Her Soul to Take (Souls Trilogy)

by Harley Laroux

  She pouted, but she was obedient for once. The buttons on her sweater were ripped off, so she tugged it tightly over her chest and folded her arms to keep it closed. We left through the gate together, not a single car in sight as we made our way up the road toward her home.

  “I need to know how to protect myself from those things,” she said suddenly. “You said they might not stop hunting me, so…”

  “Move away from Abelaum,” I said. “That’s the best thing you can do. They’ll hunt you wherever you go now that magic has touched you, but living in Abelaum is like sticking your hand straight in a beehive and wondering why you’re getting stung.”

  She looked at me in alarm, but I was just trying to be honest. There was no point in lying to her that things would somehow get better once the grimoire was gone. She’d be slightly less attractive to the Eld, but the Hadleighs were a whole other problem.

  “I can’t just move,” she said. “I don’t...I don’t have the money yet…”

  “Then stay in at night. Board up your windows. Burn rosemary and sage from sundown to sunrise, Eld hate the smell of it. And stay away from the goddamn Hadleighs.”

  She frowned. “Why? If Kent is a magician, maybe he can help me!”

  I scoffed. “Not a single member of that family is interested in helping anyone but themselves.”

  Her frown deepened into a glare. “They’ve been kind to me. You’re just saying that so I’ll feel like I have no choice but to accept your bargain.”

  “Do you want to know what Kent really does?” I stopped walking, hot with frustration. “Do you want to know what his Historical Society” — I put massive air quotes around the fabricated title — “really is about? There are far worse things in Abelaum than monsters. You know the legends. You’ve been to the church. The Hadleigh family isn’t interested in helping you. They’re interested in furthering their own power.”

  She bit her lip, arms still folded. I couldn’t fault her suspicions — she knew I was a demon, of course she’d believe I was a liar. But it didn’t matter if she believed me. As long as she heard me. As long as I could reassure myself I tried to warn her.

  Guilt wasn’t an emotion that was natural to demons. We simply had no room to learn it. If a young demon fucked up in Hell, they’d likely find themselves dead, slaughtered by someone more powerful than them, or executed by a Reaper if they really pissed someone off. There was no room for guilt. Get away with it, or get it right the first time.

  Feeling that annoying, needling, uncomfortable press of guiltiness now, only served to show I’d been on Earth far too long.

  I didn’t owe this woman a damn thing, but it sure as hell felt like I did.

  She’d stopped walking. She was staring at me, a little way ahead of me on the road, arms clasped around her drooping sweater, shivering in the cold. It made me want to hold her, wrap her up, warm her. Fucking hell, I’d gone soft.

  “What do the legends and the church have to do with the Hadleighs?” she said softly.

  “Morpheus Leighman owned Abelaum’s silver mines,” I said. “His son, Benjamin, changed his surname to Hadleigh, after his father’s cult nearly got the family run out of town.”

  Morpheus: the first summoner in centuries that I hadn’t been able to kill. He’d been careful, obsessively so. A smart man. Trapped underground with his miners when the shaft collapsed, he discovered many things in those long-forgotten underground caverns. He’d found the remnants of an old religion, centered around the weakened God that spoke to him in the dark; he’d found the grimoire, written long ago by a powerful witch...and by extension, he’d found my name. He’d found the iron amulet the witch had made, offering him additional protection from me.

  As much as I’d wanted to, I couldn’t kill him, nor could I kill his son Benjamin when Morpheus passed the grimoire and the amulet on to him. I had remained captive, over a century in service to the same family as they grew in power, largely thanks to me.

  “His family’s cult,” Rae murmured, her eyes wide in the dark. “You’re talking about the God, right? The monster in the mine?” She shook her head. “That’s a stupid story told to scare children. The only cult members in Abelaum are edgy teenagers who want to hang around in St. Thaddeus and pretend they’re communing with some old god while they trip on acid.” She scoffed. “Come on. I literally research this stuff for fun. I’m not scared by Abelaum’s personal Creepypasta.”

