My Soul to Save

by Rachel Vincent

  And honestly, sometimes neither was I.

  Tod rolled his eyes and glanced at the door, then his gaze slid back to me. "I just talked to Addy and she's arranged for some privacy tonight at eight-thirty, for an hour at the most. In her room at the Adolphus."

  Eight-thirty? That only left an hour and a half for dinner and the drive into Dallas. We'd never make it.

  "Uncle Brendon's going to be here with Sophie any minute, and I can't skip out early."

  "Four days, Kaylee." The reaper's usual scowl deepened. "Addy only has four days."

  I shrugged. "You're welcome to explain what we're doing to my entire family…."

  Tod flinched, and that one movement told me just how much he respected the combined threat of my father and uncle standing together. Bean sidhes might not have any obvious offensive abilities, but together, my dad and uncle had almost three hundred years of experience. And they weren't exactly small men.

  "Fine. Just get there as soon as you can."

  "Do you have a plan, or are you just throwing us all into the deep end?" Nash's finger traced lazy figure eights on my lower back, and I wanted to lean into his touch. Or better yet, pick up where we'd left off.

  Tod sank wearily into my desk chair, arms crossed over the back. "Well, obviously we need to know which hellion she sold her soul to."

  "Yeah, good luck with that." I pointed at the computer screen behind him, and the reaper twisted in his seat to look. When he met my gaze again, a cocky smile had turned up one side of his mouth, and his blue eyes glinted in shadowed mirth.

  "You thought you could figure that out online? Somehow I don't think hellions are much into social networking."

  "You got a better plan?" Nash pulled me closer, and my heart beat a little faster in response to his.

  "Yeah. I thought we'd ask her."

  "You can do that on your own," Nash snapped.

  Tod shook his head. "I need Kaylee. Addy likes her."

  "And Addy always gets what she wants?"

  I could practically hear the scowl in Nash's voice, and I twisted to look at him in amusement. "Like you're one to talk!"

  His brows rose, and his steamy gaze traveled south of my face. "I don't have everything I want. Yet." I flushed, and turned back to Tod in time to see his eyes roll. "Well, you guys aren't going without me." Nash stretched one leg out on my rumpled comforter. "But do you honestly think she'll know this hellion's name?"

  Tod shrugged again. "I think it's worth a shot—"

  Before he could finish, my door creaked open and my dad appeared in the gap. His gaze hardened when it landed on me and Nash, now reclined together on the bed, and I knew that if he had less control over his emotions, my father's irises would be churning furiously.

  "Kaylee, I know I'm new at this, but I'm not that new. This door stays open when you two are alone in here."

  I glanced at Tod, who smirked at me from my own desk chair. "We're not—" And that's when I realized my father couldn't see the reaper, and that I probably shouldn't remedy that. I'd rather my father think Nash and I were breaking the normal human rules than the weird bean sidhe ones. "Doing anything," I finished lamely.

  "We were just talking, Mr. Cavanaugh." Nash didn't even glance at his brother, who was now making obscene gestures and rolling his eyes madly.

  Unconvinced, my dad nodded curtly, then disappeared into the hall, just as the doorbell rang. "Kaylee, can you get that? I'm burning the bread."

  "Eat fast." Tod leaned back to cross both arms over his chest as I stood. Then he was gone before I could reply. At least, I thought he was gone, but it was hard to tell with Tod.

  Nash followed me to the door, behind which my cousin's voice rang out loud and clear. "…don't see why we can't do this at our house. There's barely room to turn around in their kitchen, and Uncle Aiden's place smells funny."

  "It does not smell funny, and we hosted last week." Uncle Brendon sounded exhausted, but much more patient with his only daughter than I would have been. Especially considering how much he'd suffered from his wife's loss, in spite of what she'd cost us all. But Sophie seemed oblivious to her father's pain. "It's their turn."

  I shot Nash a resigned smile, then pulled the door open, bracing myself for Sophie's acidic presence. "Hey, guys, come on in."

