Soul Magic

by Jennifer Lyon

  “How?”

  The old guilt surfaced. “He favored me. I tested out smarter than Keri, and in Jerome’s world, being smarter must make me a more powerful witch, too. But that wasn’t true. In the witch world, Keri was more powerful. But her power crested and thrived when she was helping people. In the lab? Her power was flat.”

  “Why?”

  She searched for an explanation. “Keri was a strong telepath, a psychic witch. But she had a natural anxiety that was only calmed by contact with other people. Sometimes when she was alone, she could pull enough from me to be okay, but too much isolation drove her crazy and drained her powers.” It felt really good to talk about Keri, to tell someone who could understand who her sister was. “Plus, she knew in her heart that our dad would never isolate this gene that made us witches, because, well, it’s evolution that happened over time, and with cause. It’s the one thing Jerome never got. All evolutionary changes happen for a reason, and over time. In Keri’s mind, he fundamentally didn’t understand the reason.”

  “Mortals needed us. We can heal, teach, and banish demons. At least we could before the curse, anyway.”

  In so short a time, Darcy had absorbed an incredible amount about witches. “Yes. And when she tried to tell him that, he wouldn’t listen. He would tell her that she couldn’t grasp the scientific principles.”

  Darcy asked, “So she stopped cooperating, but what about you?”

  “I was torn between them. I identified with my dad more than Keri did. I wondered what we could do if we did find out more about our genetics.” She dropped her eyes to the table and said, “I have my mother in me, too—I wondered if there was a scientific solution to the curse.” Slowly she lifted her gaze to Darcy’s face.

  “Ah, now I see what you meant about your mom’s missteps. She thought Jerome could break the curse and return her to her full power.”

  Carla explained, “They fell in love for the wrong reasons. Mom wanted to believe he could fix the curse, and Jerome wanted to believe she would help him with his big breakthrough. By the time Keri and I were two years old, they didn’t have anything left between them.”

  Darcy asked, “Do you think that it’s possible science can break the curse?”

  She shook her head. “No. I wanted to believe it, but no. The curse was a soul-destructive magic, not science. And I realized just how fragile souls can be when our dad found out that Keri was trying to talk me into working at the Holistic Healing Clinic. He went ballistic and screamed at her that if she wanted to waste her life jumping from one silly idea to the next, that was her choice. But I was too smart and valuable to waste on her frivolous crap.”

  Darcy’s eyes widened, and her face flushed. “That was cruel and horrible.”

  Carla winced at the memory. “I felt her pain that day. She was shocked and hurt. Always, deep in her heart, Keri had hoped that one day Dad would figure out on his own how gifted she was at witchcraft, and that was without a familiar. But in that moment, his words destroyed her hopes. It just …” She shook her head, pulling herself from the past. In a more clinical voice, she said, “I realized how unfair he had been to Keri, and that I had been condoning it. And that his quest for this genetic link had turned him into an unfeeling monster. I walked out and started work at the clinic.”

  “What did your dad do?”

  “He was furious and said I’d realize the mistake I’d made and come crawling back.” Her smile was real. “But you know what? I found what I loved. It was the perfect mix of the science of the brain and witchcraft. I saw what we were accomplishing with both mortals and witches. I believed Keri had been right, witches had to stop hiding and help people.”

  “Did you ever talk to your dad?”

  She grimaced. “It was strained. He couldn’t see past his own obsession. He swore Keri was going to destroy me.”

  “Oh, Carla. How awful.”

  She closed her eyes. The pain in her chest felt like her heart had frozen solid, then been cracked open with a hammer. “Then Keri was murdered. I ran to my mother. We were both inconsolable. Mom called Dad. He arrived, hugged us, then said to me, ‘Now you can come back to your real job.’ I was furious. Keri was dead! Murdered! And he was worried about his research?” The old wound tore open and the rage pounded in her head and chest. Opening her eyes, she said, “Dad told me that I was the one who let Keri get murdered by abandoning our research, and if I walked out on him …”

  “What?”