  I laughed. “Fine. Don’t believe it. Kent is obsessed with keeping that church from being torn down and the mine shafts from being sealed because he’s just really invested in the town’s history. Victoria and Jeremiah want to be friends with you so badly because they’re just such good, kind people.” I brushed past her, walking on toward her house. I could feel her glare on the back of my head.

  “What exactly are you even trying to say?” she snapped, jogging to keep up with me. “If Kent believes there’s a God in the mine, so what? Is he planning to make all of Abelaum drink the Kool-Aid? Is he going to try to recruit me to the cause?”

  “Not recruit you,” I said. “Sacrifice you.”

  She laughed, but she sounded nervous now. “Right, okay. The Hadleighs are all members of a cult that practices human sacrifice and I’m their next victim. Oh, please.” She would have sounded more determined if her voice wasn’t shaking with cold. “Your ploy for my soul won’t work. I’ll survive without your deal just fine, thank you very much.”

  “Says the girl who was just fucked by a demon.”

  “You don’t get to hold that over my head.” She tossed back her hair, chin up proudly. “A woman should never be ashamed of wanting sexual pleasure for herself.”

  “No, she shouldn’t be.” We had turned onto the dirt road that led toward her cabin. The crickets were unnervingly quiet, setting me on edge. “But a woman should consider her best options when she’s flung herself down a rabbit hole of magic and monsters.”

  “I am considering my options,” she said, her voice so drenched in confidence I knew she was faking. “Selling my soul isn’t one of them. You can get your grimoire, leave, and I’ll figure this out alone.”

  The cabin was just ahead, the windows warmly lit from within. I wondered if she left lights on because she was forgetful, or because she liked seeing the glow when she came home in the dark. She was silent for a few moments, then said softly, “So, do I need to take a Plan B or something? You know…” She motioned at her skirt. It reminded me that her panties were still lying back there in the graveyard, and I suddenly, desperately wanted to lift her up and consume her again until she screamed.

  I resisted.

  “Unless you’re a full-blooded witch, you have nothing to fear,” I said. “I could come inside you again and again without consequences.”

  Her face reddened, and a little saunter came back into my step as we came up to the cabin’s front porch. I frowned as her motion-activated light flicked on, illuminating a white and orange cat sitting just above the steps.

  The crickets were so quiet.

  The night was so still.

  Something wasn’t right.

  “Cheesecake?” The confusion is her voice was evident as she scooped up the cat from the porch. The feline mewled, and rubbed his head against her chin before giving me a slow blink. “What are you doing outside, buddy?”

  Alarm had already set in for me, and it took only a few more seconds for her. With the light on, she could now see that her front door was ajar, the curtain billowing softly in the breeze.

  “I locked that,” she said softly, clutching the cat to her chest. “I closed it, I know I did.”

  I was in front of her before she could blink, putting my body between her and the open door. I peered into the house, sniffing the air, listening. If whoever had broken in was still there, I’d rip them to pieces before they touched her.

  She pressed a little closer behind me, peering around me. Her scent was all over this place, mingled with the smell of the forest creatures
that had passed through the yard, and the cat in her arms. But there was something else, too: something soft but deeply sweet, rich as caramel.

  A witch. A witch had been here.

  And there was only one witch I knew of in Abelaum: Everly.

  I straightened slowly, the tension going out of me.

  “What is it?” Rae said, her voice cracking in alarm. “What happened? Is someone in there?”

  “Not anymore,” I said, stepping aside from the door. “A human was here, but they’re gone now.”

  “What the hell?” She brushed past me, moving cautiously as she put her cat down on the kitchen table and continued on into the living room beyond. The cat, however, had no interest in staying inside. He bounded back out onto the porch and sat again, staring curiously into the woods with his tail twitching. “Someone went through my things! There’s papers everywhere, they even opened my boxes!”