  My cousin brushed past us into the house as if she hadn't heard my greeting, mumbling beneath her breath about how she'd rather spend a Sunday night. She left us to choke on a cloud of her perfume, overwhelming in our small, dark entry.

  "I'm sorry about that." Uncle Brendon pushed the front door shut as he stepped inside. "She's…still suffering."

  And making sure her misery has plenty of company.

  Half an hour later, all five of us sat around the square card table in our eat-in kitchen, me straddling the corner between Nash and Sophie. There wasn't enough room to actually put the food on the table, so if anyone wanted seconds, he'd have to get up and refill his plate from the dishes on the counter. But that didn't seem to be much of a worry, considering that the rim of Sophie's plate was ringed with small bits of marinara-stained waxed paper, which my dad had forgotten to remove from the slices of cheese he'd layered into the lasagna.

  If it hadn't embarrassed my father to no end, it would have been almost funny to watch her face twist with fresh horror each time she pulled a limp bit of paper from her food. Not that it mattered. She didn't eat enough to keep a squirrel alive, anyway, and had lost several pounds in the weeks since her mother's death.

  There wasn't much conversation over dinner, but every now and then, my uncle would look across the table at his brother and chuckle as he pulled a piece of cheese paper from his pasta and folded it into his napkin, breaking the tension for another few moments. For which I was profoundly grateful.

  Nash and I excused ourselves immediately after dinner, nodding at my father's reminder to be home by ten-thirty, and I drove, because Nash's mom had their car. I'd rarely driven in downtown Dallas and had never been to Addison's hotel, so I counted us lucky to get there in one piece.

  The lobby of the Adolphus was full of dark, ornate furniture and fancy chandeliers, and I felt underdressed clomping through the lobby in jeans and sneakers. Fortunately, before I could work up the nerve to ask the snooty clerk behind an oversize desk which room "Lisa Hawthorne" was in, Tod appeared from around a corner, wearing respectably clean and intact jeans and an unwrinkled button-up shirt open over his usual dark tee. He jerked his head toward a cluster of elevators on one end of the lobby, and we followed him gratefully into the first one to open.

  "She's pretty nervous, so go easy on her," Tod said, eyeing Nash as soon as the mirrored doors closed and the elevator slid into motion.

  "She's not the only one." I ran one shaky hand over my ponytail, wondering if I should have worn my hair down. Or wiped my feet before walking through the lobby. But the overpriced hotel wasn't really the cause of my nerves.

  I'd peeked into the Netherworld that afternoon, and wasn't anxious to do it again anytime soon. But as badly as the prospect of actually walking into that shadow-world scared me, my horror was much greater at the thought of condemning Addison Page to an eternity there. Even if she had signed away her own soul.

  Tod was right. She didn't know what she was getting into. She couldn't have.

  The elevator binged in warning and slowed to a smooth stop, then the doors slid open almost silently. Tod got off first, and Nash and I followed him down a thickly carpeted hallway past at least a dozen doors before he stopped in front of the very last one, nearest the emergency staircase.

  "Hang on a minute," he said, then popped out of sight before we could protest, leaving me and Nash standing in the hall like idiots, hoping no one came out to ask if we'd lost our key. Or to call Security.

  Who me? Paranoid?

  Absolutely.

  Several seconds later, the door opened from the inside, and for the second time in as many days, we walked into the private rooms of Addison Page, rock star.
I had a fleeting moment of panicked certainty that once again, she wasn't expecting us. That Tod had made the whole meeting up. But Addison stood in the middle of the sitting room, watching us through red-rimmed eyes, and she didn't look surprised to see us. Thank goodness.

  "Thanks for coming," she said as we made our way to a collection of couches gathered around yet another flat-screen television. "I know you guys probably think I don't deserve your help, and the truth is that I'm not sure I do."

  Neither was I, but the fact that she had her own doubts made me want to help her for her own sake, beyond my need to make up for not being able to save the girls my aunt had damned to eternal torture.

  "Yes you do." Tod guided her to a boldly patterned armchair with one hand on her lower back. She didn't pull away from him, and I was impressed all over again by her composure. I wouldn't have been so calm if I had an undead ex-boyfriend.

