—— CHAPTER SEVEN ——
The second day in the soul business had to be better than the first. Right? If Callie helped collect even a single soul, she’d be ahead of the game. Derek had spent their meal convincing her that the more they got shit done, the less they’d need to deal directly with the Soul Charmer. That’s about all it took to get her to climb onto the back of his motorcycle again, and go for round two.
“I’d like to avoid bar fights tonight, too, if that’s an option,” she said while handing over her helmet. He’d parked the bike near a street light with a cluster of three frosted bulbs. The Eastender District’s traditional adobe buildings often made tourists think they were in the Plaza, but they wouldn’t find the Basilica or the Governor’s mansion anywhere nearby. The wear on the buildings and the cracked cobalt tiles near storefronts should have clued them in. It wasn’t as downtrodden as last night’s locale, but Callie’d bet the house they weren’t going to find their first collection target in the Ritz, either.
“Don’t be stealing the fun from the job, doll.” His wry grin bolstered her confidence a smidge.
“We’ll see,” she muttered.
He lifted his chin toward a bail bondsman’s office. “Can’t promise there won’t be brawls in there, but there should be less booze.”
She followed him toward the building. “This person has a bond out on them? Isn’t that, like, toeing too closely to trouble?” She thought about the job Ford expected her to complete in two weeks. The flip of her stomach almost made her regret the patty melt.
“Nah, Nicole works here.”
Derek switched gears, adopting a saunter a few yards from the door. He timed it perfectly, just as he and Callie walked past the first pane of glass for Gem City Bonds. The entire storefront was covered in floor-to-ceiling windows. It might have looked nice, if not for the wrought iron bars spanning each pane. Better black bars than bricks through your windows. They reached the front door, but Derek stilled Callie’s hand when she reached for the handle.
She furrowed her brows, but gave him space as he rapped his knuckles against the door. A moment later, the camera mounted above the doorframe panned toward them with a dull hum. Derek smiled up at it, oozing charm. She told herself she’d never trust a grin like that, but she also doubted her knees would remain solid if he ever turned it on her.
Inside her coat pocket, Callie took hold of the flask. Soft warmth emanated from the stone inlay at her touch, but as a short, curvy blonde came to the door her fingers began to sizzle. The heavy application of kohl around the woman’s eyes didn’t hide the charcoal underscores or the hollowing below her cheekbones. The blonde shot Callie a curious look before stepping out to join them on the sidewalk.
She would have given her a doubly dirty one if she’d known what Callie had been thinking. Her fingers had started to tingle as soon as Nicole had opened the door, and as the heat rushed to fill her palms and her grip tightened on the flask, Callie knew Nicole had a bonus soul wedged beneath her pushup bra. She really was not the bail lady’s biggest fan.
“Hey, Derek,” Nicole cooed. They were on a first-name basis. Great.
“Time to return it.” No matter how benign the phrase was, dark menace laced Derek’s words.
Callie’s fingers tried to burrow into the onyx of the soul canister in her hand until they burned. If only she could make herself believe it was a lava rock and not her hand heating the stone.
Nicole brushed a hand along Derek’s sleeve. A bold move when you were blocking a big man from doing his job. He shot a pleading glance Callie’s way. It was so quick, she was almost convinced she’d imagined it. Still, her fingers ached and she wasn’t enjoying watching the soul renter in front of her get her flirt on. Callie pulled the flask from her pocket.
“I sure wouldn’t mind keeping it a little longer, help take the edge of stress off another day. I could come meet you downtown after work, you know, to return it and we could grab a drink,” Nicole purred.
Callie decided it would be a good time to join the conversation. “We’ve got shit to do.”
Nicole blinked, as though she’d forgotten Callie was even there.
“And you are—” the questioning tone was cut off as Callie smacked the open flask against Nicole’s sternum. The woman’s face paled, but Callie’s palm immediately began to cool and feeling quickly returned to her fingers. As the magic metal-and-stone container did its thing, a fluttering sensation blossomed in her sternum. It was as though feathers were grazing the insides of her rib cage. Unnerving, but also … reassuring? She pulled the flask back, capped it, and looked at Derek.
He was beaming. Not the smarmy Rico Suave look he’d given the camera earlier, but a “you’ve got to be shitting me” grin. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and that didn’t have a thing to do with soul magic. Callie averted her gaze and, thankfully, the blood rush quelled.
