He knew he was the only person ever to strike the unfamiliar chord within his barbarous father.

  “I frighten my daddy, and I think mommy is real scared of me, too,” she heaved a heart worn sigh, her shoulders slumping. The glow radiating from her dimmed further and Lucien wanted to cry out in protest. “They don’t want to hear what I say.”�

  “What do you have to say, little princess?”�

  Miraculously, she brightened, gracing Lucien with a broad smile.

  “You know, I have the bestest brother in the whole wide world.”

  “Ah, brothers that are best friends must be wonderful.” Lucien didn't know how to respond, the subject unfamiliar. “Tell me of your brother.”�

  “It's a secret,” her melodic tones dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.

  “I'm good at keeping secrets.” He assured with absolute sincerity.

  She lifted her red-rimmed and angelic gaze to the vacant seat at her side, a dimple appearing in her left cheek. The sense of serenity returned, the calm emanating from her and pulsating with a startling intensity. “My brother's name is Reese.”

  His gaze darkened anew. He felt drawn to the shadowy image materializing, the shine about her fluctuating before increasing. Her limpid and trusting eyes stared lovingly up at the misty shape that wavered, glistened, and then solidified at her side.

  Incredibly, he realized the child’s luminosity wasn't solely of her making. A large part of the iridescent cloud of brilliant starlight came from young man beside her, as if he were part of her essence.

  Lucien's blackened gaze narrowed and he sensed the wealth of calculating thoughts resting in the depths of youthful and insolent eyes. The spirit's attention returned his rapidly darkening regard with one of marked defiance.

  Never, in the course of his nearly four hundred years, had he been so carefully examined by a spirit of the other world.

  The ghostly shape was of a man only just out of his teens, his features betraying the same youthful softness of the girl. The spirit turned his head, dipping it down until the brim of his military beret shaded his eyes. Lucien did a slow perusal of the battle dress uniform hanging on the youth's sparse frame. Slightly blurred, Lucien knew the attire was of a more recent age. He understood, without a doubt, the young man had recently departed the world of the living.

  “Can you see my Reese?” She whispered and turned to examine Lucien's face. A smile remained on her lips, but her eyes glimmered with unvoiced sadness.

  “I do, my little princess.” He responded candidly, afraid to move his eyes from the bold specter.

  “I'm not sure my brother likes you,” she breathed, the spirit's approval seeming foremost in her innocent mind.

  “He tolerates me,” Lucien muttered beneath his breath. “Where was Reese, my princess?”

  “He had to go away to some place, it was his job,” she stated simply, the concept of the words not meaning much to her youthful mind. “He said he would come home. See, he's my favorite big brother, and loves me. He promised.”�

  “When did Reese come home?” Lucien inquired gently, realizing the child was rambling.

  “This morning, right after the men with the fancy suits came, and gave mommy some papers. The men made mommy and daddy cry real bad,” she supplied nervously.

  Lucien understood the full impact of what she revealed. Fancy suits and papers ... uniformed officers and official documentation…all meant to contact the next of kin.

  “Reese says I'm special, and that I’m his little angel.” She continued excitedly. She giggled and Lucien watched in disbelief as the image fluctuated and wavered.

  Astonishingly, there was an abrupt change in the ghost. The harsh defiance, the unspoken need to battle, seeped away. The spirit's head dipped toward the child, and a sense of absolute adoration filled the night.

  Lucien gave the child a sad smile. “Your brother loves you very much, little princess.”�

  A thickness tightened his throat. He had forgotten, so many years ago, the feeling of love. The passage of centuries had ripped the experience from him, driving the memory into the darkest recesses of his mind.

  Her little face screwed up into a comical expression of adoration. “Reese tells me every time I see him.”�

  Lucien shook his head, his pained gaze riveted to the young soldier, knowing the passage of time would remove the spectral image from her. Eventually, the boy would become one more lost soul, trailing after the last human being holding his heart.

  “You must return
home, princess.” He whispered as the spirit turned to glare at him anew. This time, with his soft utterance, Lucien experienced another remarkable change sweep over the phantom. There was an oddly gentle rustling of the wind before the ghost turned, appearing to speak.

  For the first time, he was lost, unable to interpret any of the words falling from the spirit's lips.

