—— CHAPTER FOURTEEN ——
One dozen eggs, a loaf of bread, grape jam, a pound of sliced smoked turkey, a nearly empty jar of mayonnaise, a gallon of milk, and a family size box of Frosted Flakes. Despite the grocery store trip the day before, Callie’s kitchen was significantly understocked.
Correction: it wasn’t stocked for company. Derek’s lingering presence in her bedroom was welcome, but still unexpected.
His arm had been crushing her when she awoke. He must have gained weight in his sleep, because it took her a good hour to extract herself from beneath it. Though the initial shock of finding him still in her bed—and still really naked—had taken up the first several minutes. He hadn’t bailed in the middle of the night, which both baffled and enchanted her. Callie hadn’t had a guy stay the night in at least two years. Booting him would have been wrong after how much they’d drank, she started to tell herself, but that justification was so flimsy, her conscience called bullshit.
Derek looked vulnerable laying in her bed. No leather to shield him. No scowl on his face to deter indifference. The covers had shifted low enough to let her see the dimples in his lower back. Callie had peeked below before tugging the comforter up. That ass wasn’t even the reason she’d let him stay. It wasn’t even that he’d fucked her into next Tuesday. Though, that wasn’t hurting the case. The truth was, safety was a scarce commodity in Callie’s life. Derek had given her that with a healthy dose of understanding last night. Hell if that didn’t mean something to her. Had she divulged enough last night to establish the connection both ways? Did she even want him that close, to see all the muck trapped inside? She undid her ponytail and reset it as a sloppy bun. At least she could control her hair.
Her phone had rung an hour earlier. Yesterday had been her day off. Today was not, and she’d totally forgotten. “Shit, Lou, I’m sorry,” she’d answered.
“I thought you might be dead.”
“Dead? I already have a melodramatic mother. Give me a bit more credit.” She tried to tease. Easier than accepting the fact she might be about to lose her job.
“You come in on your day off, and now you’re missing work. You’re never late. What’s been up with you lately? Everything okay?” Lou’s words were truly devoid of judgment.
Callie glanced at the clock above the stove. Ninety minutes was more than late. “I’m really sorry. It’s just—” How was she supposed to finish that sentence? Lying to Louisa would wrap Callie in a fresh layer of guilt, and she could barely breathe through her shame swaddling as it was.
“Just life, honey. Don’t I know it.” Lou knew too much. “Your mama causing problems?”
“When isn’t she? I can’t believe I did this, though. Do you need me to fill in tonight?” Derek might be able to cover for her with the Charmer.
“No. We’re full up. You’re all right, though?” The question was benign, but the motherly underpinnings struck hard.
Callie had focused on the towel rack in lieu of the mirror while brushing her teeth earlier that morning. Whatever it took to ignore the faint bags under her eyes. That darkness hadn’t been borne in the throes of soul magic abuse. She didn’t get it from the emotional battery of gathering vagrant souls from temporary hosts or the hot-cold spectrum her skin had endured the last few days. No, her dark circles were earned the old-fashioned way. “Yeah, Lou. Just tired.”
Her boss was quiet for long enough that Callie had to confirm the call hadn’t dropped. Louisa’s words came slowly, but clearly. “I know that brother of yours is a problem. If you need a few days to sort it out, take them. I’m not going to give your job away.”
“Thanks.” Callie wasn’t sure she could accept. Her bank account wouldn’t appreciate the decision.
Lou understood screwed up families and the myriad ways they could destroy your life, but the olive branch only extended so far. “Don’t thank me yet. If you ditch on me again, though, I can’t keep you. Favorite or not.”
“Right.” Well, shit. The way Ford and the Charmer were running her, she needed the time. She could take it and ration the food she had in the pantry, or she could promise to show and risk failing and losing her actual source of income long term. “Can I take a few days? When I’m back, I’ll be my normal self.” God, she hoped she wasn’t lying.
