—— CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE ——
Crossing a street turned out to be more difficult than making a deal with the Soul Charmer. Wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of carefree nature that came with having an extra soul wedged inside you? It wasn’t helping Callie one iota. She reached for her cache of false confidence, but found it empty.
She gripped the still-open door of her car as though letting go would send her into a freefall through space. “I can’t do this.”
She looked to the passenger seat, and could almost imagine Derek sitting there, encouraging her.
Her shoes sank into the concrete. Her mind raced through eight dozen different scenarios, but entering that building and failing? She refused to picture the consequences. She unlocked her phone and checked the time. According to the schedule Ford had given her, she still had fifteen minutes of empty corridors inside the station to make her move.
She’d haul ass down those hallways and be out as fast as possible. She sucked in a steadying breath. This bonus soul stuck in her chest better do its part.
Josh. His shaggy black hair and goofy grin stole to the forefront of her mind. She could do this for him. And, fuck it, she could do it for her, too. Resolve firmly set, Callie released and closed the door, and made a beeline to the Gem City Police Department Substation Eight’s side entrance.
The grey slacks and blue polo she wore—an IT person costume—shifted to muted oranges under the bulb at the access door. The camera mounted above the door didn’t pan at her approach. That had to be a good sign, right? Ford’s key card slid from her pocket with ease—at least the inanimate objects were on board with this mission—and after a quick tap against the electronic plate the door buzzed in approval. Was it wrong to hope Ford’s card wouldn’t work? He couldn’t have blamed her for failing if the tools he’d given her were fucked, could he? Didn’t matter; now it really was on her.
Focus, Callie, she thought to herself.
She stepped into the empty hallway, and the door slammed behind her with an echo that must have carried for miles. The hallway was blessedly empty, so no one caught her jumping at the sound. Dropping her guard because the police wouldn’t have forensic—and hopefully not photographic—evidence of their burglar wasn’t an option, though. Refocusing, she pictured the blueprints in her mind.
Callie hurried forward at the speed of a mall walker: clearly not running, but moving fast enough to make people wonder what was wrong with her and didn’t she know they had gyms for that kind of shit. IT people always seemed like the high-strung types who’d run to solve problems anyway, so maybe she was doing a good job playing the part. She’d never seen one at the retirement home, but made-for-TV movies had taught her a lot.
This couldn’t be a real police station, could it? It was too quiet, even at one a.m. While reviewing plans last night, Derek told her the four cars she’d see in the parking lot without police signage belonged to the medical examiner’s team members and the on-duty security. The dead bodies were in the basement, he’d said. Avoiding the living was going to be hard enough, but knowing there were a bunch of dead people just mere steps from her was an aneurysm waiting to happen. And with Derek out of the equation, the planned distractions he would have provided were gone, and they wouldn’t have been able to cover her for passing out and twitching on the floor anyway. Why didn’t she let him come with her again? Damn sense of honor. It better not get her killed.
It didn’t take Callie more than twenty seconds to reach the security checkpoint after entering the building. Despite Ford’s initial description, though, it wasn’t the front desk. There was a small Plexiglas door, about hip high, partitioning the entrance from the main working area. The door was open already, but there was still a policeman sitting at the table adjacent.
He rubbed his right eye as though it’d remove the evidence he’d been desk napping. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh, I just need to pick up a couple files.”
“Isn’t a little late for paperwork?” His question wasn’t cutting, but instead was full of unsuspecting sympathy.
“Not my choice, but you know how it goes.” The truth sprang to Callie’s lips.
“I do, honey. Head on back. If you need anything, my name’s Vic.”
“Thanks, Vic.” She might have said more—to be more friendly or normal or whatever—but fear and elation at having not yet fucked everything up would have made her sound manic if she’d replied. Crazy, squeaky women were probably memorable, and Callie was determined to be nothing more than a figment of his late-shift dreams, the kind he’d forget by the next morning.
Once she walked past Vic’s desk, noting the frat-boy comedy flick he had playing on a phone propped on his desk, the end of the hallway was ten feet ahead. Peeking around the corner would be weird—she’d survived her first face-to-face encounter, hadn’t she?—but going into this blind was too stressful. She slowed near the corner, and leaned around the edge as surreptitiously as she could. There was no SWAT team waiting for her. Hell, there wasn’t even one of those slow Romero-type zombies. She righted herself and made the left turn.
The placard reading SERVER ROOM made the door easy to find. Gem City PD was not bringing its A game to protecting its citizens’ data. The servers inside stored court case data, police records, and research. Lots and lots of it. Once she returned to the side of the lawful, she would totally be writing the governor about this kind of lax security. Provided she didn’t get caught, of course.