  “Reese says you’re awful smart, and you’re not to run away no more,” she whispered in awe, glancing back at his kneeling form. “He says you need to em bear ace your power.” She paused, her smooth brow creasing. “Em bear ace. That’s a funny word. You know, Reese likes to tell me new words. What does that word mean?”

  Embrace the power.

  “Your brother says to accept the gift I’ve been given.” Lucien supplied softly, stunned by the apparition’s words. He held them close to his still heart, feeling salvation tease at his damnation. Struggling with his inner turmoil, he smiled sadly at her. “Will Reese allow me to return you to your parents?”

  “Daddy will be mad at me…”�

  “I would suggest, princess, you don't speak of your brother,”�Lucien advised.

  “But, he’s my brother….” She protested.

  “I'm far older than you realize, and I know there's not a person in this world capable of understanding what you see. It would be best if you were to keep your brother close to your heart. The time you spend together must stay a secret.”

  “But…?” The girl hung her head, her shoulders returning to the familiar slump. Lucien watched the shadow of a hand caress her shoulder, the contact causing her glow to intensify.��

  “Keep Reese a secret, my little princess,”�he continued cajolingly. “Please allow me to return you to your parents.”�

  She eyed the wispy figure before nodding, the stubborn tightening of her jaw evident.

  “Okay, I'll go home,”� she whispered. “I'll do what Reese and you say.”�

  Lucien rose to his feet. He straightened his sodden coat and extended his unmarred hand to her. Patiently, he waited for her to reach for him, slipping her fingers into his. She granted him a tentative but trusting smile, abrupt shyness flowing from her.

  He felt the breath sucked escape him in a whoosh and his heart leapt to life and thundered anew. The startling glow, which continued to emanate from her, flowed over him. Immediately, he felt absorbed in a shelter filled with warmth and soul-easing comfort. His cursed vision waned, and the numerous spiritual forms sank into the shadows.

  “Reese says I'll never be good at knowing where I am. He says mommy just made be pretty, not smart,”� she chuckled as a gentle breeze ruffled her hair. To a casual observer, the action would have seemed as nothing more than the wind, but Lucien knew otherwise. “He says it would be nice if you took me home.”�

  Unable to speak, he lowered his head, his senses whirling. He remained oddly frightened by the power this child held with her innocent touch.

  She squeezed his hand, failing to understand every inch of his body was tortuously alive. His thoughts spun madly and he felt drunkenly dazed. Vaguely, a gruff voice pulled at the depths of his mind, tugging at the senses he honed over the years. He recognized the sound of a command, although the words remained indecipherable.

  “Oh, right,” she answered, her eyes alight with a hint of laughter and a marked touch of absolute pity. “Reese says you need to help him with me, that I'm a handful. He says,” she paused, her expression intent. “He says that he’ll trust you for now.”�

  “I’ve been assigned to babysitting?” Lucien attempted to sound outraged, but failed miserably. The girl giggled, self-consciously covering the vacancy between her teeth.

  “Yep,” she grinned, her eyes twinkling before growing somber. “My brother says since you aren't the bad one, you can watch over me.”

  “What else does your brother say, little princess?” Lucien asked, leading the child from the bus shelter and hailing a nearby taxi with the effective wave of his scarred hand.

  “He says you need to stop calling me princess.”�

  “Princess, I…” the words were difficult. They trod purposely through the pouring rain, a chill enveloping him as the child’s glow grew. He felt captured in the unforgiving waves of a turbulent ocean, and buffeted against unseen cliffs. He was a man drowning; losing himself in the multitude of unfamiliar and mind-numbing sensations flooding him.

  “My name isn’t Princess,”�the child corrected stubbornly.

  She slipped her fingers from his and slid into the awaiting cab, her shoulders set, and her chin lifted regally into the air. Lucien’s lost spirit brutally crash back to the unforgiving world of the living. He sensed there was something special about this child, an essence he couldn't pinpoint. He sat beside her, his thoughts deep while he slammed the door shut.

  “Alas, my dear princess, if I can't call you by what I perceive with my own eyes, then you must tell me your name.” He ordered gruffly, his tone unconsciously more regal than intended.

  “My name is Evangeline Keegan,” she supplied with a giggle.

  Somewhere within the depths of his stunned mind, each precisely enunciated syllable registered. A low growl of triumph slipped from him, and he gifted the bewildered cab driver with the most glorious of smiles.