Derek stepped backward a couple paces, ready to beat feet. “Thanks, Nicole, but I think we’re all set here. See you next time.”
Nicole’s cheeks regained a hint of color, but she didn’t say anything as he moved away. She cast a bewildered gaze in Callie’s direction, but Callie was more worried about following her ride than the spurned soul renter.
They hurried toward his bike, and as Callie neared him she heard him mutter, “Can’t keep her damn hands to herself.”
“Not your favorite client?” Callie asked, not bothering to hide her amusement.
“None of them are my clients.” He scrubbed his hand against his bicep, as though to remove the memory of her touch.
“That’s not really an answer.” One really shouldn’t poke at lumbering beasts, but sometimes the temptation was too much.
He rounded on her. “No, I don’t like her. Better?”
No, his answer didn’t give her enough. He was the Charmer’s thug. Why would he let her manhandle him if he didn’t like it?
As if he could read her thoughts, he added, “Not everyone needs a rough touch to return what’s ours.”
Callie bet that woman wouldn’t have minded a rough touch from Derek. And he sure as hell hadn’t given McCabe the soft sell the night before. Goddamn it, heat was flooding her cheeks again. Luckily, they’d reached Derek’s bike and he was already strapping on his helmet. Callie put hers on as well, and willed herself to stop thinking about the pleasurable ways Derek could be rough. She’d watched him flip into violent mode in a split second, and he could do the same with charm. Maybe her trust in him was less warranted. The thought slowed her thundering heart.
Callie didn’t bother asking where they were going, or who the next target was. She slung her leg over the motorcycle and scooted closer to him. She tried to take his strength via hug osmosis again, but it wasn’t the same. Her mind buzzed with new questions about Derek, the business, and, most of all, its clients. What was Nicole’s deal? She didn’t work in the noblest profession or the nicest area, but that meant exactly jack shit. Callie made food for old people and got paid fifty cents above minimum wage. Though, her pay was set to bump up another quarter if she made it to the end of the year. If, you know, she didn’t get arrested working for the Soul Charmer, or Ford, or Lord knew whom else.
Derek drove them to the Arts District. Banners proclaiming new shows by local painters hung from lampposts, while sandwich boards atop the brick sidewalk directed tourists to the brochure-worthy galleries. Callie hadn’t been in the area, other than passing through, in years. Hell, the last time she’d visited the district she wasn’t old enough to drive.
He parked the motorcycle beneath an iron street lamp. Its safety was less in jeopardy here than any of the other places they’d visited thus far. She dismounted and tried to guess their next stop. The Sofia Museum was across the street. The wide windows set into whitewashed building turned grandiose under floodlights. The twenty-four-hour security was merely a shadow at the structure’s corner. It displayed local art, and served wine. She’d never been there. The Gem Museum was on the next block. The name confused the hell out of tourists. It wasn’t one for fans of rocks and minerals. Instead it showcased relics from the Native American tribe on the nearby pueblo.
Callie’d visited several times on field trips as a kid. Josh hadn’t attended those, so few memories stuck, but she did remember asking a teacher why they didn’t name the museum after the people whose work it proudly displayed. She’d been chided for her “rude question.” As an adult, she’d guess the name had more to do with city officials being dicks than anything else. If one thing was consistent in Gem City, it was that the politicians weren’t the most upright folk. The fact they could partake in the Soul Charmer’s services now wasn’t likely to help matters. If proof soul magic facilitated crime finally made it to the legislature, Gem City would go downhill fast. How quickly would the church extricate itself?
“What’s next?” Callie asked, mostly to distract herself. It was that or ogle Derek, and given their current situation, that wasn’t going to help anyone.
“We find Casey.” He loped off to the north, away from the Gem Museum. When Callie didn’t immediately follow, he reached back to grab her hand, pulling her forward. When she reached his side, he threw his arm across her shoulders. The leather of his jacket pressed against the nape of her neck, covering the gap where a scarf would have warmed her, if she’d thought to wear one. The weight pressed down on her shoulders, but somehow it made her want to stand taller. Safety wasn’t so simple for her, but on this street, right now, no one would touch her.
