Soul Magic

by Jennifer Lyon

  Darcy’s gaze was filled with soft sympathy. “They said Sutton may be able to help increase your power, whether he’s your soul mirror or hers. But you have to be careful to, uh, not finish the bond. If he’s your soul mirror and you do that, your souls will meld and Keri will lose her connection to you.”

  The scar across her back throbbed like an old toothache. “Why don’t they know who he belongs to?”

  “They are not gods, Carla,” Darcy said, her own frustration sharpening her voice. “They are old souls who have reincarnated until they are extremely knowledgeable. But they aren’t gods.”

  Feeling a bit ashamed, she answered, “Thanks, Darcy.”

  “They did say that you and Sutton could work together on the astral plane. Try to draw Keri in and use your communication chakra to talk to her. If you can open your third eye, then you can find her.”

  A new hope touched her. “I’d be able to see her magical trail. With the help of Sutton and Keri, I might be able to do it.”

  “But be careful of Asmodeus.”

  A dark cold fear slithered inside of her. “I have no intention of becoming a demon witch. But I will find a way to free Keri.”

  Sutton could smell the rank copper scent of the rogue bastard. And he could smell the witch blood. The craving hit him so hard that he could barely stand up. He tightened his grip on his knife.

  His enhanced hearing caught the gurgled shriek of pain that faded into a moan. It ignited his rage, enabling him to push back the sick desire for witch blood and track the bastard.

  The night was dark, the moon shadowed by clouds. He tracked the scent to a trailer parked in an abandoned lot.

  Disgust rolled through him. Witch kills on wheels. How convenient.

  Carla’s face filled his mind and his fury exploded. He grabbed one of the double doors, yanking so hard he ripped it off the hinges and it flew across the yard. Sutton leaped up into the trailer, his boots landing with a thud that rocked the entire vehicle.

  A man the size of a grizzly bear slammed into him, throwing both of them back onto the hard-packed dirt. A searing pain sliced his side. That enraged him, and he flipped the bastard off him and leaped to his feet.

  With a roar of rage, the rogue flew at him again, his knife ready. Witch blood had given him more strength and speed.

  Sutton released his knives into his dropped hands, kicked the knife from the rogue’s hand, and jammed his blades into the man’s stomach. Then he jerked upward.

  Blood spurted and the rogue howled, throwing wild punches.

  An elbow caught Sutton in his cheekbone, splitting his skin. But he held the knives grimly. Finally the blood loss and pain weakened the rogue.

  Sutton twisted the knives to get his attention. “Where is Quinn Young?”

  Fear widened his eyes. “No.”

  Young had that effect on everyone. A demon’s death dagger burned into his forearm was enough to scare anyone. He twisted the knives again.

  The man screamed. “We don’t know!” He started struggling again, then went limp.

  “Shit.” He must have nicked the heart. He wanted answers before the rogue died and turned shade. “Where is your headquarters? Who is running the rogues?”

  Blood trickled from his mouth, his eyes rolled back and he was dead.

  Sutton yanked out his knives. Shit. They had nothing. He turned and jumped up into the trailer to see if the witch was still alive.

  She was young, maybe twenty-five. A tiny thing with black hair. Her clothes were sliced from her body, and wounds were everywhere. He noticed the delicate silver rings on her fingers.

  Her blood scent was dying.

  The witch was already dead. Although she’d been badly cut, he didn’t think she’d bled out, but her heart had given out from the stress, pain, and shock. Too much horror. Heavy disgust settled over him. If she had held on, Carla and Darcy could have saved her.

  He turned, dropped to the ground, pulled out his phone, and called Axel. “It’s me. I have a dead rogue and a dead witch.” He walked over and picked up the rogue’s knife.

  His thumb felt the insignia, rubbing over the grove of letters at the base of the blade. Glancing down, he felt his throat tighten. BC for Brigg Cusack. Shit. “I have bad news, A. The rogue had Cusack’s knife.”

  “Be there in five.”