  She could still hear his words ringing in her ears. “I shouldn’t come back.” “Carla, I’m so sorry.”

  She looked up. “They were both wrong. Keri was wrong about witches coming out of hiding, and my dad was wrong about me. I wasn’t the smarter or more powerful witch. And he’ll never find the link to prove his theories. He threw Keri away for nothing.”

  “And you,” Darcy said softly.

  The pain cut off her breath. “Even when she was dying, Keri tried to save me. And now she’s trapped in a rogue’s knife. How did she get in there? A witch’s soul doesn’t accidentally get trapped, it has to be bound magically.”

  Darcy said, “My mother bound her soul to the tapestry and stayed there for twenty-six years. She did it for me.”

  A light went on in Carla’s head. “Keri wasn’t just getting into my chakras, she was trying to bind her soul to me! To my silver armband! Silver conducts power. It’s why all our witch books are made of silver. She was trying to give me the extra strength to live …” Her voice was rising. It was so horrible. But she had to say it, she had to face it so she could fix it. “She missed the armband, and instead, bound herself to the very knife that was killing her. The silver knife.”

  “It was an accident.” Darcy reached out and took her hand.

  She looked up at her friend’s pale face. “But how could I have not known? I’ve always felt Keri’s emotions, and she felt mine. We were connected! She’s been suffering for two years, trapped in a knife and forced to witness witch kill after witch kill while I did nothing.”

  Darcy’s face hardened. “Stop it, Carla. What we have to do now is figure out how to free her. Not fall apart and leave her to suffer. She said, ‘Find the eagle. Free me.’ What could that mean?”

  Carla closed her eyes for a second to think and smelled incense. Snapping her eyes open, she said, “Do you smell incense?”

  Darcy inhaled, then shook her head.

  Her heart fluttered. “It’s Keri! She’s been doing that, trying to reach me. For a couple months, I’ve been getting a whiff of incense—she always smelled like incense—or I see eagles. Either eagles in flight or … Oh, Ancestors!” She reached into her pants pocket and yanked out her cell phone.

  Darcy leaned forward, her shoulders tense. “What?”

  Using her magic, Carla re-created the image she had seen on the computer after talking to her mom on her cell phone screen. Then she held it out to Darcy. “Look familiar?”

  She sucked in her breath. “That’s Sutton’s eagle tattoo.”

  The scent of incense grew stronger. “I know. I saw it the night he saved me when he gave me his shirt. And if I saw it, then Keri saw it.” She tried to put it together, to understand what Keri was trying to tell her.

  “How long did you say you’ve been smelling Keri’s scent and seeing the eagle pictures?”

  “Two months …” The answer clicked. “Since that night, since Sutton. Keri loves eagles. She would identify with that tattoo. Sutton’s the eagle Keri meant. But what can he do? How can he help her?” Carla would do anything to get Keri free of that knife.

  Darcy’s eyes were thoughtful. “Sutton has the most complete list of rogues, he can help you find the knife Keri’s in.”

  Carla’s stomach turned over. To see him again, touch him … no. She couldn’t risk it. Sutton was cursed, he’d touched her blood once. Next time, he could kill her. Did she have a death wish?

  Maybe. As a psychologist, she knew about survivor guilt. Keri had died, and she’d lived.
She should have died that day with her sister.

  No, Carla would do this the safe way. She summoned her powers and used her phone to connect to Sutton, either his phone or computer, whichever he was closest to.

  The screen on her phone went black. Both her magic and the phone were dead. “Keri, damn it!” She and Keri had done this to each other a million times while growing up. She could feel her sister cutting off the mind-chakra connection she needed to access her magic.

  Darcy jumped in her seat. “What?”

  Carla looked up at her friend. “She’s blocking my magic. Seeing her on the astral plane must have triggered something. I had my fifth chakra opened. That’s our communication with other realms, and Keri could have used it to strengthen our connection.”

  “Why would she stop you from calling Sutton?”

  “She wants me to go to him in person.”

  Sutton raised the ax high over his head, and brought it down with a satisfying crack.