  Worry began to knot inside my chest. Why the hell had the witch been here? What did she want? Everly wasn’t like her father. From what I’d observed, she was as much his captive as I had been. Her mother had been the same: bound to Kent by love and the shared blood in their child. Kent protected Everly with the same possessive obsession one would protect a prized weapon, and without the grimoire, she was his greatest weapon now. The fact that she had come here alone was strange.

  “Shit! Goddamn it, no!”

  Her pained, furious cry sent me instantly to her side. She was crouched in front of a low bookshelf, tearing volumes down, searching.

  “What happened?” My voice was harsh with alarm but it didn’t faze her. She looked up, red-faced, jaw clenched with fury and fear.

  “They took the grimoire,” she whispered. “It’s gone.”

  It felt like cold water being dumped over my head. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s gone!” She threw up her hands, clutching her head. She sounded on the verge of tears. “Goddamn it, it’s gone, it’s fucking gone, what the fuck!”

  Gone...the grimoire was gone, again. Had Everly taken it back to Kent? Was I about to be forced back to him?

  Or had she kept it? That grimoire was written by the founding witch of her mother’s coven. It was her birthright; it was all the knowledge of the witches that had come before her. Everly’s power was still feral, untamed in her blood. But if she were to harness it, if she were to escape Kent and train herself to command her magic…

  I shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold night air whispering through the open door. Witches were not to be trifled with.

  “We have to get it back!” Rae got to her feet, fists clenched, her glasses slipping down her nose. “We have to find out who the hell took it —”

  I grabbed her suddenly, clapping my hand over her mouth and muffling her furious cursing. She struggled, but only for a moment.

  Then she smelled it too.

  Death. Pungent and sour on the air. Rae jolted against me, her heart fluttering like a bird. Through the open door, we could both see her cat standing on the porch, back arched, tail puffed. A low, angry growl came from the little animal’s throat, fixated on something in the trees.

  The house creaked, as if it were tensing in preparation. Scritch, scritch, scritch. Rae’s head jerked toward the sound, as something scratched at the side of the house. It was coming closer, making its way toward the deck and the open door.

  And the cat.

  Something wet touched my hand, and I realized she was weeping. I uncovered her mouth, only to hear her whisper desperately, “Cheesecake...here kitty, kitty...come back inside...come back inside, please…”

  The trees groaned. The smell grew sharper. The brave little cat twitched his white tail and yowled as if he were the biggest, fiercest beast in those woods.

  I’d always liked cats. The fact that this one belonged to Raelynn, well, perhaps that made me a bit more determined to not see it die. I didn’t think I could bear to see her heart break like that. And hell, the little creature was fierce. What else so small would face down the Eld with a puffed tail and some tiny claws?

  “Don’t leave the house, Rae,” I whispered firmly. “Whatever you see — whatever you hear — don’t you dare leave this house.” Her breathing was quickening, fear rising as she realized I was going to leave. It made me want to grip her tighter, keep her closer, drag her along with me —

  But she was safer here.

  There was a rustle, a rapid snapping of twigs — and the cat was snatched from the porch.

  In the same moment Cheesecake disappeared, Leon did too. One moment, his arms were wrapped around me tight; safe, warm, possessive, a barrier against the night. A barrier against the thing that lurked outside, that made my hair stand on end and twisted my stomach.

  Then, in a blink, he was gone.

  The door slammed shut. I was alone, and the night was utterly, deathly silent other than the sobs that choked up in my throat.

  Not Cheesecake. Not my sweet chubby kitty. No. No, no, no.

  Leon had told me to stay inside, but there was no threat outside that door that was going to keep me from going after my cat. The mama bear came out and regardless of self-preservation or even regular old common sense, I wasn’t just going to stand there. I wasn’t about to abandon Cheesecake to those things. No way in hell.

  I kept a baseball bat near the front door, and it was the only thing I grabbed before I flung the door open and sprinted off the porch. My mind was racing with confusion and fury, I was flushed with adrenaline and yet the world seemed to move slowly around me. I kept expecting to hear the awful cries of my cat fighting for his life, but the night was so silent. So cold. My tears felt icy on my cheeks.