An hour had passed and Louisa’s offer continued to feel surreal. Bosses being cool about employees not showing was a myth. Unless you were in a ditch, they weren’t supposed to tolerate such things. But somehow she’d earned that kind of trust, and now as she continued sweating out last night’s alcohol, she had to find a way to keep from fucking it up.
Breakfast would have been a good distraction, if she knew what to make. Lou made those decisions at work. At home it was on her, and she had a naked man in the other room to consider. Was Derek a breakfast eater? Would he expect the big, manly, eggs-and-meat meal she couldn’t provide? Her empty stomach gurgled a warning, a roiling notice of eat or puke. Decision time.
Turned out the Frosted Flakes came in a box that big for a reason.
Derek lumbered into the kitchen a little after ten. Despite the extra sleep, he didn’t look all that much more rested than she did. He did, however, look far better in low-slung jeans. A break on the bedhead was warranted.
“You got anything to eat?” The rasp of his voice was the deepest she’d ever heard it.
Callie gestured to the big box of sugary corn flakes she’d left on the counter. Her bowl was already rinsed and in the sink.
“Frosted Flakes, huh?” The corners of his mouth began to curl and his eyes danced with mischief. Perhaps last night hadn’t ruined everything.
“Best option in the house.” With her shrug she let go of the shame of not providing more for him. He’d gotten laid like a pro and she was making him smile the next morning. What more did a man really need?
He nodded. “It’s common knowledge they’re grrrreat.” His Tony the Tiger impression was spot on.
Her laugh chimed throughout the small space. When was the last time her laugh hadn’t been weighted with sarcasm or wrought from her gut without glee? As far as reasons for missing work went, Derek wasn’t a bad choice. “Bowls are in the cupboard next to the fridge, and spoons in the drawer directly below.”
His broad back worked, flexing and releasing fluidly, as he set about helping himself to the best cereal she had. An echo of the heat that had ensnared her before flickered in her abdomen, but she let it smolder. She wanted to believe there was a real connection between them, but she wasn’t going to risk botching that potential by leaping at him. He viewed her as strong, and regardless of her position on the matter, she wasn’t going to showcase weakness now. Putting her desire above keeping her brother alive would be pretty weak by anyone’s standards.
Derek leaned against her counter, cradling the bowl of cereal to his chest and ladling bites to his mouth. He was at home here. Pride flashed through her, making the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise. Her phone made a muffled honking noise as it vibrated against the countertop. Spell broken, she glanced at the screen, and then readjusted her gaze to the ceiling, trying to be patient. It didn’t work.
“What’s wrong?” Derek asked around a mouthful of crunchy goodness.
She waved a dismissive hand toward her phone. “Just my mom.”
“Checking up on you?” He grinned.
“That would be a first.” Leave it to her mother to sour her morning-after mood.
He pushed off the counter and sauntered over next to her, still clutching his breakfast. “You good?”
“Yeah.” She shook her head, trying to dislodge the unworthiness her mother always stirred within her. “Her cat is stuck in a cupboard and she can’t find Josh to come rescue him.”
He cut his eyes down to slits, and then at half-speed he asked, “You’re kidding me, right?”
“I wish I were.”
“You don’t look old enough to have an elderly parent.” He’d selected those words carefully. It wasn’t necessary, but she’d accept the kid gloves for now.
“She’s not old, just doesn’t like doing things for herself.” Bitterness for your family was probably a turn off. She was a real fucking prize. “Josh stops by her place a lot usually. She isn’t texting about the cat, not really. She wants to know where Josh is.”
“Then she should try texting him early on a Sunday.”
The lack of judgment from Derek loosened her lips. She couldn’t even blame it on the booze this time. “Ford isn’t much for letting him carry his phone right now.”