  Anything to keep from thinking about the nightmare. He’d slept less than an hour before he’d been pulled into the dream. He saw his large fist closed around the wickedly gleaming silver knife.

  Then he saw the knife plunge down into Carla’s chest.

  Sutton had jerked awake with sweat running down his back and legs, his heart pounding viciously, and his mind shouting a denial. It took long seconds for him to realize it had been a nightmare.

  Not real.

  Not yet. He hadn’t killed Carla … yet.

  Then he’d smelled her scent, still lingering from when she’d been in his cabin earlier. His morning hard-on had throbbed for the feel of her, while his craving for her blood loomed darkly in his head. He’d leaped off the bed, yanked on his hiking boots, and headed outside, trying to escape his nightmares and her scent.

  The sun was shining brightly, helping to shove his nightmares back into the shadows. He set the ax down, stripped off his shirt, and tossed it on the porch railing. With the sun on his shoulders and back, he bent to pick up the ax when his phone began beeping an alarm.

  The skin on the back of his neck tightened at the signal that his security had been breached. The cabin was remote, set up on the rugged cliffs overlooking the ocean. He owned the surrounding land, and had it wired with infrared cameras and various security devices. He pulled his phone out to see what had tripped his security.

  The screen showed three bodies about forty yards away. They had to be witch hunters in stealth mode, invisible to a normal camera, but his infrareds picked up their body heat as they moved between knotty, twisted trees, the chaparral, sagebrush, and cacti.

  Sutton regularly cleared the brush close to his cabin. He dropped the ax and shielded himself so he appeared invisible even in the bright sunlight. The bodies on his small cell phone screen were moving fast, much faster than humans.

  His blood surged at the prospect of a down-and-dirty fight. They were getting closer, close enough for him to inhale and catch the scent of copper over the earthiness of the land.

  Rogues. Were they looking for Pam? Or him? Did they think Pam had succeeded in killing him? Failed? He’d find out soon enough. The scent was getting stronger. He set his phone down, able to track them by noise and smell now. Judging by the faint rustling, he’d say they were about twenty yards away. He moved like he’d been taught since he could walk: silently and blending in with the land around him.

  Sweeping his gaze back and forth, he saw a movement in the brush about a half-dozen yards away. He had his large knife tucked in the holster at his back, but he left it there for hand-to-hand fighting. First he’d flush them out. Dropping his left arm, he snapped his wrist and a smaller knife with a thin, wicked-sharp blade, sprang into his fingers. He checked once more.

  He could see the dirt ahead of him depress with the footstep of an invisible rogue. He measured the distance carefully, determining that the lead rogue’s heart was about five and a half feet straight up from that imprint. In a rapid movement, he drew his arm back and threw the knife.

  A bellow of surprise cut through the unnatural quiet. Then a man appeared, the thin silver knife buried in his chest, and he tumbled to the ground.

  Two other rogues appeared behind him.

  Witch hunters couldn’t hold the shield of invisibility while fighting, which meant Sutton was now visible, too, and standing out in the open. He moved in a blur, slamming himself up against the shady side of his house. He assessed the situation quickly. The rogue in the green shirt seemed faster, while the one in the white T-shirt was bigger and had both a gun and a knife. Moving swiftly, he dropped his right arm to release the second knife.

  He picked up another sound over the roar of the ocean—uneven footsteps and labored breathing. Not a rogue, too clumsy. Damn it, now he had to worry about keeping a human alive while dealing with the rogues.

  The rogue in the white T-shirt fired.

  Sutton jumped to the right and let his small knife fly at the exact instant that the bullet grooved into the side of his cabin. His knife hit the mark, causing the man to tumble backward as blood spread on his shirt. He was dead when he hit the ground.

  The last rogue pivoted on his heel to the right and broke into a run, disappearing from view as he shielded himself.

  Furious, Sutton took off after him. Who were these bastards? Was one of them Styx, the rogue that brainwashed Pam? Did they know anything about Brigg? He pushed his body up to at least twenty miles an hour as he covered the rocky, uneven terrain, darting around trees and bushes.

