The Lost Souls

by Madeline Sheehan

  It was nearing the end of fall when she began begging Jason to search for food on the outskirts of town. Winter was coming, she told him, and they would need everything they could get their hands on. Eventually, when their food supply was all but gone, he agreed.

  Only a few blocks away from their house, Jason had spotted a dark blue Jeep Wrangler on the lawn of a neighbor’s house that hadn’t been there before. He’d run inside and before Carrie could stop him, he started attacking the young woman he found sleeping upstairs.

  • • •

  “I’m only going to say this one more time,” the woman said to Carrie and Jason. “You really don’t want to mess with me.”

  Pushing Carrie out of his way, Jason yanked the woman up by her shirt collar, bringing her face-to-face with him. “Listen, bitch, I want the keys to that Jeep outside, and I have no problem killing you to get them.”

  As Jason began pulling open her jeans, readying to reach inside them, the woman’s eyes turned black. Pitch black. Not a speck of white was left.

  Shocked, Carrie began blinking rapidly. Was she seeing things? She hadn’t slept in two days and hadn’t eaten in nearly a week. Maybe she was hallucinating, maybe she—

  The woman’s hands were smoking! No, not smoking but…oh my God, they were releasing shadows of some sort, shadows that appeared to be in the shape of skeletal arms and hands!

  “Jason!” she screamed. “No!”

  “Jesus, Carrie, it’s the only place we haven’t looked.”

  “No! Her eyes! Look at her eyes! They’re black!”

  “I warned you,” the woman said, her voice eerily calm.

  Jason finally looked up at her, and his eyes widened in astonishment. “What the—”

  Jason suddenly flew backward, crashed through the wall, and then fell to the floor in a heap. Carrie stared in horror at the blood seeping from the gaping wound on the back of his head. In a state of shock, Carrie barely registered when the woman ripped her shotgun from her hands and tossed it across the room. Stalking past her, the woman grabbed her duffel bag.

  Still, she only stared. This woman…or witch…had just killed her brother. Her brother. And now, she was leaving…leaving Carrie here all alone without food, without her brother, without anything…leaving her here to die.

  “Wait!” Carrie screamed, not caring what kind of hellish creature this woman was as long as she didn’t try to eat her. “Take me with you! I’ll die if I stay here!”

  The woman paused and leveled her black-eyed glare on Carrie. “Good,” she hissed. “It’ll save me the trouble of killing you.”

  Fear rippled through her. “Please!” she begged.

  “Listen, Carrie, I might have considered it if you hadn’t just held me at gunpoint and tried to steal my only means of transportation. With that said, fuck off.”

  Fuck off.

  Her brother was dead and…fuck off?

  Carrie fell to her knees screaming nonsense, screaming out of grief and fear and…

  She was going to die. There were monsters out there—red-eyed, fanged creatures with superhuman strength who ate human flesh, who used to be her family and friends and neighbors.

  And now, she was alone.

  She was going to die, all alone.

  Chapter Three

  Shandor Asenov smelled the human before he saw it. As it grew closer, he heard its footsteps tapping on the cement, heading in his direction. Fists clenched, his talons were digging into the skin on his palms, painfully drawing blood. He tried not to breathe, refusing to inhale the sweet, delectable scent wafting along the cool breeze.

  He wouldn’t kill a human.

  He couldn’t kill a human.

  Fuck, he really didn’t want to kill a human…again.

  Several months ago, he’d awoken in the midst of carnage, the likes of which even his wildest, most gruesome imaginings couldn’t have thought up. And the worst part was…he’d caused it all.

  In his newborn haze of hunger, desperate to ease the pain, he ran and ran until he came across a family hidden in their home. He sniffed them out, found them hidden in their attic, and killed them all—the mamă, the tată, and their three copii.

  Children.

  All dead at his hands.

  Shandor was no stranger to death. He’d worked plenty of jobs with Xan—running guns for the clan, stealing from thieves, and yeah, he’d killed some people. Shitty people who’d done shitty things.