  Or the staggering lack of a soul.

  Nash sank onto the cream-colored couch and pulled me down with him, his lips firmly sealed against the dissenting opinion I read clearly on his face. He wasn't convinced that we had any business there. Or that Addison had any right to ask for our help.

  Tod sat in the other chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. His gaze hadn't left Addy since we'd walked into the room, and I had a feeling it wouldn't anytime soon.

  Addison wrung her hands together, twisting her fingers until I was sure one of them would break. "So…what's next? How can I help?"

  "We need to know who—" Tod began, but Nash cut him off boldly.

  "Addy, before we get started, you need to understand how dangerous this is. Not just for you, but for us." His voice was as hard and unrelenting as I'd ever heard it, and he squeezed my hand as he spoke. "We're putting our own lives in danger for you, and honestly, the only reason I'm here is for Kaylee. Because I don't want her to get hurt."

  My heart jumped into my throat, and a smile formed on my face in spite of the solemn circumstances.

  "I understand…." Addison said, but Nash interrupted again.

  "I don't think you do. I don't think you can. We're bean sidhes." We both watched her face very carefully for a reaction, but got none. "Do you know anything about bean sidhes?"

  "A little," she admitted, glancing briefly at the reaper. "Tod told me…some stuff." Her cheeks flushed, and I wondered what else Tod had told her.

  "Good." Nash looked relieved to finally hear something he approved of. "Did he tell you that the Netherworld is a very dangerous place for bean sidhes? That we have no defenses against the things that live there? That we can't even pop out like he can, if something goes wrong?"

  She nodded again, shyly. Guiltily. And I could see that Addison Page wasn't accustomed to asking for help. She looked…humiliated. As if the admission of her own powerlessness might break her.

  And that alone told me she was stronger than she thought she was. Stronger than Tod thought she was.

  Good. She'd have to be.

  "Okay, then, the first thing we want to know…" He glanced at me for confirmation, and I nodded in spite of the suspicious glint shining in Tod's eyes. Nash and I had already discussed this. "Is how you got yourself into this mess. Why the hell would you sell your soul? I know I'm looking at your life from the outside, but I gotta say that from where we stand, it looks like you've got everything you could ever want."

  Addison smiled wistfully, regretfully, as Tod glared at us. "I do now." she said, her famous, melodic voice so soft I could barely hear it. "But when they came to me with this deal, I had nothing but dreams and desperation. I know that sounds melodramatic, but it's the truth. They said they could make or break me, and they were right."

  "Who?" I asked, speaking for the first time since we'd entered her room.

  "Dekker Media."

  A chill swept the length of my body, leaving me cold from the inside out.

  Dekker Media was an entertainment titan. They had theme parks, production studios, television channels, and more large-scale marketing clout than any other company in the world. Dekker Media had its sticky fingers in every pie imaginable. Kids grew up watching their movies, listening to their CDs, playing with their toys, wearing their officially licensed shoes and clothes, and sleeping between sheets plastered with the faces of their squeaky-clean, family-friendly stars.

  The company was pervasive. Ubiquitous. Obnoxious.

  They signed most of their stars straight out of junior high, churning out one teenage cash cow after another.

  "Wait, I don't understand," Nash said, having obviously regained his head before I had. "You sold your soul to Dekker Media?" He frowned at me briefly, then let his gaze slide toward his brother. "I thought she sold it to a hellion."

  "She did." Tod's jaw bulged in barely repressed anger. "But the deal went through John Dekker himself."

  Wow. I was stunned into silence for the second time in as many minutes.

  John Dekker was the CEO and public face of Dekker Media, grandson of the legendary company founder, and more recognized by tweens around the world than the U.S. president.

  "Okay, can you start from the beginning?" I leaned back on the couch, my head swimming from information overload.

  Addison nodded, and once she got started, the words flowed quickly, and I had to listen carefully to keep up.