“She an artist? Hard to picture how borrowing a soul could help anyone be creative. It’s not like injecting yourself with a muse, right?” She willed her voice to stay steady.
“First, Casey is a guy. Second, he’s not an artist, though I bet he’d say he were if he could get a peek at your panties in return.”
Callie’s pace slowed, and she started to sputter. Before she could protest her virtues or whatever she thought would save the discussion, Derek continued. “Finally, no, souls don’t make you creative or a genius or whatever, but don’t tell them that. Assholes try it all the time, get addicted to the freedom, and the Charmer charges ’em double.”
“Oh.” She liked being in on the secret. Dopes being robbed for their own greed and stupidity didn’t exactly earn her pity. “What kind of freedom?”
“When the fear of eternal consequences disappears, it opens a lot of doors. We’re a fucking guilty lot.”
Wasn’t that the truth? “But what if you don’t buy into the whole heaven thing?”
He cocked a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me brow and shook his head. “Do you really think anyone in Gem City is denying the church’s truth?”
“Doesn’t matter what we say aloud. I’m talking true belief.”
“We have souls. It’s a fact. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t. I don’t know what happens after death, but I do know that I’ve never met a person who rented a soul who said they didn’t like getting to be someone else.”
“Does it really make you into a different person?” Renting one of these things better not change her. Callie didn’t always love who she was, but she trusted herself more than anyone else. To thine own self be true and such.
“Nah. You’re still you.”
“So what’s the point then? Placebo effect?”
“It really doesn’t mark your soul. From what I’ve learned working for the Charmer, the shit that makes it hard to fall asleep at night, those niggling thoughts, they don’t dig in the same way as they would if you were sinning on your own soul.”
He didn’t elaborate further, and maybe he couldn’t. She wasn’t about to bulldoze the foundations of friendship they’d constructed by prying.
After a moment, Callie accepted the subject was closed. “Well, where do we find Casey?”
“His girlfriend serves bar at the cafe on the corner. If Casey isn’t there, Phoebe will know where he is.”
“You think she’ll give him up to you?”
“Phoebe is not a fan of soul magic. You have that in common with her.”
Callie shrugged.
“Why are you so bent on getting a soul from the Charmer when you hate the magic so much?” His gaze burned into her. Callie studiously focused on the cracks and poor patch-jobs in the sidewalk’s aging concrete.
She opened her mouth to answer, but what was she supposed to say? There was the temptation to tell him the truth, to expose the guilt laid deep inside her gut, and to explain why she owed it to her brother to do this. But while Derek was off to a start as her safety net in this world of soul rental and magic, that didn’t mean she needed to fork over all her secrets after less than forty-eight hours of nonstop trust exercises. She was trust-falled out.
“Family first,” was all she said.
His brows furrowed, and he offered her the disappointed grunt. He didn’t push, though. Smart man.
Callie eyed the glass case filled with pie when they entered Café on the Square, but Derek offered a dude-bro two finger wave to the bartender. He received a nod in kind from the petite woman with chubby cheeks. The café balanced 1950s diner aesthetics with a gluttonous dose of jalapenos, chiles, and fried eggs. As they bellied up to the bar, the faint lines at the corners of Phoebe’s eyes became more visible, but her baby face still had to make most do a double take when seeing her sling tequila. Probably also earned her hella tips. More power to the woman.
“Casey around?” Derek’s tone was casual, but the tension holding his shoulders locked back still evoked a threat. Or at least the potential for one.
“He’s smoking. Should be back in a minute.” Phoebe removed a table tent offering last call on Hatch chile specials, wiped the counter in front of Callie with a damp rag, and then placed a small, square cocktail napkin down. This was much better than last night’s bar debacle. “What can I get you?”
Callie shook her head to decline. A clean countertop was nice, but she wasn’t ready to chat with these people. Phoebe looked nice enough, but the more they knew her, the more she was truly involved. Smacking a flask to people’s chests and walking away was probably safest.
“Why don’t you make us both the house margarita?” Derek suggested. He then looked at Callie and, mostly to himself, said, “You take salt? Nah, you don’t.”
“Two margaritas, no salt?” Phoebe’s gaze pinged from Callie to Derek and back again like they were pillars in a pinball machine and someone was racking up points. Callie couldn’t help the girl figure them out. This dynamic was too fucked.