Derek stopped chewing the big bite he’d shoveled in his mouth. He lifted his chin and watched her. He read people, and understood her. He would read between the lines. Callie hadn’t broken any of the rules Ford had laid for her. She didn’t say she had an agreement with Ford. His own minion had spilled those beans. She hadn’t said Ford kidnapped her brother, but she had admitted his junkie status. It wasn’t a secret Ford was the biggest meth dealer in the high desert. If she could keep from giving specifics about the job, she was ninety-eight percent sure Ford wouldn’t send her Josh’s foot as a reminder of consequences.
There was no crunch to his bite when Derek finally chewed and swallowed the corn flakes in his mouth. “That’s his leverage on you, then. Your baby brother.”
“Older brother, but yes.”
“Wait? This jack-off lets his little sister clean up his messes?” She’d never let anyone get away with calling Josh names, but as Derek’s nostrils flared she recognized he was angry on her behalf. It’d been so long since she’d allowed herself to be mad at Josh, it was a relief to let someone else do it.
“I’m the most capable little sister.” She didn’t bother trying to fake smile; Derek only deserved real ones from her.
“Lucky bastard doesn’t deserve you,” he muttered. Malevolence rushed from him in waves, but Callie dove into those waters. He’d broken down her walls enough last night that she couldn’t put distance distance between them now. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and squeezed.
“Nice of you to say so,” she said as she relinquished him from her hug.
His cheeks brightened to a soft pink. “Yeah. So. This cat. Is it actually stuck somewhere?”
“Probably.”
“Is she going to get it out without your help?”
“Probably not.” Her groan was too much like that of a sullen teenager avoiding homework. She might be barely out of her teens, but Callie had been on her own for years, and so never had it good enough to bitch about homework.
“You want me to go with you?”
And have Derek meet her mom? “No,” she answered, too quickly. The flush on his cheeks brightened, and her stomach sank. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to inflict her brand of crazy on you.”
He nodded, but her words didn’t diminish the hurt she’d clearly caused. He tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal. “You don’t want to watch me spread the word to the Charmer’s regular clients about the consequences of dealing with Tess today anyway, so that’s cool.”
He wasn’t wrong, but guilt washed over her regardless. “I think I’d rather watch you scare the crap out of some idiots than have to be trapped in an apartment with my batshit mother, but she’ll start calling soon if I don’t go over there.”
He placed his empty dish in the sink, and then turned back to her. “In case I need you—for work—where does she live?”
Callie gave him the particulars, swearing she’d be back in a couple hours. She padded the time frame, because she needed more than a couple minutes to normalize herself after interacting with Zara.
They made plans to meet that night, to continue their search for Tess, but Callie’s stomach turned sour the second Derek walked out her door. Was instinct rearing its head? She was getting too comfortable around him, and a small part of her was worried. The rest of her kind of didn’t care.
The older Callie’s car got, the more it sucked gas. She pulled into the fill station, and headed inside to put ten bucks into the clunker. It would have to suffice for the next few days. Thumbing through the cash she had on hand, Callie had to admit that accepting the offer to skip work might have been the wrong move as far as her wallet was concerned.
Sailor-level swearing erupted near the coffee stand inside. Callie cracked a grin. Someone must really need their coffee. When she turned to see what had infuriated the man, her smile receded quickly. Joey, the square suburban dad she’d extracted a soul from, had spilled his cup across the counter. She’d already indulged in her caffeine fix, so she had no excuse for going to his aid. She nabbed a handful of napkins anyway. Her fingers locked around the bits of paper, once again her hands slipping to Nordic temperatures. After all the heat coursing through her body by way of magic and sex, she’d actually started to forget how much this sucked. She should have known a soul renter would set her off. They’d collected his rented one. She shook herself. Knowing better hadn’t been her forte for weeks at this point. She sighed, and extended the napkins clenched between her fingers toward him.
Joey’s ass collided with the metal counter as he scuttled away from her. A stack of Styrofoam cups toppled behind him. “How did he know?” His eyes darted from her face to the door and back again in rapid succession.