  "It was two years ago, just after I turned sixteen. The Private Life of Megan Ford had just finished its first season and was up for renewal. John Dekker found me on the set on the first day of filming the second season and took me to his office. Alone. He said that the ratings were only okay so far, and that whether or not the show continued was up to me. It was my choice. But that if I wanted it badly enough, Megan Ford could be a huge hit. Make me famous. Make me rich."

  "You sold your soul for fame and fortune?" Nash asked, contempt so thick in his voice I almost looked down to see if some had dripped on the carpet.

  Addison flinched, but Tod spoke up, his own anger rivaling Nash's. "It wasn't like that. Don't you remember her family? Her dad was long gone and her mom was unemployed. Always strung out on one pill or another. They were living on Addy's income, and Dekker told her that if she didn't sign on the dotted line, that would all dry up. That he'd make sure she never worked again. He said her mother would go to jail for prescription drug fraud and neglect, and Addy and her little sister, Regan, would be split up in foster care."

  Addison's hands shook in her lap, but she added nothing to Tod's speech. Nor did she deny any of it.

  "He scared the shit out of her, Nash."

  "Did you tell anyone?" I asked gently, trying not to upset her any more than she already was. "Your mom?" But I knew as soon as I said it that her mother would have been no help. "A friend?"

  Addison nodded miserably. "I told Eden." She sniffled, obviously holding back sobs. "She'd done a guest spot on the show, and we'd become friends. She said I was lucky. That they only offered that deal to the best of us. The ones with real star potential. She said she'd signed two years ago and hadn't regretted it for a minute. And her first CD had just gone platinum. Platinum!" she repeated, glancing at Tod in desperation, begging him with her eyes to believe her. To understand her decision. "I could sign on to be a star, or I could put the entire crew out of work and let my family starve. I did it for them…."

  I saw the struggle on Nash's face. He understood her choice. But he didn't want to.

  However, I'd already moved on to the bigger picture.

  They only offered that deal to the best of us. Addison's words haunted me, and their implication sent fresh chills down my spine to pool in my limbs as my teeth began to chatter.

  They'd done it before. A lot. Dekker Media was making deals with demons—and letting its teenage stars pay the price.

  7

  "WAIT, DEKKER MEDIA is blackmailing kids into selling their souls?" Nash looked as horrified as I felt.

  "Honestly, I doubt we all had to be blackmailed." Addison leaned back in the hotel chair an
d ran her palms nervously over designer jeans–clad thighs.

  Nash glanced across the coffee table from her to Tod. "But how does that benefit the company?"

  "Greed, plain and simple. Right?" I looked to Addy for confirmation.

  She shrugged and swallowed thickly, like her dinner was trying to come back up. "That's my guess. I mean, if we're rich and famous, so are the suits and pencil pushers, right?"

  Nash frowned. "So what if their stars leave the corporation? Go mainstream, like Eden did?"

  Addison crossed her arms over her chest, probably to keep her hands from fidgeting. "Eden went mainstream on-screen two years ago, but only after six years and three contracts with Dekker, during which she brought in cash faster than any other child star in history. But she's still on their record label, and so am I."

  The singer inhaled deeply, as if her next words would be difficult to say. "When you sign with Dekker, even if you're not selling your soul, you're selling out. They get most of us before we hit puberty, and you become whatever they want you to be. They design your look, cast you in their shows, and put you in at least one made-for-TV movie a year. The movies themselves don't make much, but the merchandising brings in some serious cash." She sighed and began ticking points off on her fingers. "They pick the songs you'll record, schedule your appearances, and book your tours. They'll even choose your haircut unless your agent is a real shark. But most of the agents are in John Dekker's pocket, too, because they want clients who have guaranteed careers."

  So. Creepy. Dekker Media was starting to sound scarier than the Netherworld.

  "Okay, maybe I'm misunderstanding, but we're talking about the Dekker Media, right? The child-friendly, shiny-happy sitcoms? With the cartoon squirrel and the squeaky-clean animated fairy tales? That Dekker Media is actually reaping the souls of its stars in exchange for commercial success?"

  Addison's lip curled into a bitter smile. "Ironic, isn't it?"