—— CHAPTER NINE ——
Derek had been right about the wind. Callie’s cheeks burned by the time they parked the bike north of the square. They weren’t far from the art houses they’d passed a few nights ago, but the ticking muscle at Derek’s jawline suggested they were seeking bigger fish tonight. He focused on each small task as he packed up the bike, not even meeting her gaze as he took her helmet to stow.
She scurried behind him, doing her best to catch up with his long strides without stumbling on the aged brick sidewalk. Muffled Indian music slipped into the street from an open door a few storefronts ahead. They’d already talked food, so the chances they were about to dig into plates of excellent Tandoori chicken were slim. “So. What’s the plan?”
“Information,” he answered. His one-word reply may have been gruff, but at least he’d answered. Callie considered that progress.
“Riiiight.”
He paused, and she almost crashed into him. He pretended not to notice, but it was likely borne of distraction, and not gentlemanly instinct. “We need to keep a lower profile here.”
“So you’re not going to break any noses?” The teasing lilt of her voice bordered on flirtation.
He huffed, but a hint of a smile dashed its impact. “Probably not.”
“A little variety wouldn’t kill us, I suppose.”
He threw an arm over her shoulders. Lazy and protective. She stood straighter as the pride of being guarded washed over her. She wouldn’t lose herself, or drop the floodgates, but it was okay to enjoy this. Probably.
“We deal in magic, doll. So, let’s not tempt fate.” He pulled her with him as he resumed his course.
Callie relished the moment. Her hands were normal temperature, her belly was full, her brother was temporarily safe, her mom wouldn’t call until tomorrow, and one damn delicious man was at her side. Not fucking bad. Or it wasn’t until she saw the sign.
HEALING + RESTORATION + MASSAGE
The words, in an old letterpress font, were painted in deep blue on a closed door. Gold leaf had been applied for accent. Fear slammed a cannonball into Callie’s stomach. She ducked under Derek’s arm, out of his grasp, and scurried backward. Whether he heard her muttering, “No no no,” didn’t matter.
He hustled toward her, catching up quickly. “Don’t worry, we’re not going there.”
The strike of panic fizzled as quickly as it had ignited. Now, more than anything, she needed a night without madness. No freezing hands. No fire at her fingertips. No magic tugging at her. No blood. No pain. No tormented people reminding her of her brother. She couldn’t tell Derek without letting him see her. The scarred and terrified parts of her. Instead she said, “No soul stuff.” The words eked out as barely a whisper, but her widened eyes told him all he needed to know.
He nodded slowly. “Done.”
She pointed at the door. One of the chakra massage flyers was taped to a corner of the glass. “That’s her, isn’t it?”
His responding shrug read as an admission.
“What if she’s here?”
“She’s not.”
His confidence didn’t do shit for Callie. She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off.
“I’ve been working all afternoon. Remember? She owns this place. Her people—her customers—are here, next door, but she won’t be here tonight. She’s out of town.”
“How do you know?” Callie managed not to stutter.
“I’m not trying to screw with you. I told you I’d keep you safe. Don’t doubt me. I got you on this, Callie.”
Using her name shouldn’t have changed things, but it helped. Breath filled her lungs again, and her shoulders relaxed. “Okay,” she said with all the confidence she wished she had.
He held out a hand and she accepted it.
“Now, how about I take you dancing?” Derek smiled then, and it was the most rakish grin she’d ever seen. It warmed her body again. Her emotional yo-yo evening wasn’t over. Derek might actually be worse for her core temperature than the soul magic detector hands.
He wasn’t kidding about the dancing. Derek had brought her to a belly-dancing event. The southwest was rather lacking in Indian culture, but this spot brought it in spades. By day it was a restaurant, but a couple nights a week they hosted belly dancing and live music. The long bench against the wall—where Callie sat—was covered with plush pillows in vibrant shades of gold, emerald, sapphire, and other precious gems. As she settled on a ruby pillow, her earlier reservations wilted further. A thick swath of orange fabric was draped on the wall. Muffling sound wasn’t the priority in this place; they propped the front door open. No, this venue was all for opulence. It was miles away from her apartment, but worlds away from anything she’d known. That was more comforting to her than almost anything Derek had said to her. With one exception. He’d asked for her trust. He’d been sincere. She swallowed hard. She’d have to deal with that later.