Callie shrugged. She didn’t like salt, but what about her screamed anti-sodium? Their bartender moved around behind the counter and flexed her drink-making skills with tidy efficiency. When Derek’s lips unexpectedly grazed her ear, Callie jumped a little. The reaction was enough to elicit a little, pleased grunt from the man.
“Figured a stiff drink would help calm some of the nerves,” he whispered.
“Do I look nervous?”
He must have mulled the question for thirty seconds, but he kept his mouth next to her ear the entire time. “Not nervous. Uncomfortable.”
“And you want to comfort me.”
His grunt said yes, but the words that followed were more complicated. “Adjusting to the magic, this lifestyle ain’t easy. It’s not fair to throw you in the deep end, and hope you know more than a doggy paddle. Just want to help, doll.”
Callie wasn’t ready to deal with the implications. Did he sympathize or pity her? Did he actually have issues with this situation on her behalf? Was he working some sort of con on her? “Why do you call me that?”
“What?”
“‘Doll.’”
He hiked his huge shoulders up in an exaggerated “whatever” move. The move made him look like a teenager, and Callie smiled. “Feels right,” he said. “Plus, I figure you don’t want me using your name in public.”
If this was a con, it was working.
Phoebe set their drinks on the counter, and then moved to help another customer. Her diligence earned her some kind words at the other end of the bar, but Callie quickly began to suspect the hustle was more about avoiding Derek’s questions than upping her tips.
Derek pulled away from Callie, and settled himself on a black cushioned stool. Callie sat, too, and gave her margarita a cursory sip. Derek had called the concoction a stiff drink. He was right. It was heavy on tequila, and Callie relished the momentary burning of her sinuses when she took a longer pull. The familiar sensation hadn’t changed since she’d had her first taste of the liquor.
Josh had gone through a baseball phase when Callie was fifteen. She’d nipped out of school early to drive down the mountain for the minor league game with him. He’d placed an Isotopes cap on her head and tucked a mini-bar bottle of tequila in her pocket. She’d coughed and sputtered at her first covert swig in the stands. Josh laughed conspiratorially and slapped her on the back. Then they’d sipped their contraband drinks and hollered at the opposing team for hours. She’d felt brave and grown-up that day—more so than managing the bills had ever done. Like being an adult could be an escape, and not just a litany of responsibilities. When Josh was sober again, she told herself, she’d take him to a game. Minus the booze.
“Our man is here.” Derek had flipped to his scary, gruff voice. Callie should have been more unnerved than she was that she could recognize the difference.
She would give this target credit: He didn’t turn tail upon spotting Derek at the bar. His footsteps slowed, but he continued his initial trajectory. Derek stood, and indicated Casey should take his freshly vacated seat. What was Callie supposed to do, stand? They hadn’t discussed protocol for this. A list of basic rules of engagement for dealing with those who didn’t return rented souls would have been nice. So, not knowing what else to do, she remained seated, but put her glass back on the bar. The last thing she needed was for her fingers to go all icicle-like and drop the booze in her lap. Party fouls were much worse in mixed company, at work, and when you weren’t even drunk. She’d hit the trifecta if she flubbed here.
Casey followed Derek’s instructions with obvious false bravado. “Long time, no see, bro.”
The whites of Casey’s eyes were milky, but Derek met them without flinching.
“That’s true. Usually you’re better about coming back to the Charmer’s.” Derek sounded like a disappointed older brother. Callie was all too familiar with the tone.
“I meant to, really, but you know how it goes.” How had Casey landed a girl like Phoebe with game that bad?
Callie slid her hand into her pocket and thumbed the flask. It might have hummed under her touch, but she wasn’t willing to say it was anything more than her imagination yet.
“I don’t, actually. Why don’t you tell me?” Derek’s frustration began to show. Or was that part of his game, too, like the charisma with the bail bonds woman earlier?
Casey opened his mouth to offer additional bullshit—his cheekbones threatening to pop through his too-taut skin—when Callie realized Casey was only a foot and a half away from her, but her hands weren’t heating. In fact, they were getting colder. Wasn’t he supposed to have a borrowed soul inside him? What. The. Fuck.
“He doesn’t have it,” she said, mostly swearing to herself. She let go of the flask, which was frigid in her grip.