“Know what? I thought you could use some napkins.” She extended them to him again. He had to yank hard to get them out of her icy grip.
He dropped the wad on the counter, and then wrapped his arms around his torso. His hands were tight against his upper arms and grated up and down. The soothing motion warped by pressure left red streaks in its wake.
“What are you doing here?” Why was he so scared of her? The grey accent to his visage was new.
Her brows screwed upward. “It’s a gas station.”
“Ha. Yeah. Sure.” His stilted movements reminded her of Josh coming off a high.
Why was she involving herself in this? “What’s wrong?”
Joey glared at the floor for so long she thought he’d forgotten she was there. Whatever he was fucked up on had done a number. She wouldn’t have pegged him as a user of more than magic, but she wasn’t exactly batting a thousand on character assessments. “She came back,” he finally whispered.
“Who?”
“The woman who wanted the soul.” His voice dropped low, but the words still pierced Callie’s heart. Tess.
She fought against her clenching jaw to ask, “Did you give it to her?”
He looked up at her, eyes blazing as unshed tears welled against his lids. “Not mine. She said she needed permission to take mine … ”
Her knees almost buckled, but she had to ask. “But?”
“I had another one from the Charmer.”
That snapped her back into reality. “Already?”
He had the audacity to look sheepish. “I needed it.” He let out a mirthless laugh. “I guess she needed it more.”
“What do you mean?” Joey’d asked Tess for money last time. Had she paid up?
“When I told her no, she just took it anyway.” He met Callie’s gaze, the plea blatant. “I wouldn’t have betrayed the Charmer. You know that.”
She mostly believed him. “Yeah. How’d she do it, though?”
He grasped her arms, and frost surged forward immediately under her skin. He let go before it could bite him. “She dug her nails into my shoulder and then put her mouth at the hollow of my neck. It wasn’t like when you took it.”
“She sucked it from you?” There was no way to conceal how gross that was. Callie did not say the words “soul vampire,” but holy shit was she thinking them loudly.
“I know how it sounds,” he snapped. He yanked at the collar of his shirt. No fang marks, but Joey did have three small slash marks at the center of his chest, in the hollow below his neck. The edges were ragged. He wasn’t bleeding, but he would probably need liquid stitches to keep from scarring.
“I believe you,” she said, mostly to herself.
Joey leaned close, voice dropped low, “She told me she’d be back the next time I rented, but I won’t give her more souls. I swear.”
Like the Charmer would continue renting souls to a guy who gave them to the competition.
“You’ll tell the Charmer then? Explain everything?” Joey continued. The hope welling against his lower eyelids was almost enough to fell her.
Almost. “You want respect from the Charmer, go there yourself and tell him.”
Joey gawked at her, despite the lack of a second head suddenly sprouting from her body. “I can’t.”
“You’ll be safe. It’s the best option.” She didn’t know if that was the truth, but she wasn’t about to walk into the Soul Charmer’s store and tell this story secondhand. No fucking way. This was the price Joey paid for dabbling in soul magic, instead of helping his kid with algebra.
Besides, she had a cat to rescue.
Zara talked a gang of shit about safety, but the screen door of her ground-level apartment was unlocked, and the dilapidated white door behind it left ajar. The neighbors’ ones along the row of the complex she lived in were all damn near barricaded. Not that the fifty-year-old construction would withstand a solid foot thrust near the knob. Callie pressed in when her mom didn’t answer the doorbell. “Mom?”
“In the back. Frankie needs me.” Zara’s voice floated, placating and melodic, from the back of the house.
All the damn cat needed was for Zara to quit pussing out and climb the stepladder to get him out. Sure enough, Callie’s mom was sitting at the dinette sipping tea. “Your texts said it was an emergency,” she said.
Zara pulled her purple robe closed over her exposed thigh. Like Callie cared about seeing her mom’s leg. “He’s frightened.”