Derek dropped onto a green pillow at her left. He handed her an open bottle of beer. Any other man, any other night, and she wouldn’t have accepted an open container. But if Derek had wanted to screw her over, all he had to do was point her at the nearest soul magic user. Or ask his boss to renege on the deal. She’d trust a beer from him, even take it graciously.
She thanked him, and he tapped the neck of his bottle against hers in lowbrow salud. They both took long pulls, but when he lowered his, half the drink was gone. She hadn’t made nearly that kind of dent. He was double her size and double the drinker.
Had he licked the brew from his lips in slow motion, or was her brain fucking with her? There had to be some other magic woo-woo at play here. She sucked in a quick breath through her nose and let it out her mouth. A little de-stress breathing would calm her overexcited nerves.
“You been to something like this before?”
What? Were they skipping work tonight or was this the plan all along? Callie’s mind was spinning too fast to parse his shift in tone. Had he known she needed a distraction? A healthy distraction?
“First timer here. Though, I thought you said you were taking me dancing. Looks like it’s all pros here.”
Years disappeared when he smiled at her. She could almost pretend he wasn’t old enough to buy her that beer. “Right now they’re dancing. Later they’ll teach people, and usually everyone’s drunk enough not to care if they look like an idiot.”
“Are you speaking from personal experience?” She leaned her shoulder into his side.
He tightened his arm around her, keeping her in close. The Indian spices in the air mingled with the cologne she’d smelled earlier, combining in a heady mix that made her melt into him. “Of course.”
She craned her neck to meet his gaze fully. “For real? You’ve belly danced?”
“These hips don’t lie.” He rocked his hips from side to side for effect. Laughter bubbled from her belly. He continued to jostle her and chuckle. His seated dance moves didn’t up his sexy factor, but the laughing might.
Callie eased back into the plush cushions, and crossed her legs. Her knee grazed his. “So you can dance. What other skills are you keeping secret?”
Bemusement brought a single dimple to his right cheek. “When I was fifteen I could throw an eighty-mile-per-hour fastball.”
“Damn. Do you still play?” Baseball was the only stick-and-ball sport Callie could get into.
“No. Life got complicated in high school. It’s been more than a decade since I’ve been on a diamond.”
“You’re probably terrifying at a batting cage,” she said, picturing him dropping his leather jacket on the concrete and overwhelming the batter’s box with muscles and straining cotton.
“You mean because I can hit a baseball like a beast?” A wry smile played at his lips.
The next half hour passed quickly. Derek was better at small talk than Callie would have guessed. His grunts were few and his jokes plentiful. His attention was divided, though. He was constantly scanning the room, watching everyone around them. The lack of his full focus was disappointing, but having experienced both focused attention and neglect, Callie had to say she preferred the latter. Too much attention and you were bound to disappoint, but if you’re frequently forgotten, it was far easier to impress when you were noticed. Derek’s smile almost made her think she’d be able to make him grin on command.
Or perhaps not.
Derek’s eyes narrowed. “One of my sources is here.”
“That’s good?” His tone suggested otherwise, but wasn’t that the point of the night? Callie could pretend it was a date all she wanted—the atmosphere and the beer almost enough to make her forget her job, Derek’s job, and the flask in her pocket—but the truth was they were here for information. This was work.
He grumbled and stared so hard at a slender man across the room in a larger group of people, the guy’s black cowboy boots should have set fire.
The intensity left Callie’s mouth dry and her throat tight. She indulged in a few nerve-soothing swigs of beer. “Should I hold him down while you beat him with noodles?”
Derek scowled. So much for her make-him-laugh-whenever idea. “You stay here.”
“So that’s a no on the noodles?” she tried again.
He finally looked her way, as though remembering she was there. “I don’t want him to know you.”
It should have sounded protective, but instead it reminded her how small and useless she was here. Even her newly magical fingertips did jack tucked away at the edge of this restaurant. Had Derek kept her away to keep her fingers from going aglow? The Soul Charmer had stuck him with her, and now he had to be worried she’d fuck up something important. “Sure,” she muttered.