The keypad above the door’s handle lit as she pressed the first button. Six numbers later, she was still outside the door. Shit. This was Zara’s fault. Callie had the numbers memorized forward and backward before her mom blustered into her apartment. Now the sequence was like one of those words that was right on the tip of your tongue, but no matter how hard you focused, you just couldn’t remember. Such bullshit.
Callie sighed, and checked both directions in the hallway before trying again. She was still alone, but for how much longer? Would a movie keep Vic from checking on her? She had ten minutes to work with when she left the car, but her dumb ass hadn’t checked the time again when she got inside. This was why the mafia should have used a professional. An expert would know to synchronize watches, set an egg timer, or something else useful.
Thank God the keypad didn’t have one of those three-strikes-on-your-code-and-you’re-permanently-locked-out “security” features. Eight tries later, the door finally opened. 5-0-9-7-2-9. She slipped through the open doorway, letting a quick sigh of relief escape her parted lips, and closed the door carefully behind her.
Callie walked to the third server rack on the right and plugged in the little black drive Ford had provided into the port on the side. When the light started blinking green, she moved on. Technology had a touch of magic. It didn’t matter how that drive worked, she was going to leave it there until the light turned yellow. In the meantime, she needed to find the right paper files. Luckily the city had doubled up on storage, and the left side of the room was stacked with grey file cabinets like the ones they’d had at her high school’s principal’s office. Not that she’d been there often.
That’s where her good luck ended though. The administrative assistants for the police force weren’t all that organized. In the fourth cabinet’s third drawer, Callie found a hefty folder labeled “DNA Soul Pairing.” Sounded accurate enough. She pulled the two-inch thick folder free, surprised it took both hands to lift out.
Her focus was trampled as what sounded like a stampede thundered past the storage room’s door. It was so startling she almost dropped the papers she was holding. Masculine voices called to “get the gurney” and “rally at door four.” Their words didn’t mean anything to her, but she needed them to go in the opposite direction of her exit. Not that she knew which door number that was. The footsteps echoed for days, or maybe it was just seconds, she was too scared to tell. She needed out.
An invisible hand squeezed her throat. She ignored her tightening airway and ran to the servers. Pinning the bulky file under her arm, Callie extracted the drive from the rack and mouthed a silent thank you at the yellow light that had greeted her. The heat the device generated as she slipped into her pocket was too familiar. She wasn’t extracting souls from delinquent clients, but she was still taking something important, something that wasn’t hers and would greatly be missed. Was this who she was now?
She stepped outside the storage room, the snick of the lock barely registering in her ears as the door closed behind her. She needed to get her ass out of the police station as fast as possible, and without attracting the attention of whoever had stormed past a few minutes earlier. She rounded the corner, the one leading back outside.
“Hey!” a male voice called out. Vic wasn’t at his desk. His phone wasn’t on the desk, either. A smoke break now, Vic, really? The exit at the end of the hallway now felt much, much farther away. Her muscles twitched as the flight-or-fight instinct surged inside her.
Callie managed to make herself pause, though she couldn’t control the subtle shake of her knees. “Yeah?” Containing the squeak of her vocal cords was impossible as well.
She was almost to the guard station. To where Vic should have been. How many steps until she was back outside? Twenty? Twenty-five?
“Where are you headed with that?” The short-sleeved white button-down the man wore strained over his potbelly. The sight was both comforting and unnerving. He didn’t look like a cop. Who was he, and what was he doing here?
“I need to review these notes for my boss,” she fibbed. It worked with Vic. She should have stopped there, but her ballsy attempt at confidence made her talkative. “You know how he can be.”
The man narrowed his eyes at her. “What’s your name? Have we met?”
Should she lie or tell the truth? Both had the potential for disastrous consequences. Plus the threat there might be an actual police officer in the building chipped at what little swagger she had left. “I don’t know if we’ve met before.” She took a step toward the exit. If she sprinted, she thought, doing the rough math in her head, she could be there in five seconds.
He followed her movements. His strides were longer than hers. He was too close. “What’s your name?” he prompted again.
“Eve,” she blurted. Not entirely a lie. IT Girl Callie would have gone by her middle name. Probably.
“Doesn’t ring a bell.” He stepped toward her again, and she backed away until her shoulder blades bumped against the cool wall. He edged in close, and glared down his nose at her. She hated when assholes used their height to get all bossy.