  But he’d never hurt an innocent person, and he’d certainly never killed a child.

  On his knees, surrounded by human remains and covered with the blood of his victims, he had vowed he would stay as far away from humans as possible, that from that day forward he would feed only on animals to cure his hunger.

  But he was so hungry.

  No, he was starving.

  Animals were scarce, and humans were all but extinct. He’d have to move on soon. Pennsylvania wasn’t just deserted. It was empty, a dead state, thoroughly picked over by Skins and humans, both attempting to survive. It would be winter soon, and although the cold didn’t bother him, there would be no chance of finding food.

  Fuck it.

  No longer caring, his hunger superseding his morals, Shandor took off running down the alley, crouched behind a Dumpster, leaped, and…

  He saw fire the moment it appeared, and reacted with his own fire. Just as he landed on his feet, the dual dark flames collided and instantly evaporated.

  Long black hair, bright green eyes, olive skin, and nice curves. She was a little on the skinny side now, obviously not eating well, but she was still just as beautiful as she’d been the first time he’d seen her.

  Trinity Deleanu was the last person he’d ever expected to run into. She was the last person he wanted to run into. Anything from his past, any reminder of what he’d once had and lost, he’d hoped to never come into contact with.

  After he’d changed, once he’d been able to think clearly again, he shut it off, all of it—his home, his family, his clan. Names, faces, and memories, he let them all go because he could never go back. Therefore, he was determined to take what he still had left, his life, and continue moving forward.

  But here was Trinity, and from the smell of things, she was alone. With dark magic emanating from her, which only meant one thing. Actually, it meant several things, but none of them were good.

  One, she had magic, meaning Gerik and she…

  But what about her marriage to Xan? Shandor felt his gut clench. If Trinity had finally succumbed to Gerik, that meant Xan hadn’t made it back to camp after the raid.

  Then there was the matter of her magic, her dark magic. For Trinity to have dark magic, it meant Gerik had dark magic when he’d joined their souls and given his powers to her.

  Why would Gerik have dark magic?

  What could have happened to Gerik, to Trinity, and to his clan?

  For all Shandor knew, they could all be dead, every last one of them.

  Swallowing back his rising fears, he tried to grin. None of it was his concern anymore.

  “Trinity,” he drawled, trying desperately to channel the man he’d once been. “Lucky me. Of all the cities in all the world, you walk into mine.”

  “Shandor,” she sneered, sounding bitter, angry, and very unlike Trinity. He knew instantly that this fată had been suffering.

  “It’s so nice to see you,” she continued. “You look great. Did you have work done? And congratulations on owning your own city.” She glanced around at the carnage and destruction. “It’s very beautiful.”

  In the face of female sarcasm, his typical response would have been to smirk and say something equally sarcastic. So he smirked and said, “You’re packing some kind of power there, fată. Did Gerik finally fuck you?”

  Her bright green eyes turned black. “Gosh, thanks for asking. But no, he didn’t.”

  Shandor let out a shaky-sounding laugh. “Are you all alone, fată?” he asked as he glanced around, wondering, hoping that m
aybe someone else was with her, that someone else had survived.

  No. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t go back.

  “Nope. I have my dark magic keeping me company. How about you?”

  Goddamn her. Why couldn’t she just be nice? Her attitude was making him angry, and when he was angry, all he wanted to do was attack. Add hunger into the mix, and it could get ugly. And if it got ugly, she would undoubtedly kill him. Through Gerik, Trinity would have derived an affinity for all elements. This meant that despite his own power, she could still kill him.

  Unable to completely contain the animal inside him, he bared his fangs. “I’ve still got my affinity for fire,” he growled. “Only now it’s dark, same as yours. Courtesy of my happy transition into the world of the damned, I suppose.”