His brows furrowed, which only made Callie’s stomach sink lower. “He’s not a friend.” The emphasis was on not, as though he thought she might run up to Cowboy Boots, wrap her legs around him, and tell him everything she knew about the Soul Charmer.
“Got it.” She took another hard pull from the bottle to give herself something to do.
Derek’s source excused himself from a group of people. He was alone, and Derek was ready to pounce. “Don’t leave,” he said as he stood.
Because she had so many other engagements. “Right.”
Cowboy Boots wasn’t dressed for a night of Bollywood fun, but then she wasn’t either. Still, he would have fit in more deep in the desert than in the middle of Gem City. His black jeans were worn at the knees and tucked into his boots. He’d looked strong, until Derek stood next to him. It was hard to look tough next to a huge man in leather, though. She should know.
The source had knocked his shoulders back and puffed out his chest at Derek’s approach. What kind of man wouldn’t be scared of Derek? What kind of man was Cowboy Boots? Ford might not run away, but he had a league of hangers on and weapons she’d never heard of in his arsenal. Callie had been introduced to more mobsters and criminals in the last few weeks than she’d ever known existed. Despite her growing circle of associates, Cowboy Boots didn’t look familiar in the least. That was a good thing. Right?
She couldn’t hear their conversation over the live music and the hum of intermingling people, but with each passing second Cowboy Boots deflated a smidgen. Ford wouldn’t have folded that quickly. Callie’s scale for who was dangerous had certainly shifted, and under the new ranking Cowboy Boots wasn’t much of a threat. As long as he feared Derek enough to talk, she was in the clear.
Everyone else in the restaurant-turned-nightclub was in clusters, groups of friends, couples on dates, while she sat alone at her table with an empty beer bottle. Derek and Cowboy Boots had edged closer to one another, but the latter’s wide-eyed expression suggested he was giving up the goods. Derek didn’t need her right now. She did, however, need another drink. She left the comfort of the pillows and walked to the bar tucked in the back of the room. The hallway to the restrooms was to the right. Good to know.
Callie had brought her empty with her to the bar. An old boyfriend had once taken her to a place so fancy they got pissed if you bussed any of your table. She’d discovered the hard way when their shitty waiter wouldn’t bring him drinks, and she went in search on her own. Her boyfriend had been mortified, but it was more disgusting that they called out her lack of class. Callie avoided that kind of snobbery now. The bartender here didn’t mind. He gave her an impersonal smile as he collected the empty.
“Another?” he asked.
She nodded, and he diligently pulled one from the fridge and popped the cap for her.
He’d already moved on to helping another patron as she took her first pull. The alcohol didn’t work fast, but the habit helped her muscles ease anyway. Enjoying a night on the town could still be possible. The Charmer, by way of Derek, wasn’t making her collect souls tonight, and no one had turned her fingers into icicles in almost twenty-four hours. Hell, she even had a decent buzz going.
But a full day of non-suckage was never in the cards for Callie.
Nate’s breath hit the side of her face before she heard him. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Callie cringed and hoped he didn’t notice. Why would one of Ford’s goons be at a belly-dancing bar? Oh right, fate hated her. “Hey,” she mumbled. It was better to acknowledge him than risk him reporting anything back to his boss. At least this time it wasn’t a secret she was being watched.
“Didn’t know you were into shaking that ass. If I had, I’m sure we could have worked out some other deal.” Nate spoke as if he, and not his boss, was the one holding her brother hostage.
Sure, he’d been in the room when she’d met with Ford, but not at his side. She struggled to remember if she’d ever heard Nate speak when Ford was in the room. She didn’t think so, and she certainly hadn’t pegged him as someone who was allowed to make decisions. Then again, she did not know mob dynamics at all. Chances were, angering one angered them all, like bats or some shit.
“I don’t dance,” she said with all the manners she could muster, trying to shut down the skeeze. She shuffled-stepped to the side and angled herself to better face him.
He grabbed her upper arm and tugged her close again. “Aw, don’t disappoint me.”