  Sutton shut the phone and shoved it into his pants, then he leaned back against the side of the trailer. Cusack was dead or possibly rogue. The helpless fury beat at him. Brigg had worked hard over the last couple months, proving his loyalty, showing that he wanted to make a real commitment to the Wing Slayer. Like all of them, he struggled with the curse. Jesus, he hoped the man was dead, that he’d died with his soul intact.

  Sutton hadn’t felt like this since he, his father, and his uncle had gone out to track a missing girl. They’d followed the girl to a remote shit-hole shack and discovered that she was a witch taken by a rogue. All hell broke loose. Sutton had seen his father make the hardest decision of his life.

  They’d saved the young witch but the cost …

  He rested his head back against the cool side of the trailer. Inside was a dead witch he’d failed to save.

  A breeze told him Axel had arrived. He opened his eyes and silently held out the silver knife with the monogram.

  Axel’s hard green gaze tracked over him. “You’re cut. Face and side.”

  A thick regret made his voice harsh. “I look better than the witch inside.”

  Axel took the knife and studied it. His massive wings lifted then disappeared into the tattoo of hawk wings on his back. The cords on his neck stood out, and his mouth flattened. Then he lifted his stare. “Cusack is either dead or rogue.”

  “It wasn’t a rogue that took him unaware in the street, he had to have been tricked by a woman. A test, just like you said.” He sucked in a breath, reaching for his cold logic. “They struck at our weakness, our need for sex.”

  Axel’s hand closed around the knife until his knuckles were bleached white. “If they’ve turned Cusack he’s going to come back at us.”

  Sutton felt that. “Linc.”

  Axel’s green eyes filled with the weight of his position as the hawk. “If that happens, it’ll be Linc’s test. If he kills Cusack, he’ll prove himself loyal to the Wing Slayer. He’ll get his wings.”

  “He has to make the choice to kill his friend in the Wing Slayer’s name.”

  Axel’s face was pitiless. “We’ve all had to prove ourselves. If Cusack is rogue, his soul is gone and he must be killed.”

  Sutton agreed, although it didn’t make it any easier. His phone vibrating cut off his thoughts. He pulled out his cell, looked at the screen, said “Phoenix” to Axel, then answered, “What’s up?”

  “Not my dick. Chick shot me. Then she tried to turn the gun on herself. I wrestled her, got the gun away, then she sprayed me with pepper spray and ran. I’m still seeing double.”

  Damn, they couldn’t get a break tonight. “Where are you?” Sutton watched as Ram and Key pulled up in a truck. Axel waved them over.

  “My house. Goddamnit, I can’t even see to dig this damn bullet out.”

  Sutton’s gut tightened. “Hang tight, we’ll be there.” He hung up and filled in the three witch hunters.

  Axel ordered, “Sutton, Key, go. Let me know if Phoenix needs Darcy to heal him. Ram and I will deal with this.”

  Knowing it was easier for Axel to handle the still somewhat fresh witch blood since he was bonded to Darcy, Sutton and Key raced over to Phoenix’s house.

  Carla jammed her keys into the door of the clinic, feeling a creeping sensation run down her spine. It was still dark on the streets, just after four A.M.

  She looked over her shoulder as she turned the lock, but no one was there. Just the parking lot and adjacent park. On the other side of the clinic was a physical therapy clinic that didn’t open until nine A.M. There was no sign of movement.

  Of course, rogues had the ability to make themselve
s invisible.

  She shoved open the door, rushed in, and shut it. Then she hit the code into the keypad to set the alarm.

  Once inside, she felt a little better, but still uneasy.

  The clinic was an old two-story house with lots of wood paneling, pocket doors, and charm.

  Max walked into the living room that had an overstuffed sofa, big comfortable chairs, and a fireplace. “Carla, thanks for coming.” He was dressed in dark pants and a T-shirt.

  “What’s the situation?” She fell into step with Max, leaving the living room, passing the stairs on her left and her office on the right. They turned left, passing a large dining room on the right, and went into an examination room.

  “She was in the park. John found her when he did a sweep outside the clinic. She was sitting on a bench like she was waiting for a bus. I tried to talk to her, but got no response. And she has blood spattered all over her. I didn’t see any injury on her to account for it. She had no purse and no ID.”