Her fingertips began to sizzle. Great. He was a soul renter to boot. Even in the goddamn police station, she couldn’t avoid them.
“If you were reviewing a file from that room for a boss, I’d be that boss,” he hissed. Spittle landed on her cheek and turned to steam immediately. His eyes widened. “And I don’t remember giving anyone an assignment like that.”
Callie had managed to keep the file pinned against her ribs with her forearm and elbow, which was wise, as her hands had gone full on molten. Only three inches separated their torsos, but she lifted her left hand between them. She could feel the heat radiating, and the quiver in his voice suggested he could as well. “What are you doing? What’s going on?” he sputtered.
She slammed her palm into his chest and shoved him as hard as she could. It wasn’t much, but when one wielded pure fire, force wasn’t a big factor. The man stumbled back a few feet, smacking open palms at his burning shirt. The outline of a black handprint was charred into the fabric. Like he’d been touched by the devil. Her lips pulled away from her teeth in a feral smile.
The door at the end of the hallway flung open, and Callie turned to face whatever backup had arrived. She just hadn’t expected it to be her backup.
“Doll! We need to go!” Derek’s voice pierced her adrenaline-addled mind. She ran for him, her mind reeling at how he could even be at the station. Was the cocktail of adrenaline and guilt making her hallucinate?
Within ten steps her magical flame had been fully extinguished. The flames on her attacker’s shirt had gone out, too, but as for the extent of the burns? Well, maybe he shouldn’t corner unknown women if he didn’t want them to buck back. Derek looked past Callie at the man. He didn’t say a word, and the two of them ran out of the door, across the street, and hopped in her car.
Smart guy. If he didn’t flinch at that, and still wanted to save her, maybe he wouldn’t judge her for torturing Tess. If he could get past that whole slipping him a narcotic thing.
Each heartbeat throbbed in Callie’s neck, as though it pressed against unseen bruises. Only her own mind could conjure enough fear to attempt to choke her out. Maybe it wasn’t loyalty that ran in the family, but insanity. She leaned her head against the headrest of the passenger’s seat. Her pulse was too quick, and no matter how many deep breaths she took it refused to slow.
Derek had already put the car in drive and was pushing the gas pedal down by the time Callie gasped in a few lungfuls of air. She finally asked, “How are you—”
“How am I here?” Derek’s words cut.
She nodded, keeping her gaze straight ahead of her.
“You mean after you tried to drug me?” There it was, the verbal knife he deserved to use, pressing deep between her ribs.
Squeezing her eyes tight wouldn’t make her problems disappear, nor would cradling her legs against her chest. She did both, anyway, and hoped her self-hatred might cocoon her in invisibility. She barely parted her lips to speak. “I needed to save you from me.”
His laugh could have punched a hole in a wall. “Did I ask you to save me?”
She popped her head up from her knees. “No, but I didn’t ask for it either, and I can’t let you fuck up your life on my account.”
“We talked about this. I make my own decisions.” A breeze of comprehension had cooled his fire.
“Well, I’m a shit choice. The last thing I want to do is pull you into Ford’s mess.”
“He won’t touch me.”
“You sound confident, but I never thought I’d be in his world, either. Then he kidnapped my brother and threatened me with knives. Things change, and I wasn’t going to let you fall into that, too.”
“Have I not proven myself trustworthy?” He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. “Fuck. How many times do I have to say I’ve got your back until you believe it?”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you. There are things about me you don’t know, and once you find them out, you won’t want to have risked your life on my account.”
His large, heavy hand landed on her knee. “Baggage is part of who we are. If I knew your secrets already I’d be some sneaky fuck. I’m not, but I’m also okay with you keeping some secrets until you’re comfortable.”
“Oh.”
“But I am not—seriously, Callie—not okay with being drugged.”
“Right. Won’t happen again.” She winced and let her words drip with sincerity. “How’d you come to so fast anyway?”
“Charmer’s healing stuff is still working. Burned it off fast.”
They were quiet for a moment. The matter wasn’t closed. He’d need to talk more. She needed to talk more. They weren’t dissolving just yet.
The bonus soul didn’t make her feel any better about her behavior. It didn’t mask her pain. Perhaps one had to want to accept its benefits for it to work. Its power depended on how much you believed in it. She’d let part of another person inside her, to forever taint her, to cover up her crime. To blur the evidence she’d left at the crime scene. She had to trust it had worked, because the other promises associated with soul renting, like feeling moral freedom, sure as shit weren’t legit.
Derek’s fingers thrummed on the steering wheel.