Her stomach twisted. She needed to shift the conversation, and fast. Deflect. Humor. Whatever. “They haven’t even made it to the audience participation part of the night. Until then I know nothing.”
“I know some girls who could teach you a thing or two.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m good.” Her voice held steady, despite the sensation of liquid lead bubbling behind her kneecaps. Walking away now would be smart, but the desire to be smart didn’t outweigh stark reality: If she ran, she wouldn’t be the only one hurt.
“You could be better.” His eyes darted to her chest. He was picturing her naked on a pole, and she couldn’t stop him.
“I should get back.” If only her legs would work.
“You on a date?” His accusation was sharp, but it cut deeper because she wished the answer was yes.
“No—”
He cut her off. “You ain’t got time for dates. If you got time for dates, then you got time to be getting our shit. Unless maybe you don’t care so much about big brother.”
She held up her free hand to protest, but he ignored her and continued. “Maybe I should tell Ford you lied about needing time to get the essentials for the job.”
“I didn’t lie,” she snapped. The fear churning in her stomach had coalesced into straight-up fire. “I keep my promises, and when I’m done helping your boss you are never going to see me again.”
“Heard that before.”
“And once I clear his debt, Josh is done with you.”
“Does he know that?”
This was Josh’s rock bottom. He wouldn’t have involved her in this mess if it wasn’t. She almost pleaded with herself that her brother had to know it, had to know worse than this meant death, but Nate didn’t need to see her desperation. Love was just one more weapon that could be used against her.
As Callie began to sink into a growing cesspool of self-pity, Derek joined the conversation. Because things can always get worse.
“I know you?” Nate asked with a scoff.
Derek moved behind Callie, his warm body cocooning her. He peeled Nate’s hand off her arm. His scarred knuckles, hovering above Nate’s tanned ones, were an inherent threat. “No.” That one word held more menace than could be found in the darkest, nastiest biker bar.
“She your date, then?” Nate’s smarminess couldn’t touch her, not with Derek’s torso pressed to her back.
Derek’s chest vibrated against her, like he was supercharged and about to explode. His voice rumbled when he spoke. “Not your business.”
“Oh, but she is my business.” Nate rubbed his hands together. Callie clenched her teeth. He was making her sound like a prostitute.
Derek ignored the implication. “Not anymore.”
The words didn’t sound any scarier to Callie, but Nate took in a big breath. “Ford’s going to want to know why she’s here,” he reminded her again, words full of venom.
Derek stiffened behind her, and then wrapped a possessive hand around her front to cup her hip. “Too bad. You have fifteen seconds to leave.”
Nate shifted from foot to foot. “Or what, man?”
“I make you a ghost.” A monotone threat could make even the biggest, baddest guy piss his pants, if wielded correctly. No surprise, Derek knew this.
Nate understood, too.
He attempted the quintessential tough-guy nod, but it turned shaky as he met Derek’s gaze. He flitted a look to Callie. “Ford’s—”
Derek cut him off. “Seven seconds.”
Nate had too much pride to run, but he sure got himself to the front door in a flash. He glanced back one final time, to shoot Callie a glare promising repercussions, but in the safety of Derek’s hold the fear couldn’t sink her.
“Asshole forgot his drink,” Derek muttered as he moved around Callie to take Nate’s place at the bar.
There’s a fine line between fear and lust. Bad decisions were borne of both. Callie fisted the fabric of Derek’s shirt and yanked him down to her. She must have caught him off-guard, because he didn’t fight her. She pressed her lips against his as raw need flared in her belly. Heat coursed through her body at this little contact. She’d explode if he gave her more.
The pleasure of having his lips against hers was almost too much. The threat of losing it was worse. Any second she knew he’d pull away, to chide her for the choice of time or place. He surprised her when he pushed against her more firmly, opening his mouth to tease her with his tongue. His lips were smoother than she’d predicted, nothing like the rough hand cupping the nape of her neck. She slid her tongue against his in a feverish dance. They weren’t in time with the bombastic music surrounding them, but instead synced with their own racing heartbeats.