  “Just sitting out there in the middle of the night?”

  “All alone. She’s not reacting or talking. You can see for yourself.” He opened the door to the exam room.

  Carla smiled a greeting to John, who was standing by the table, hovering in case the woman tried to leave or hurt herself.

  “Morning, Doc. Now that you’re here, I’m going to take a look around outside.” He tilted his head toward the shade-covered window that faced the park side of the house. “See if someone is looking for this woman.”

  Carla looked at the fabric-covered shade, thinking that normally, the park was a relaxing view for residents who needed medical attention. Max had two medical doctors who donated several hours a week to the clinic. But he’d called her first, thinking this woman’s mind was in the most desperate need of care. She turned her attention to the young woman lying on the exam table. Her brown eyes were open, staring at the lights. Her arms were stretched at her sides with her fingers curled into claws. She had dark gore covering the front of her black-and-white spandex top and low-cut jeans. Carla set down her purse and turned back to the woman. “Hi there. I’m Dr. Fisk. What’s your name?”

  Her jaw moved, her teeth grinding, but her eyes stayed opened and fixed.

  Carla touched her bare arm, and felt a backwash of cold fear, like brackish, bitter water. “She’s suffered a severe shock to her mind.”

  “She’s catatonic,” Max said.

  She realized he was standing right behind her, looking over her shoulder.

  “Yes.” Carla needed to move fast. The girl was mentally slipping further and further away. “I’m going to see if I can hypnotize her, maybe calm her mind enough to talk to us.”

  She felt Max step back, silently watching her.

  Her hand on the girl’s arm, she formed a link with her physical body. Carla started popping open her chakras then struggled to force open the fifth one. Then she reached her spirit into the woman to lead her to the astral plane.

  A loud crash shattered the stillness.

  Alarms screamed around them.

  “Shit!” Max grabbed her, shoving her away from the window. Her shoulder slammed into the wall, and she had to fight to get her balance. She looked up and saw two men leap through the broken window, ripping the blind off and shattering glass.

  Carla smelled the copper. Rogues! The first one looked at her and his pupils dilated, his entire body jerking with excitement. Terror and memories held her frozen. Not again!

  The second rogue grabbed the girl on the table and tossed her over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold.

  Max screamed, “Get away from her!”

  He spun, one hand anchoring the girl, his free hand brandishing a knife as Max leaped at him.

  Carla sent a wave of energy to the knife, knocking it from his hand.

  “Cut the witch!” The rogue threw the girl to the ground, grabbed Max by the throat, jerked him over the table, and slammed his fist into the side of Max’s head. He threw him to the ground.

  The first rogue grabbed Carla, his knife flashing in front of her eyes. It was all happening in fast-forward … so fast she could barely see it. She would not be cut again. She sent her powers into the knife that was arcing toward her thigh.

  The knife flew from the rogue’s grip, the handle slamming into his stomach. “Bitch!”

  One second later, Carla felt the witch karma blast into her stomach. She doubled over as the breath was knocked out of her. She fell to her knees, gasping as her locked lungs struggled for air.

  From the floor, she saw the other rogue snatch up his knife and kick aside the broken body of the girl.

  The alarms kept shrieking.

  Her rogue snatched up his knife and latched on to her arm when Carla heard the screech of an eagle in her head. She knew right down to her cellular being that Sutton was there. Two men burst into the room, one going to the rogue who was closer to the window.

  The second body slammed the rogue who had hold of her. They tumbled past her, and swear to the Ancestors, she thought she felt a brush of feathers.

  The alarm kept screaming a pulsing shriek. Carla looked at the girl on the floor and could see by the unnatural angle of her head and the pool of blood that she was dead, but what about Max? The pain in her stomach kept her from standing up so she crawled toward him. Broken glass crunched and her hands slipped in warm blood. Don’t think about it. Oh, God, this wasn’t happening. She focused on Max’s feet, then his legs and there was his black shirt and finally, his face. He was lying on his left side, legs splayed, eyes closed, but his chest was moving. He was breathing. They were both alive. She reached his side, sat down, and pulled his head into her lap.