“Why doesn’t this—” she tapped her chest “—absolve my guilt?”
He pursed his lips. Was he locking away secrets she’d have to earn back access to, or contemplating the question? The muscle in his jaw ticked several times before he finally spoke with the gravelly timbre she was accustomed to. “No clue. I mean, I don’t know the metaphysical shit that goes on with the Charmer, but normally there’s—I don’t know—an added energy, I guess.”
“Like Bianca?” Life had practically shot from that woman’s pores.
“That was like soul energy on steroids, but yeah, kind of.”
“Oh.” The extra soul in Callie’s body wasn’t yielding any exuberance. Her attempts to look inward and channel her inner monk hadn’t resulted in new energy or life, or even a scrap of vitality, as far as she could tell.
“The other magic might override it.” Derek acted like it was a long shot, but he understood how quickly Callie’s life had gone from moderately to fully fucked. He was grasping at straws, just like she was.
“That guy saw me. He’s going to remember me.”
“He’s not going to talk.”
“How can you know that?”
“It’ll be handled. Besides, he’s going to remember the injury and not your face. They always do.”
So he had seen the burn she’d given the man. “My real fingerprints and DNA could be back at the police station.”
Derek’s eyes narrowed at her nonchalance. “No, the soul rental hasn’t failed before. It won’t fail now.”
“I don’t buy that, but nice try.” She wanted to be rid of this soul, the magic, and the information she stole for Ford. The sooner she cut ties to it all, the better.
“Press your thumb on the screen of your phone and see what it looks like.” He punctuated his instructions with a “just do it” look, as if to say that if Callie wanted to salvage things between them, arguing wasn’t going to help.
“People don’t memorize their fingerprints. How would I know if it’s different?”
“Indulge me.”
She picked up the phone, exaggerating the action, aware of her petulance but unable to help herself. After pressing her thumb against the glass, she tilted the screen to catch the light. “Okay, that’s fucking weird.”
“What?”
“Look.”
“I’m driving,” he growled. They were a block from her apartment.
“It’s all zigzags.”
He opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “No swirls?” he finally asked.
“No. It looks like what some kid would make up for an alien. Like Charlie Brown’s shirt as fingerprints.” It had actually worked. Falling down the magical well hadn’t been for nothing. She’d escaped without leaving fingerprint or DNA evidence. Now all she had to do was get her brother back, ditch the soul magic, and hope the douche from the police station couldn’t identify her. Callie let out a little laugh.
Derek didn’t miss the weird, maniacal tinge to her voice. “You going to be okay?”
He gave her hand a quick squeeze, and it helped to ground her.
“I have no idea how to answer that question.” At least she was being honest.
He nodded, but it was more like he was sussing out his own thoughts and finding them agreeable. “Fair enough,” he said.
The faint buzzing in her ears dulled and then disappeared as her panic level dropped to the safe-and-rational zone. “All the cameras were turned away,” she reminded herself.
The corded muscles lining Derek’s forearms eased. Her frenzied edge had cut him more than he was likely to admit. When all this shit was properly handled, she would do her best to make it all up to him. “I heard you called in a favor. I made sure the tapes are now gone, too.”
Callie’s eyebrows shot up. At least it was a pleasant surprise.
“Just minimizing risk,” he grumbled, the low pitch suggesting it was no big deal. A soft pink color tinged his skin, slinking up from the collar of his jacket. By the time it had reached his cheekbones in a full blush, her abdomen had unclenched and her breathing returned to normal again. Leave it to Derek to distract her from her fears with his own discomfort.
How did one thank the person who’d protected them to such ridiculous extremes? You didn’t see loyalty and care like that outside of blood relations, and yet he’d done it for her. Despite the drugging incident she wasn’t sure she’d ever live down, he’d come through for her. He was still at her side. She wasn’t his family, and she wasn’t deluded enough to think it was all because of her badass bedroom skills. Nobody was a good enough lay to warrant committing multiple felonies and earning the ire of a mafia boss. And yet. How had she earned such devotion? Tonight she’d risked the life she’d carefully crafted to help her big brother. It’s not like she was unfamiliar with behaving idiotically for the sake of others. Only family, though. Was this what happened when you let people in? No, she’d tried that at the hospital. They’d wanted her to disavow her brother. Derek guarded her.
This time it was she who reached for him. His thigh muscles twitched when her palm rested atop his jeans, as though jumping to greet her like a Labrador left at home all day. “Thanks,” she whispered.
“A little to the left would be a really nice thank you.”