Derek yanked her against him, and more than her knees went liquid at his hardness pressing against her stomach. Callie forgot where they were, who they were, and slipped a hand underneath the hem of Derek’s tee shirt. His skin was fevered over his taut muscles. She grazed a light trail of hair. What would she discover on his chest when he was out of that shirt?
More importantly, what would he do when she removed hers? Her breasts already ached, and that was merely from the ferocity of his kiss. The urge to wrap her legs around him and see if he could possess her lit a fire in her core. It also, unfortunately, reminded her she was at a very public place with a very memorable guy.
The fire in their kiss had burned all the oxygen. She pulled away, gasping. As she sucked in air, her brain slowly resumed its normal functions. What had she just done? Nothing screams pathetic like kissing your put-upon partner immediately after he discovers you’re in league with mobsters.
“I’m starting to think you like me protecting you,” he said, fighting and failing to hide a smile.
She wasn’t that girl. She didn’t use relationships or sex to garner good will. She couldn’t deny she appreciated the protection, but she could pretend she didn’t need his help with Nate. “I had it under control.” The lie was foul, but anything would be bitter after the sweetness she’d just sampled.
He cocked a brow.
She tucked her hair behind her ear with a shaking hand. “You did move things along, though, so thanks.”
His bemused grunt made her stomach twist in a delicious way, but her brain, now deciding it would start making rational decisions again, overrode any additional sexy ideas. She wasn’t using him. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“For one of Ford’s men to be here? Or for giving me a raging hard-on?”
She shoved her hands in her pockets. Better to keep them there, where they couldn’t pull Derek back to her. She opened her mouth to reply, not sure how to start, but he cut her off with a chuckle. “Just fucking with you, doll.”
Heat coiled low in her belly. Did he have to say “fucking”? Her audible inhale made him smile wider.
“Calm down. No harm, no foul.”
“It-it-it wasn’t a thank you.”
He nodded, but she didn’t know if he really believed her. “Then I suppose I owe you one. Haven’t been kissed like that in some time.”
Heat flooded her face so quickly there was no way to quell it. Derek brushed the backs of his fingers over his cheek. “I like your sweetness.”
Callie hadn’t been a sweet person in a long time, but trying to form the words necessary to argue was futile at this point. “Should we get out of here?” Oh, Lord, she hadn’t meant it like that.
He let the implication slide. “Tempting, but I still need to talk to Bianca. She’ll know what Tess is up to.”
The change of subject gave Callie’s insides a chance to galvanize. “Where is she?”
“Haven’t seen her yet, but she’ll be here.”
His confidence elicited goose bumps on Callie’s skin. She didn’t rub them away. No need to invite attention to bared flesh. Not when her body was still reliving the pure power of kissing Derek.
“So, you want to tell me about—”
No. God no. It didn’t matter which way he finished the question—your connection to the mob, why that dick was acting like you’re a whore, how often you go for hot-and-heavy kisses at the bar—she did not want to answer it. “What’s Bianca look like?”
He furrowed his brow and stared down at her. The embers of the heated gaze from before were there, smoldering, but now he was measuring her again. Whether it was for the best, he let her off the hook. “Little shorter than you, black hair down to her ass, red lips.”
The lust warming her neck sank like a rancid meatball to the pit of her stomach. “Sounds like you know her well.” Probably intimately.
His amused huff didn’t do much for Callie. “She’s worked at Tess’s massage joint since before Tess owned it.” He frowned, and then mumbled, “Or before we knew she ran it.”
Could the alternative healing community be so big as to keep such secrets? Callie could ask Jackie. Her cousin, one of Aunt Lily’s kids, was in the business. If roping another family member into the depths of her problems wasn’t a terrible idea, she could also ask her about Tess. Instead she asked Derek, “What do we know about her? Tess, I mean.”
“Not enough.”
She liked his simple answers, but only when he gave them to other people. Had her sexual faux pas put her back into the stranger category? She should want to be there. Distance was smart, whereas Derek was trouble.
Fuck it. She liked courting trouble. “That’s not all that helpful.”
He cracked a smile, and rapped his knuckles against her beer. “She’s never rented souls before. She just snatches parts of ones still in people’s bodies. Or she did last time she was working Gem City. Best we could tell she did it for her own high and just used the souls herself instead of pawning them.”