  The pain in her stomach kept her from being able to sit up straight, so she leaned over him. The left side of his face was dark red and swelling but not cut. Concussion? She put her hand over his temple and cheekbone. “Max, open your eyes.”

  Nothing. She couldn’t lose him. Tears filled her throat. “Please, Max!” She lifted her hand and saw blood. Her head spun until she realized it was her blood. She’d cut her hands crawling over the glass.

  Focus. She could help him. She pulled in deeper to herself, blocking out the horror of the night, and reconnected with her chakras. It was like trying to pry a stubborn top off a bottle of soda, but finally, the first four opened.

  That was all she needed. Laying her hand over the injured part of his face, she sent cooling energy to stop any swelling. She followed that with healing light.

  “She’s using her powers.”

  The voice was from the witch hunter with Sutton. She ignored them, concentrating on Max.

  “Key, get rid of these bodies,” Sutton said.

  She heard him but didn’t care. Max wasn’t a body, he was her friend and she loved him, not like he wanted her to love him, but she did love him.

  She refused to think about that poor dead woman on the floor.

  Max’s eyes began to flutter, then open. His incredibly soulful dark eyes brimmed with confusion. “What happened?”

  Her first relief, first bit of respite, flowed through her. She brushed his hair back, looking through the blood smears from her hands to see that the swelling was gone. “We were attacked.”

  He reached up and held her wrist. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” Liar. She could feel cold tremors trying to set in. More people were pouring into the small room. Carla looked up and saw Josie and the two other women huddled together outside the door. She should help them, calm their fears. The thought passed through her head, but her gaze skimmed over the blood and glass she’d crawled over. She shuddered.

  Where was that poor young woman?

  The piercing pulse of the alarm stopped.

  A shadow fell over them. Then Sutton was there, kneeling beside her. “I’m going to take you out of here, Carla.”

  Max’s wiry body tensed and he sat up. His gaze searched the room and his face leached of more color when he saw all the blood. “Oh, Ch
rist. Where’s John?”

  Sutton said, “That your guard? I’m sorry but he’s dead outside the window. The woman is dead, too. I had my men take her and the two who attacked you both out.”

  “They must have tracked her here. One of them picked her up like he was going to take her away, then when Max attacked, he just threw her down. She hit her head. There was so much blood,” Carla whispered. Bile rushed up the back of her throat, but she fought it down. “The girls, I have to take care of the girls.”

  “Who are you?” Max demanded.

  “Sutton West.”

  “Carla, do you know him?”

  “Yes.” She wiped her hands on her jeans but they kept bleeding. “He’s okay, Max.”

  “You’re hurt.” Max reached out and took hold of her wrist, turning her palm up. Blood welled from at least a dozen cuts.

  “Just let me up.” She took her hand back and tried to get her feet under her.

  Sutton put his massive hands under her arms and lifted her to her feet.

  Her left shoulder hurt, and her stomach cramped sickly. “I’m fine.” She walked out of his hold, over the crunchy, blood-slippery glass and out of the room. She went to the girls. “It’s okay, it’s all over.”

  Josie said, “Were they here for me?”

  Carla reached out and put her hand on Josie’s arm, fighting to funnel calming energy into her. It made her dizzy. “No. This wasn’t about any of you. It was a woman Max brought in early this morning. It’s over now.”

  Joe MacAlister and Morgan Reed walked in. “Axel called, said he wants me to cover security for this place.” He searched the exam room with his blue eyes, then put his arm around her and said, “Bad night?”

  She ignored the pain in her shoulder for the comfort of Joe. He was Darcy’s cousin, an unusual mortal who, once he found out Darcy was a witch, had barely missed a beat. He and Darcy had a close relationship.

  Then Joe had fallen in love with the wife of a rogue witch hunter. Morgan had suffered significant brain damage at the hands of the rogue from his particularly brutal memory-shifting, and she was pregnant by him. Carla had worked with her for the last two months, and now she was blooming with the pregnancy and had recovered most of her memories. Joe now headed the mortal end of security for the Wing Slayer Hunters.