  Shandor’s magic, the innate power of fire he’d been born with, hadn’t left him when he’d turned. Instead, it had shockingly turned dark. In addition to possessing the element of fire, he now also had spirit. Spirit gave him the ability to not only burn any living thing to death, but to also utilize the power of the dead to eat away at them faster than any flame could kill.

  And none of it made a bit of sense. As far as he’d ever known, dark magic only came to the most powerful Roma, those who possessed not just one or two of the elements but all five of them—earth, air, water, fire, and spirit. But in order to summon spirit to the body, the first four elements had to be called upon.

  Yet, somehow, when he’d changed from human to monster, his meager ability for fire had turned dark.

  “Listen, fată,” he said. “I’m gonna go that way.” He pointed in the direction Trinity had come from. “And you’re gonna go that way.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

  She gaped at him, her eyes wide with shock, and he knew that she now realized he was afraid of her.

  “Such self-control you have, Shandor,” she said smartly. “I’m impressed. Most of your kind still come snapping and snarling, even after they’ve seen what I can do.”

  He forced a grin. “I’ve never played by the rules, fată.” Which may have been true, but even so, he needed to get out of here before he attacked her and ended up dead.

  Refusing to breathe through his nose, he turned to go, stopping when he heard her yell.

  “Wait!”

  He closed his eyes and took a breath before turning around and refocusing on her. “What? You want a hug? Maybe a fuck for the road?”

  She ignored that. “When did this happen to you?”

  Shandor’s jaw clenched. He knew what was coming next and he didn’t want to have to tell her. Fuck, he didn’t want to have to think about it because he didn’t want it to be true. “The raid,” he bit out.

  Fear squeezed Trinity’s features and he felt his stomach churn with sympathy.

  “Xan?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Is he…okay?”

  Fuck. So, Xan hadn’t made it back.

  “The last time I saw him,” he said quietly, “frate was still an omnivore.”

  Trinity blew out a relieved breath, leading him to believe that maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe nothing had happened to his clan but instead had only happened to Trinity. And Gerik? But he couldn’t dwell on it; he had to keep telling himself that it didn’t matter anymore.

  “You and me, fată,” he said quietly, “we’re not so different, you know? We’ve both been dealt a shitty hand, and we’re just trying to make it work in any way we can.”

  He watched as her black eyes bled to green once again, and in them, he saw the gathering moisture.

  “Do me a favor,” Shandor said, choking back his own rising emotion. “Try not to judge so harshly that which you don’t understand.”

  She watched him for several heartbreaking moments before whispering, “Okay.”

  Okay. Yeah, it was time for him to leave. The last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of Trinity.

  He took a crouching step and then paused. “If you find him again,” he said, “tell him…remind him of the Fat Tuesday twins.”

  Her brow lifted. “The Fat Tuesday twins?”

  This time, his grin was sincere. “Yeah, baby,” he said, his tone crude. “I’ll let him tell you all about it.” This time, before she could delay him again, he took off running, leaping from car to car in order to get as far away from Trinity as fast as he could.

  Shandor couldn’t go back. He knew that. He could never go back.

  But even knowing that didn’t stop a lifetime of memories from flooding him—of family and friends, of his clan. Nor did it help ease the ache inside him.

  Chapter Four

  Shivering, Hockey stepped over the sleeping bodies of his companions, looking for a big enough slice of floor to lie down on and get some shut-eye. Wedging between Mira and Tyler, he wrapped his woolen blankets tightly around himself and closed his eyes.

  “Hey,” Mira whispered.

  His eyes opened.

  “It’s extra cold tonight,” she said through chattering teeth. “Winter’s coming quickly. You wanna double up?”

  He did. He wanted to triple up, quadruple up even. The warehouse they’d barricaded themselves inside, in preparation for the fast-coming winter, retained heat about as well as a drafty shed. Even with several fires burning inside strategically placed garbage bins, it was still far too cold for comfort. But he wasn’t a social person, even after spending months alongside the people who’d saved his life; he still felt so far removed from them. Yet he owed them his life and Hockey always repaid his debts.