  The bastard turned and headed for the cliffs overlooking the ocean. On the right was the access road, on the left was a sheer drop. He seemed to be speeding up.

  Going to jump? It was his best chance to escape. The drop was at least thirty feet. If he didn’t crush his heart on a rock, he’d survive and heal.

  And Sutton would probably lose him. He couldn’t let that happen; he needed to question the man before he sent him to his eternity as a shade. Who the hell was Styx and where was Brigg?

  He increased his speed, pushing himself and inhaling to stay on the copper scent.

  The back of his neck went tight at a new smell—lavender laced with the spicy scent of a witch. He instantly recognized that scent.

  Oh, hell no! The words exploded in his head. Not Carla. If he could smell her, then …

  The path the rogue was churning in the ground abruptly turned right toward the access road.

  Shit! A double shot of adrenaline hit his blood. He pulled his knife from his back holster. Just then, he saw Carla’s white-blond head appear as she crested the top of the road.

  She was on foot!

  What the hell was she doing here?

  Her hair was piled on top of her head, and falling down around her sweaty face. The shimmer of her skin—the one that mortal eyes couldn’t see but witch hunters could—glittered like a neon sign.

  His blood roared, exploding into fiery pain. A sinister voice in his mind screamed for him to get her, get the witch blood!

  Sutton saw the rogue materialize just a couple yards from Carla. She froze, her eyes going wide, her mouth dropping open.

  Mine! His mind bellowed and he leaped, every muscle and tendon straining to get to her.

  The rogue got within a few feet of Carla, one hand reaching out to grab her, the other arcing his knife toward her side.

  Sutton flew between them, bringing one arm up to deflect the knife and using the other to shove Carla to the ground.

  The knife slashed to the bone of his arm. The hot pain incited his rage. Sutton landed on the ground, rolled up to his feet, and in one continuous movement slammed his body into the rogue.

  “The witch is mine!” The crazed rogue fought, thrashing his body and screaming curses.

  With a possessive roar, Sutton pinned the knife-wielding hand to the ground and levered up to get his knee in the man’s stomach. He looked down and saw the rogue’s light-blue eyes staring at Carla, his whole body twitching with the blood-craving. Sutton
moved in a blur, stabbing his knife into the rogue’s heart.

  The man jerked, his mouth opened in a soundless scream. Then death stilled his movements.

  Jacked up, his heart pounding and his muscles stretched, Sutton shoved up to his feet.

  Carla stood just a few feet away.

  The impact of seeing her knocked the air from his lungs. It hurt to look at her, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. She was as stunningly beautiful as she was a mess. Her hair had been torn loose from the clip and hung in clumps. Her face was shiny with sweat. Her cat-tilted eyes were wide, revealing layered colors of green, yellow, and brown. She wore jeans, a tank top, and tennis shoes that to his trained eye looked like they were spotless under a fresh layer of trail dirt. All her exposed skin had a silvery shimmer.

  Her smell tortured him. There was the lavender scent that made him think of soft skin, sultry nights, and hardcore sex. Then there was the wickedly enticing Arabian coffee aroma of her blood. His hand burned in memory of touching her blood two months ago. The dual hungers for sex and blood cramped his gut and burned his veins.

  “Sutton, you’re hurt.” She lifted her hands as if to summon her magic, then must have remembered the danger of her power inflaming the curse and dropped her arms. She pulled her mouth tight in concern.

  “Carla …” Oh God, to touch her, just to make sure she was okay. No! He didn’t dare. She was the one who would drive him rogue. He tore his gaze away, seeing the dead rogue, the one who had gotten too close to her. A shudder ran through him. She wasn’t safe out here; more rogues might come looking for their friends. He had no choice. “We’ll go to my cabin.”

  She looked around, then her gaze shot back to him, moving over his shirtless chest. Her silvery witch-shimmer took on a dusky gold tone, warm and sensual. When she returned her stare to his injured arm, she reached down, grabbed the edge of her tank, and pulled it off.

  He couldn’t believe it. “What the hell are you doing?”