  I stalked toward the trees near the side of the porch, closest to where Cheesecake was snatched. I held the bat up, at the ready. I’d seen Leon crush the skull of that Eld beast thing. I knew they could be killed. If I bashed its head hard enough, I’d get my cat back.

  I took a step into the trees. Then another. Another. My shoes crunched on pine needles and fallen twigs. It was impossible to move silently. I was an easy target. I couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of me, and even then, everything was just dark shapes against a darker background. The vile smell of death was strong, stinging my nose and turning my stomach.

  “Cheesecake?” I whispered. “Here, kitty...kitty, kitty…” My voice shook. My terror was rising. I felt like I was walking through a nightmare.

  Snap. I whirled to my left. That footstep hadn’t been mine. I tightened my sweating hands on the bat, arms trembling, ready to strike. I suddenly felt so weak, as if no matter how hard I tried, the strength would go out of my arms the moment I swung. But I had to try. I had to.

  Meow?

  For a moment, I thought my heart would burst. Hearing Cheesecake’s uncertain little call in the darkness — alive, not in pain — made me run toward the sound. But I halted abruptly when I noticed a dark figure leaning against a tree, my cat cradled in his arms.

  Leon.

  It was almost too dark to see, but as he held out my wide-eyed, disheveled kitty, I was certain I could see something dark marring his shoulder, and running in rivulets down his arm.

  I grasped Cheesecake close, gasping with relief. Leon was breathing raggedly. There was a distinct scent of iron in the air.

  “Goddamn it, woman,” he hissed. “I told you — I told you — to stay inside.”

  I gulped, beginning to back away toward the house. There was another sound in the darkness, beyond Leon, something like a low, growling purr.

  “Get back inside. Don’t you dare come out until sunrise.” Leon pushed off the tree, his golden eyes bright even in the dark. “Cinnamon, rosemary, and sage if you have it. Burn it outside your door. Keep your windows covered and your lights on – they hate the light. Don’t make yourself an easy target.”

  I nodded rapidly. With my cat clutched tightly in one arm and my bat in the other hand, I sprinted back for the house. I rummaged through my spice cabinet, tossing
jars of herbs across my countertop until I managed to find rosemary and powdered cinnamon. With shaking hands, I poured them both into a stone mortar, and used my lighter to burn them. They smoldered, but wouldn’t hold a flame. It would have to be enough. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

  I put the jar of burnt herbs outside my front door. I covered every window, I turned on every light. I took the largest knife from the block in the kitchen and sat on the couch, heart pounding, trying to catch my breath as Cheesecake stared nervously at the door.

  Eventually, I heard the crickets start up their song again. The tightness seemed to go out of the air, whatever pressure had been squeezing my lungs was gone. Cheesecake curled up on the couch beside me and began to groom, pulling twigs from his fur. I was light-headed with exhaustion and sick with worry, but if Cheesecake didn’t sense danger anymore, then I assumed Leon must have chased the monsters off at last.

  This was all too dangerously real. All these years of seeking the paranormal, and suddenly I was in the thick of it. Suddenly there were demons, monsters, and magical books, and I was witnessing it.

  Not just witnessing it, I was getting intimate with it.

  Closing my eyes, I could feel Leon’s tongue on me again. It was so wrong that it felt right. I’d fucked an inhuman being, a monster. I’d looked at him with his claws and sharp teeth, I’d seen the blood smeared across his body, and I’d wanted him. I’d begged him for it.

  As I curled up on the couch, my knife close at hand, I kept hoping I’d hear Leon call my name outside. He was an asshole, but I felt safer with him near me. Even though he’d told me protection came at a price, he’d already protected me, for nothing. He’d even protected my pet. I had a hard time believing someone willing to risk injury to save an animal could be evil.

  But I couldn’t accept his bargain. Stories throughout history warned of the dangers of giving in to a demon’s temptation, and selling my soul for protection would surely come with a catastrophic price. I may have fucked up my integrity as a paranormal investigator, but at least I knew better than to sell my soul.