Callie couldn’t even start to process that. It must have shown because Derek added, “You need a few more of those to be able to handle more knowledge.”
“Maybe I’m a lightweight.” She took a hearty swig.
His laugh was a deep rumble that calmed her like a double of whiskey. As if he’d heard them talking about drinks, the bartender sat two fresh bottles behind them on the bar. Callie reached for her wallet, but Derek’s light touch on her wrist stilled the motion.
“I got it,” she said, as if she had more than a lonely twenty in her wallet. She needed to quit knocking the beers back, because she’d need groceries before pay day, and owing Derek only made her look more like the kind of woman she didn’t want to be. Plus, this was work. What if the Charmer tacked her bar bill onto her indentured servitude? She liked the Derek part of the gig, but the rest scared the shit out of her. The sooner she was done with the Soul Charmer, the better.
“No. Bartender’s thanking us for getting that dickhead out of here.”
She nodded toward their server. He didn’t stop pouring, but inclined his head in kind. “Okay then.”
“But, doll, you’re already in a bad sitch, so you’re going to let me buy.”
“I don’t like owing people.”
He pulled back like she’d slapped him. “I’m not my boss. This ain’t a negotiation. You’re a hot girl out with me. I buy. No questions.”
She bit her lip.
“What?”
The instinct to clear the deck reared. Did he think they were on even ground? Did she? She swallowed the urge. “Thank you.” Funny how hard those two words were when you really meant them.
Lounging at the bar and watching the belly dancers begin to pull random patrons from their seats lulled Callie back into her earlier reverie. Mostly. There weren’t souls to retrieve tonight. Only her obligation to the Charmer required her to be out with Derek. Though, the confusing kiss was totally non-obligatory. She vowed to make herself useful tonight, though, in the name of shaking off her nerves. Now she, like Derek, eyed the crowd for a resource. She took in the shaking hips—some far superior to others—keeping an eye out for a signature red lip and dark hair. Men used black to describe every shade of very dark hair. The woman could have a rich brown or a so-black-it’s-blue hue. In the southwest both were plentiful, so the makeup was going to be her cue.
Watching swaying hips was not the way to cool one’s libido. Derek had leaned back on the edge of the bar with his right arm crossing over her back. She rested against it, telling herself it was a reminder that she temporarily worked for men who frightened Ford’s goons. That wasn’t the whole truth, though. The pressure of his arm offered the heady rush of possibilities.
Falling for a guy, especially in this situation, was dumb. She’d erected walls for a reason. Sex without entanglements was fun, and didn’t damage your heart. Dabbling with a man like Derek was idiotic. Complications abounded. Her brother was being held captive by the kind of men who owned slaughterhouses and chop shops. Yet Derek scared those men. He was in league with a man who could literally steal your soul. She was a lapsed Catholic, but that was some straight-up devil shit. Why didn’t her body care Derek was nothing but a bad idea?
“You good?” he asked, pushing off from the bar.
Callie, startled, scanned the room. What had she missed? “Um, yeah.”
She quirked a brow at his noncommittal grunt. “Need to hit the head.”
Leaving her alone went super awesome last time. “Okay.”
“They all—” he stopped himself, and started over. “No one will mess with you.”
The implications of his words would twist her insides, so she smiled and nodded. Faking it was her forte. Moments like this, she understood Josh’s choices. Well, the drugs part. Not the whole stealing from family, lying, and screwing dudes who carried backup weapons. The booby prize for growing up too fast was overthinking everything. Josh looked for angles, ways to cut corners. Callie was the worrier. How long could the box of Cheerios last? When it was gone, what could happen if they stole extra food at school? Threats of expulsion, juvie, and disownment had weighed on her, but never enough to stop her. She hadn’t been the stealthiest of thieves at thirteen, but no one had cared. Now she planned ahead, lest her world came crashing down.
Derek stalked his way to the hallway on the other side of the bar, wearing his edgy mood beneath his leather jacket. But then maybe he didn’t want to hide it. Who would choose to mess with a stressed out man his size? He did have a reputation to maintain. Callie was on the verge of falling into a mental spiral, contemplating how he’d earned those wary glances he’d been receiving most of the night, when she spotted Bianca.