Derek tensed as he saw Casey’s eyes go wide and fists clench. Callie rose. If this was going to get messy, she wanted to be solidly planted on her Chucks.
Casey had one foot off the floor, in an obvious attempt to scramble backward, when Derek’s meaty hand grabbed him by the front of the shirt. The gingham fabric twisted into a ball of blue wrapped around the collector’s fist. “Care to explain?”
“Who’s she? You going to trust some rando?”
Derek thrust the arm holding Casey outward, and then yanked him in close. “I asked you a question.”
Callie preened at how Derek had kept her concealed. She wasn’t dumb. She wasn’t exactly hidden in this half-filled café. But they didn’t know her secrets or who she was or what she might be to Derek. A breath had caught in her throat when Derek had let loose his anger, but now her breath was steady again as a veil of acceptance draped over the violence. It should have been concerning, but her options for security were getting smaller by the day. Better to be on the side of the Big Bad Wolf than left meandering with all the sheep.
“He gave it to someone else.” Phoebe had leaned in, her voice dropped low, without skimping on the vehemence. Callie was ninety percent sure that was because Casey was causing a scene at her work. She understood the irritation. Josh had pulled a similar stunt back when she’d still been at the hospital.
Derek didn’t loosen his hold on Casey, but he did lower his hand so the guy could relax a touch. Well, as much as one could in the face of imminent bodily harm. Derek nodded toward the bartender. “Talk.”
When he went monosyllabic, he was in work mode. Callie’s trust in him bumped up at the realization. She’d gotten him to talk.
“Don’t get involved—” Casey started to say, but Derek cut him off with a rapid shake. The soul renter’s teeth gnashed together in a clank that turned Callie’s stomach.
“If I do, will you let him go?” Phoebe asked.
“Depends on what you say.” That was a no.
“That Tess something-or-other has been around here lately. You know the one.”
Callie didn’t, but Derek nodded.
“She acts like she’s hawking her frou-frou massage business, but our clientele ain’t much for woo-woo shit.”
Callie glanced around the room. Despite being in the arts district, work boots outpaced sandals three to one in the corner café. When Phoebe didn’t elaborate, Derek turned his gaze back toward Casey. “Care to add anything?”
“No,” the man squeaked.
“Wrong answer.” Derek stalked toward the door, dragging Casey along with him.
Phoebe hurried through the gate at the bar and rushed to block Derek from exiting. Whether she was brave or stupid, the lady had stones. Casey saw her coming, though, and finally piped up. “She wants souls.”
“You didn’t give her yours, though. You gave her ours.” Derek’s hiss conjured images of the Soul Charmer and his reptilian movements. Callie swallowed. Hard.
“She didn’t want mine, man.” Casey’s voice grew louder, his words now clumsy yelps.
Derek frowned. Callie should have waited for him to ask the obvious question, but apparently her mouth had other plans. “What’s wrong with yours? Every soul has its uses.” Fuck. Now she sounded like she was with the Soul Charmer.
Casey’s eyes darted between Callie and Derek, unsure of who to address. “She wanted the other one.”
His fear was so heavy it nearly turned the air rancid. There had to be more. “Why?”
“Fine, bitch. She wanted the Charmer’s soul.”
Derek sucker-punched Casey in the gut. The guy gasped and floundered as he fought for air. When he started to regain composure, Derek let go of his shirt, only to promptly throw a jab right at Casey’s nose. It snapped with a soft crack, and the power of the hit sent him flying to his back.
Derek took Callie’s hand. “We should go now, doll.”
As they sidestepped Casey’s bloody form, Callie quietly asked, “He gave us answers. Honest ones, I think. Why’d you hit him?”
“He disrespected you.”
“Oh.” Callie’s nape heated, and she licked her lips. Yes, definitely better to be on the side of the Big Bad Wolf.
Outside, the evening air had shifted from crisp to almost-winter cold. The mountains in the distance would be capped with snow tomorrow morning. Derek kept hold of her hand. The earlier wind from the day had died, and the rich moisture in the air wasn’t even close to enough to combat her simmering emotions.