Frankie, a ginger fluff ball, was purring so loudly Callie could hear him when she’d passed through the living room. There was no point in arguing with her mom. No matter how many times he’d leapt from shelf to refrigerator to cabinet, Zara hadn’t picked up on Frankie’s obvious attempt at solace. Callie wouldn’t be able to leave until the cat was “rescued” from his favorite hiding spot.
She glanced around the kitchen, but didn’t spot the two-step ladder. She only saw three tabloids with recent dates and a tower of empty take-out containers. So much for hoping Zara would learn to solve her own problems. “Where did you put the step stool?”
“Pantry closet.” Zara’s bored tone rankled Callie more than the dismissive gesture toward the door on her right.
Sure enough, there was the black stool shoved next to the extra laundry detergent on the floor of the closet. Callie’d taken a single step toward Zara when the ice hit her.
God, no. Her, too? Seriously? If their family already had a soul magic hook-up, Josh could have mentioned it. He could have told her what Zara was into. Callie’s gut grew heavier the more her brain battered the idea of her mom renting souls. Her fingers grew stiff against the miniature ladder she held. Thankfully, she’d sprung for the pricier wood version.
There were a lot of situations Callie could handle. She had somehow balanced her real job and her dubious night gig, up until earlier that morning. She’d been dealing with a mob boss and his magical counterpart, and was on the whole still in one piece. But accepting her mother used soul magic? Nope. That was one more what-the-fuck on the disaster cake, and Callie was not going to bite.
Frankie chose that moment to start meowing. Callie had no idea if cats could sense magic, but then she hadn’t exactly thought people could sense it either. Shit changed, and the fluffy guy knew it.
“Why are you just standing there? Josh doesn’t ever take this long. Get him down.” Zara’s rushed criticisms usually cut deeper. Maybe the numbing sensation crawling through Callie’s veins wasn’t such a bad addition to her visits to Mom.
She managed to keep walking past Zara and over to the far wall. Focusing on the cat kept Callie afloat, despite the rotting pit of disappointment in her gut. She kneaded her fingers as subtly as she could, and as she moved farther away from Zara, they eased enough she was able to put down the stool, which, while helpful for the task at hand, rather solidified the whole “Mom Uses Souls” front. Frankie was curled in the small cabinet above the refrigerator. Zara kept the door closed, but Frankie had batted it open, like he always did. He was a clever cat; Callie probably would have liked him more if she didn’t have to come over and “save him.” He didn’t scratch her when she pulled him out, but he did flee to Zara the instant his paws touched the floor. Either cats couldn’t sense soul magic, or Frankie put family first too. Just like the other Delgados.
“You need anything else while I’m here?” The ingrained need to give and give wouldn’t let Callie leave without offering. Not exactly a habit of a highly successful person. Why couldn’t Zara be the mom Callie remembered from when she was little? It was a pointless wish, but Callie longed for her mother to go legit. She mentally slapped herself. Josh had a chance to change. He’d already hit rock bottom. Zara still had too far to fall.
Her mom scooped Frankie into her arms, and as she lazily stroked the cat the natural nastiness she exuded softened. “I wouldn’t have called, but Josh hasn’t come by.”
Twinges of guilt overrode Callie’s jealousy and nerves. Mostly. Her mom was clearly worried. She wasn’t out to make the lady suffer, but telling her anything would only make everyone’s lives more complicated. “I’m sure he’ll be by as soon as he can.”
Zara’s gaze darted to her daughter. Her vision too sharp for her own good. “Why are you standing all the way over there? I don’t smell.”
“Patchouli counts as a smell, Mom.” Deflection was better than letting the edge of her mother’s words cut her. The distant look in her mother’s eyes couldn’t be a side effect of using magic. Right?
“Calliope.” Only Zara said her name like a curse.
“Yeah, Mom?” Fatigue sacked her. Years of dealing with family bullshit took its toll. Typically Callie could compartmentalize it into safe, easy to manage pains. She could hide the compacted balls of sorrow between her ribs like a squirrel planning for a guilt-filled winter. But now—after night after night of saving face in front of Ford and managing not to crumple in the same room as the Soul Charmer and slamming face-first into a world teeming with wicked magic—she didn’t have the energy to detach and manage her emotions.