The curvy brunette wove through the room, lightly touching a person here, making small talk there. Peals of laughter lingered in her stead. She was petite, but even from several feet away Callie could sense the energy she exuded. And just like that, Bianca turned and headed straight for her.
Derek wasn’t there to lead the questioning, and Callie didn’t carry the same malevolent aura he did. She would be just another stranger to Bianca. Would they miss their opportunity? Should she try this solo?
Bianca waved to the bartender as she approached, and then inclined her head toward Callie as she spoke. “One of what she’s having.”
“Pretty sure you could have just said beer,” Callie said after a moment. “The selection’s limited.” Small talk hurt her brain, and she clearly wasn’t good at it.
“He knows me, and it’s not my usual.” Of course it wasn’t. Her signature drink was something bright pink and adorned with a wedge of fresh fruit.
Callie took another draw on her beer. So much for not knocking them back. Her hands were warm against the brown glass, which is what usually happened when a bottle was mere swigs from empty. But this wasn’t a coincidence. It wasn’t the beer in her belly. This wasn’t simply nervous energy and pent-up arousal. Her fingers went full-on inferno, and she sat the beer on the bar as nonchalantly as she possibly could, right as the label began to singe. Holy shit. It was nothing like what she’d experienced around someone with a borrowed soul inside them before.
Bianca took a single step backward. “You all right?”
The fire in her hands dimmed. Was she? Why was her reaction so different than before? Goosebumps prickled along her arms and legs, as though all the heat from elsewhere in her body had relocated to her hands and pooled in her palms. “Yeah,” she said, curling her hands into fists. She could focus with them clenched. Mostly.
“Right on. I don’t remember seeing you here before, and I’ve got a thing for faces.” She winked.
“First timer.” Squeeze, release, repeat. She rode the edge of panic, but maintained control.
“Oh, it’s a blast.”
This had to be soul magic at play. This was ten times as intense as in the Charmer’s shop. The heat was overwhelming, but she tried to cling to the Soul Charmer’s promise that she couldn’t be injured. If she had taken to believing him, the heat must have short-circuited her brain. Callie’s thoughts ran over one another, too much input, too much sensation, and too many chances to fuck up. She had a job to do. A job she had to keep in order to get Josh back. She focused on the other woman and not the twin blazes forming inside her hands. What could she learn from this woman? “I was looking at the shop next door. The massage place. Have you been there?”
Bianca started to narrow her eyes, but stopped herself before too much of her skepticism showed. “I work there, actually.”
Callie sucked in a breath, hard and fast. Could she get a soul for cheaper here? Maybe Tess or Bianca could help her. Was there a way out from under the Charmer, where she could help her brother more quickly? Ignoring the bundle of flames simmering within her palms—the sensation was alarming, but not painful—she forced herself to be pleasant. “Small world. So what’s this ‘chakra massage’ thing I read about on the flyer?”
Bianca deflected. Her back-alley deal tone would have been more appropriate at The Fall than at a belly-dancing bar. “I just do your old-fashioned massage and aromatherapy. It’s great for allergies.”
“Oh, okay.” She didn’t need to have her sinuses tweaked. She needed a bonus soul, a whole lot less violent threats in her life, and … holy hell, her hands were stiff. She was able to open them, which was a modicum improvement from when they were frozen, but her skin was akin to a kindled log with blackened pieces curling at the edges and golden embers smoldering beneath. Oh, shit. Immolation was un-fucking-acceptable. Seeing her hands singe and blacken with heat was definitely new. What the hell was happening? The pain wasn’t there, but her hands felt impossibly full of dangerous energy, like they were so ablaze they’d inflict serious damage. If it were real, she’d be screaming right? Was she hallucinating? Was this another of the Charmer’s tricks? He’d said she wouldn’t be injured, but he was also probably a fucking liar.
“You’ve got some magic in you, don’t you?” Bianca’s tone might have sounded sultry to those within earshot, but Callie knew otherwise. The fire burning in her hands exploded as the woman edged closer.