They retraced their steps, walking back toward a cluster of art galleries. His motorcycle was monstrous, lit beneath the streetlight. The lamp’s glow only magnified the bike’s wicked black lines and feral glint. She’d never been a motorcycle person, but she’d make an exception for Derek’s. She stole a glance at Derek. He’d locked his jaw, the act making his cheekbone more prominent in profile.
“What’s next?”
His face relaxed when she spoke. Enjoying his reaction seemed normal to Callie. Acceptable, even. The bad guy was on her side—probably—which made him the good guy. For now. Lord, why was she so flustered?
“One more pick-up, and then I need to ask some more questions about Tess.”
“You say her name like you know her.” Unexpected jealousy tinged the words. How embarrassing.
He gave an amused grunt. “Not like that, doll.”
“Whatever. You do know her, and how to find her, right?” Callie blustered through the words as though it would make him forget the why-not-me from the first time she’d asked.
“Not exactly. I’m familiar with her, but she’s adept at only being found on her terms.”
That was a question dodge if Callie had ever heard one. “What exactly does that mean?”
“She makes a point of only being around when she’s expecting people, and she’s not too keen on taking appointments from the Charmer’s crew.” The edge of his upper lip lifted, the sneer more prizefighter than blues crooner.
“You can just say it’s woo-woo magic shit.” And they weren’t magical. Mostly.
His grin overwhelmed her. “She’s very much about the ‘woo-woo magic shit.’”
“Then can’t the Charmer handle her?”
“Not that simple. He ran her out of Gem City a couple years ago.”
“Ran her out?”
“You could say it’s a territorial business.” The brutal truth tiptoed between the lines. “No clue what Tess is up to, though, because last night was the first I’ve heard of anyone other than the Charmer within fifteen hundred miles being able to work real soul magic.”
“There are lots of ads—”
“You didn’t go to anyone else,” he cut her off.
“True. Doesn’t mean they aren’t legit.”
“I’m telling you. They aren’t. Little shit is easy, but grappling with pulling and pushing souls requires a long apprenticeship and a whole lot of dark dealings. Neither the Charmer or I believed Tess had next-level skill.”
Derek didn’t have to tell Callie the Soul Charmer wasn’t going to be pleased with the news. She didn’t want to be the one to tell him. “Why not?”
“She sucks chi.”
“Excuse me?” Was that a magic slur? Hadn’t that massage therapist at the home said something about balancing chakras? If Ford’s spy dabbled in soul magic, he was even more of a threat than Callie had originally thought. No wonder he wanted those police files.
“She tells people she can cleanse their bodies of toxins, purify them, shit like that, but her magic is more about siphoning their energy instead. She gives them a massage like any other asshole in town, but in the process steals bits of their souls or shoves extra souls into their bodies. From what I’ve heard, it’s like a life force dialysis.”
“Ew. What’s she get out of it?”
“Same thing every magic user does: power.”
A bolt of pure ice shot up Callie’s spine that didn’t have a damn thing to do with souls. Derek didn’t miss the shudder as her hand twitched in his. He stopped walking, and pulled Callie in toward him. He’d moved so quickly she didn’t lift her hands to stop her body from colliding with his. He must not have minded, as he gave her the satisfying weight of his arm across her shoulder blades. Safety. She languished in it.
“Magic?” he whispered in her ear. His breath tickled and she squirmed.
“Mmm?” So warm.
“Do you sense it, or was it too much info too fast?”
“Too much, I think.” She pulled in a deep breath, simply because he smelled so good.
“I keep forgetting this isn’t normal for you.”
She laughed without humor. “Fucked up is par for the course for me.”
His brows furrowed. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”
“Me, too.” Callie sighed, and then continued. “But I suppose there’s something to be said for being on the inside.”
“I’m going to keep you safe. You know that, right?” He nearly winced with the plea. This wasn’t simply a placation, and Callie doubted it was totally about her. That’s why she believed him. Maybe the touch of magic she’d acquired was working. They both had battered souls, and the earnestness in those grey eyes said he’d failed before and wouldn’t let it happen again. She understood the need for redemption.
“I do.”
Derek’s sigh of relief blew a few loose strands of Callie’s hair across her cheek. She watched his hand, waiting for his fingers to reach out and lightly caress her face as he moved them into place behind her ear. Instead he let her go and shook himself.
The spell was broken. He urged them along to the next stop, where there was another soul to retrieve.