“I know you know something about Josh. Sit down and we’ll talk.” Zara looked to the open seat on the other side of the kitchen table, and then back at her daughter.
Callie took a single step toward her mother before her frost began to overtake her fingers. “I can’t.”
Zara’s upper chest was exposed. No hash marks. At least no one was stealing souls from her mother. Whatever concern Callie had for Zara disappeared. “You don’t have anywhere to be that’s more important than talking about your brother.”
“Like you would know.” Even as her brain flashed warning lights, Callie couldn’t hold back the words. Or regret saying them.
“You know where Josh is. You’re just keeping it from me because you don’t want me to help him.” Zara folded her arms in front of her chest, locking Callie out.
“Yeah, that’s me. Never helping Josh.”
Sarcasm was lost on her mother. “You’re so busy with your schedule and work that you’ve forgotten about what really matters.”
Her willingness to save Josh yet again had demolished her schedule. What had Zara been doing while Callie had been putting crime first, in the name of family? Renting souls. And for what? To ease the guilt from screwing over her kids? She wasn’t showing junkie signs, so it wasn’t drugs. Had she picked up a married dude? Whatever it was, it sure hadn’t been making her or Josh a priority. Classy, Zara, as always.
“You’re aware I’ve given over my savings to my big brother multiple times? That I was the one who got him in the treatment program? The one he bailed on? And I was the one who paid your gas bill when you’d given him every last penny so he could get high for a weekend?”
Zara brushed away the truth with a flippant hand gesture. “Helping family out once in a while—”
Pressure throbbed against Callie’s temples. Spontaneous combustion wasn’t real, but exploding from your mother’s asinine version of crazy? Legit. “More than once a year cannot be classified as once in a while.”
“Come,” her mother beckoned, sweetness oozing all over the room. “You wouldn’t be this upset if Josh were okay. Tell me what’s going on.”
Even when Josh wasn’t around, he managed to be the center of attention. Zara’s gentle gestures to sit weren’t out of concern for Callie. She was merely a means to an end. Per usual. “I’m not coming over there.”
Zara lifted one eyebrow, no doubt upset about her daughter’s petulance. Too damn bad. “Sit down. You’re going to tell me what’s going on.”
“How about instead you tell me why you’ve been renting souls?” Well-honed daggers couldn’t have cut her mother down as efficiently. Shame tugged her throat, but she batted it away with a swallow.
Zara opened and closed her mouth over and over eking squeaks each time before she finally collected herself enough to speak. “What are you talking about?”
“I know.” Those two little words hung between them for seconds or, maybe, years. The truth might not help Callie, but at least it bought her time and space. The sooner she was out of here, the better. Or was it? Was going back to hunting a mysterious woman who possessed the magic to control souls a better option than talking to her mom?
Zara spun a silver ring around her index finger. The light streaming in through the multicolored sheet hung over the kitchen window didn’t glint off the metal. Everything here was tarnished.
“We all need an escape,” her mom murmured.
Callie had steered the conversation, and now it was careening toward a cliff at ninety miles per hour. Hitting the brakes might be worse, but there was no way she was sticking around for the inevitable plummet. She’d hit her limit. If she didn’t leave now, she’d be liable to spill secrets she couldn’t claim ownership of, and Lord knew she wouldn’t survive the fallout.
She slammed the door behind her, cutting off her mother’s platitudes about making herself light enough to rise to Heaven. Arguing with Zara had never worked, and explaining that any deity who was concerned about beating the point spread was a shitty god wasn’t going to improve her day one bit.
Theological differences aside, she’d give it to Zara. Maybe she’d picked the right side. At the rate Callie was tanking, there was no one benevolent watching over her.
That might include Derek.