  After the botched raid, he’d wandered for weeks—sleeping with one eye open as he searched for his clan, hot-wiring cars and using them until they ran out of gas, eating whatever garbage he could find.

  And for a man alone in a world full of demons who would just as soon kill him as look at him, he thought he was doing pretty damn good. It wasn’t fun, he wasn’t happy, but he was surviving.

  Until he was attacked.

  • • •

  While digging through the inner remains of a fast-food restaurant, his stomach burning with hunger, Hockey hadn’t heard the Skin Eater until it was nearly on top of him. Sensing the malevolence in the air, he had spun around and found the creature in midjump, fangs bared. Cursing, he stumbled backward, summoning fire to his palms as he tripped over the garbage strewn on the floor. Orange-and-white flames blasted from his palms and wrapped around the Skin Eater. The creature screamed as its skin and organs melted under the onslaught. Dead, it fell to the floor and proceeded to set fire to the wrappers and boxes it had landed on.

  Trapped between the growing flames and the restaurant’s drive-through window, Hockey had no choice but to try to squeeze through it. Gripping the top of the window, he hauled his large body up and attempted to squeeze himself through the small opening. But his frame was too wide and his shoulders wouldn’t fit. Feeling the flames licking his legs, he shoved as hard as he could, cracking the window frame. As he fell through the opening, the broken plastic sliced through his shoulder.

  Hockey hit the pavement hard on his back and shot immediately to his feet, looking for any threats. Finding himself alone, he hurried back to the minivan he was currently living in. After locking himself inside, he stripped off his shirt.

  Fuck.

  The slice through his shoulder, although only a few inches long, was deep. His arm was drenched in blood, and the bastard was still bleeding.

  After digging through his backpack, he found the small sewing kit he’d swiped from a convenient store. With shaking hands he threaded a needle, and set to work sewing his shoulder back together. He used his shirt as a temporary bandage, wrapping it tightly around the wound before tying it into a knot. The material was dirty and torn, but it was all he had. It would have to do for now.

  Two days later, parked on the side of a country road, Hockey found himself shivering and sweating, his thoughts muddled with the fever raging through his body. The gash on his arm was swollen, a painful, angry red mess.

&nb
sp; But even fevered, he knew he was going to die.

  In a minivan.

  And the cause of his death…

  A dirty window.

  Super.

  Time began to pass slowly after that. For days, he faded in and out of consciousness, sometimes awaking to the sun, sometimes to the stars. Instead of dwelling on the pain or the knowledge that this would be the end, he thought of Becki—her smooth brown skin, her deep chocolate eyes, her long mass of curls hanging down her back.

  “Holy shit, there’s a dude in here!”

  “Is he dead?”

  Hockey felt something cool touch his face, but lacked the strength to open his eyes.

  “No, not dead, but he’s not looking too good.”

  “Dump him. We need the van.”

  “I’m not dumping a sick guy on the side of the road, just so we can steal his car.”

  “Great. So we’re gonna lug around a half-dead guy, wait until he dies, and then dump him on the side of the road?”

  Hockey counted three different male voices.

  “You are such an asshole!” That last shrill, horrified statement had come from a female.

  “Fuck you. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s fucking Armageddon out here! Survival of the fittest.”

  “If we dump him, we’re no better than those monsters trying to kill us!”

  “It’s his arm. He’s got blood poisoning. See? But he’s not septic…yet.”

  “Who the fuck cares?”

  “He’s a human being! You should care!”

  “All of you, shut up! Get in the damn van and find me a pharmacy. In the meantime, someone give me a knife.”

  Hockey decided right then and there whoever this man was, he liked him.

  “Why?”

  “Gotta cut these stitches out.”

  “You’re not a fucking doctor!”

  “No, but I was a medic. I know what I’m doing.”

  The voices faded out after that. A few times, he thought he could feel the van jerking beneath him.