  Evangeline...Messenger of the angels.

  Keegan…Fire.

  After nearly four hundred years of unspeakable pain and loneliness, he had located the source of the Angel's Fire, and his redemption.

  CHAPTER TWO

  �Whatever was lost, placed by the wayside of our youth, shall be found

  Remember, this guy doesn’t like to be touched.

  Eva Keyes muttered the reminder under her breath. Realizing what she was doing, she paused, striving to smooth her disgruntled expression. Wetting her lips with the tip of her tongue, she continued to contemplate the memos scribbled in the slim border of her notes.

  She huffed, frowned again, and then tried to clear her scowl. After all, she couldn't allow any sort of hearsay to begin about her lack of professionalism, all due to one simple facial expression.

  As everyone in the television profession knew, she couldn't have the slightest wrinkle evident for the public's critical perusal. It was frustrating enough the ruthless television cameras added an additional ten pounds to her already curvaceous figure. If the camera lens detected an imperfection on her otherwise flawless features, the critics would rip her apart.

  She could see the headlines now, splashed across the front of tabloid covers…

  Was Eva Keyes suffering the effects of a face-lift gone awry? Was her true age beginning to show? Were late nights and wild parties ruining the Queen of Investigative Television?

  God, the list was endless! Eva knew Hollywood would maliciously invent stories if it meant revenue for flagging tabloid sales. As the vapid thoughts flashed through her head, she pressed a finger to the betraying frown line, hoping the blasted thing vanished before the cameras zoomed in!

  Fame was a fickle mistress and years of working on TV taught her the importance of self-preservation. As it were, she suffered from everything deterring a more influential station from seeking her as a reporter. She was overweight, over-endowed, and over-brained.

  She knew her faults, and understood being in the right place at the right time had landed her this job. She wasn’t blinded by her good fortune, and competition was a dime a dozen. Besides, there was always the threat of replacement by one reed thin aspiring starlet.

  Granted, she smirked, there would be enough peroxide to fry the replacement's brain cells, and she’d juggle her fake assets….

  She eased her palms over her teal colored sweater. She didn't have to juggle any assets, since she came well equipped. She wondered if she were just a bit too full bosomed, as she’d been informed in her youth. She heaved another sigh, imagining there were still people in this so-called enlightened world, who found her overabundance intimidating.

  She wasn't about to com
plain about her curves. Instead of being a hindrance, the curse of her sizable breasts kept her focused on what she didn't want in life---a boss constantly staring down her blouse. Neither did she want to work for a man who preferred to hold imaginary after-hour office meetings, where he couldn't keep his disgusting hands off her. She suffered her fair share of such indignations, and she’d never endure another pawing hand, or lecherous stare, again.

  It had been an uphill battle to obtain her much-coveted spot with Station 12, WKIB, New York. Her boss, Geoffrey Noah, hired her six years ago, without references and fresh out of journalism school. He had been a godsend when Eva felt she’d never make it through an added week in the broadcasting profession. Taking the broad leap in hiring her, he angered seasoned reporters, and suffered the ridicule.

  He never regretted his decision, risking all for the brains evident behind her bright eyes. She remembered how Geoffrey laughed at the nightly numbers that sent his formerly flagging television station to the top of the ratings charts, all after her first interview.

  Above all, her figure didn't entice her current employer, nor did her sultry good looks.

  Often surrounded by men and women with IQ levels far beyond the norm, and capable of providing her with engaging conversation, Noah knew Eva boasted an intellect rivaling many top scholars. Brainiacs respected her intelligence, not her chest size, and she was swiftly becoming the so-called television goddess to the learned world.

  She wasn’t tooting her own horn, but her vanity obtained a massive boon when she received the title during WKIB's recent tabloid expose. She supposed the comment was simple sensationalist lavishness, but she wasn't one to complain. Goddess was a label pride told her to accept, though her five foot four and one hundred fifty-five pound frame wouldn't score high on the level of today's beauties.

  Despite the praise, her true pleasure settled around her weekly interviews of the learned and the eccentric on Keyes to New York. It was her duty to reveal a persona far from what the public expected. Her professionalism and intelligence were a necessity, since too many of her interviewees were wary of the spotlight.