Making poor decisions because of her fear was the old Callie. A few years ago, the fear of knowing what Bianca wanted from her would have been too much; she would have melted down. But that was the Old Callie.
“I’m not the only one,” she ground out, almost gritting her teeth. Anger and pain fused, pushing Callie into Alpha Cat mode. This fire wouldn’t take her. Her hands weren’t really scorched. They couldn’t be. Others in the restaurant had clearly noticed something was going on, but no one was charging toward them with a fire extinguisher. They had simply given the two women a wide berth. Even the bartender was nowhere to be seen. Which was good, because Callie didn’t need another drink. She needed some goddamn useful information. The sooner she had leverage, the sooner she could be done with the goddamn soul-detector fingers.
“Why did you come here?” Bianca asked.
“I heard Tess had something to do with why I keep running into people who set off my magic. Thought she might be able to give me some insight,” Callie imbued the words with confidence, but stifled a shudder at taking ownership of the magic the Charmer had forced into her.
Bianca sneered. “Tess didn’t make your hands like that. She’s not going to touch you.”
Callie reached her limit—of the pain, of the bullshit, of Bianca making her hands go firestorm. She clamped a hand against Bianca’s shoulder like they were old friends and she’d told a hilarious joke. Bianca’s yelp earned a few glances, but no one moved. Her dreams of quick fixes to her soul magic woes were dashed. Callie pressed her hand more firmly against Bianca and the heat leapt from her hands, an acrid scent of melting rayon filling the space between them as Bianca’s dress began to smoke under the heat. “Care to tell me why everyone who fails to return a soul to its rightful owner—” she couldn’t bring herself to say the Charmer’s name “—has your boss’s name on their lips?”
Bianca’s nostrils flared as Callie’s hand funneled more and more heat into her shoulder. “She’s doing this city a service. We will be purified,” she said through gritted teeth.
Suddenly, Derek yanked Callie’s hand away from Bianca. She hadn’t even heard him return. Great. This magic was screwing with her mind now, too. She shook her hands as if she could fling the magic away like droplets of water. It didn’t work. Derek examined her hands, which were blackened, but thankfully free of melted fabric. He nodded once, some finite decision made, and put his back to her.
“Back up,” he said to Bianca.
“You know her?” she spat at him, even as she complied. Callie’s brain had fried upon seeing her seared skin, and it was still rebooting. She did her damnedest to ignore her hands and tried to focus on their conversation.
Each step she took in the opposite direction eased the pain in Callie’s hands. Her skin slowly faded back to normal, the embers snuffed.
“Yeah, I do, and if you retaliate against her, there will be consequences.” Perhaps turning that broad back of his to her had been a way to protect her. Again. He had to be getting sick of saving Callie at this point.
Derek wasn’t all threats, though. He had the bartender dig out a first aid kit and told him to tend to Bianca’s burn. A fount of information about Tess, the source of his current work stress, was there for the taking, but he ignored the lure.
Callie’s ire was ebbing, which let fresh waves of panic and regret crash against her mind. Still better than looking at her hands. Derek didn’t avoid them, though. He lifted her hands near his face, inspecting them so closely it bordered on palm reading. She couldn’t see them past his bulky fingers. Her skin no longer tingled, and the fires had been snuffed. She’d seen them charred, though. Finally, he relinquished them with a heavy huff. All signs of burnt flesh were gone from her palms.
“Let’s go.” He pitched his voice low.
“H-h-how?” She held her unblemished hands in front of her face, rotating them for full inspection. Had it been a trick? Magic tricks were with cards or coins, not turning women’s hands into campfire logs.
“You’re okay. It can’t hurt you, remember?”
So the Soul Charmer hadn’t lied to her. It still didn’t make sense. “I saw it, though. Felt it. Her—her shoulder … ”
“She’ll heal. I’ll explain, but not here. We need to go.”
Callie’s hushed tone was less about privacy and more about shaky vocal cords. “Don’t you need to talk to her?”
His sharp shake of his head was a no and a suggestion to shut up in a single move. Derek wrapped his arm around Callie and escorted her out.
It was for the best; Callie would have made a shitty belly dancer.