Soul Bite

by D. N. Erikson

  That was another problem for another day.

  Right now, I just needed to survive the next five minutes.

  After a measured breath, I said, “So Fenrir is suffering from the Scent of Fire.”

  “It’s not contagious from creature to creature, if that is your concern.”

  “Hadn’t crossed my mind.” With all the other shit going on, being burned alive by a magical pathogen hadn’t even made my list of concerns.

  “Your sister has been useful in procuring souls to keep him alive.”

  No wonder it’d been a real bitch finding souls the past couple months. “Then what makes you think more souls are the answer?”

  “A concentrated tonic brewed by a master sorceress is the answer.”

  “And if it isn’t?”

  Lucille’s eyes, only inches away, clearly answered that question.

  Failure would not be beneficial to my health—or Sierra’s.

  “So why come to me for the souls instead of Sierra?”

  “Because she cannot provide the one key ingredient.”

  “Love?” I couldn’t resist.

  Lucille stepped back, smiled, and stared at the high, sloping ceiling.

  “Access to the sorceress who crafted the Scent of Fire.”

  “I have no fucking idea who that is.”

  “But you have the vampire’s ear.” The smile grew wider, even as Fenrir moaned in agony. “And Aldric most certainly knows who he hired to ruin my organization.”

  “I don’t think he wants to hear from me right now,” I said.

  “Then you will make him hear your words.” Lucille’s smile vanished. “Because that is your one true skill in this world, Reaper.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Telling lies that will one day rip others asunder.”

  19

  With nervous fingers, I dialed Aldric’s number as I paced about the living room.

  Lucille stalked behind me like a jaguar, her eyes digging into my back.

  A woman answered on the first ring. “Black Sea Holdings, how may I direct your call?”

  “Give me Aldric.”

  “He’s not available right now.”

  “It’s Eden. Wake him up.”

  “Miss Hunter, you know that he doesn’t like being woken—”

  “Just fucking do it.”

  “I’ll see if he’s in.” The phone banged around on the other end as she set it down.

  After a minute, Aldric’s voice cut across the line. “I will not reconsider my position on Dante Cross, Eden, and if you insist on pressing the issue, there will be consequences.”

  “Don’t care,” I said. “This is about something else.”

  “Then speak quickly.” His already icy tone turned glacial.

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and drew in a deep breath to calm my nerves. Heart pounding, I said, “I have a lead on the rain goddess.”

  Lucille looked ready to skin me alive and opened her mouth to speak. I shot her a death glare and she remained silent.

  An Italian loafer tapped in the background of the call. “You have a location?”

  “See, that’s the thing. She’s crafty.”

  “If you have only called to relay information which I already know—”

  “But her wolf, he’s wounded.”

  At this point, Lucille grabbed my arm, her short nails digging deep into my skin. I ended the call when it became evident she was about to blow my cover.

  “What the hell are you doing, Reaper?” Venom dripped from her normally melodious voice.

  “Making him hear the words,” I said. “Or do you forget so soon?”

  “You are telling him the truth.”

  “The best lies are built on a kernel of truth.” I shook loose of her grip. “And Aldric’s too old to fool with complete bullshit.”

  “He now knows Fenrir is vulnerable.”

  “From how you described the attack, he probably guessed that anyway.”

  She glared and slid back, long braid swishing over her naked body.

  I redialed the number and, when Aldric answered, I hastily said, “Crappy reception.”

  “Do not waste any more of my time.”

  “I’m not. I told you—”

  “I care not for her mongrel dog.” His tone cut across the call like a machete.

  “But the dog is desperate to live.” I let that idea simmer for a few seconds, then added, “Have you heard the myth of Odin?”

  “I am uninterested in stories right now.”

  “Fenrir was his loyal wolf. But eventually, Fenrir turned on his master.”

  The actual Fenrir growled on the couch, perturbed by this characterization.

  Aldric’s shoe tapped on the other end of the line. “And you are saying that this Fenrir is similarly inclined to betray his master. For a price, of course.”

  “And what do you get out of this, Eden?”

  “I was hoping we might negotiate.”

  “Negotiate what, precisely?”

  “I only want to deliver five souls a week.”

  “What you want is not my concern.” There was a laugh. “You will deliver me her location. And on Friday, you will deliver seven souls.”

  I sighed, pretending to be disappointed. But it was just negotiation 101—leading with a huge, impossible ask that made the next one seem like a minor concession.

  “I had to ask,” I said. “I need the sorceress you used to wipe out the DSA.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Fenrir’s not talking unless he survives.”

  “The wolf desires an antidote?” His tone didn’t change, offering no insight into whether he’d been responsible. “Very well. I shall have it sent over to you.”

  “No.” Shit. Hadn’t thought of that.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean the wolf is skittish and paranoid after you tried to kill him. And he’ll run back into the jungle if he even sniffs your goons within a hundred yards.”

  “This wolf asks for too much.”

  “Too much to regain control of your island?” I baited the hook.

  It was too juicy for even a pragmatic, battle-tested vampire to resist. “My assistant shall text you the requisite details.”

  “Do it quick,” I said, glancing at a convulsing Fenrir, “because he doesn’t look so hot.”

  “I expect an interesting report when I see you later today, Eden.”

  “Oh, we’re meeting today?”

  “We are now.” And with that, the vampire hung up.

  20

  The details arrived a minute later: The sorceress, naturally named Valeria, lived in the middle of the island. So I’d be taking my second trip of the day through the island’s scenic no-man’s land.

  After I gave Lucille the information, I headed upstairs and pretended to retrieve the souls from the hidden safe in the empty guest room. In reality, I placed two of the ones still in my pockets into the wall safe. Hopefully three would be enough to craft this antidote.

  As I exited the room, I caught sight of a wide-eyed Khan peeking out from the master bedroom. I pressed my finger to my lips and the cat vanished from sight.

  Lucille was satisfied by my three-soul offering when I returned downstairs. It was agreed that Fenrir was too weak to travel. Whatever patchwork of healing magic, salves, and souls that had held him together over the past two months were no longer effective.

  He couldn’t have more than a few hours left, which made matters all the more urgent.

  So much for that shower and nap. I made a quick pot of extremely lukewarm coffee, drank half of it, then headed out with the goddess to seize the afternoon.

  Or escape nearly certain death.

  One of the two.

  After a silent walk up the beach, we reached the service road and got into Cross’s Porsche. Lucille’s naked, dirty body scratched against the passenger seat.

  I said, “You might consider wearing some clothes.”
<
br />   She replied, “I have no use for such artifice anymore.”

  That lack of logic was hard to argue with, so I shut up and drove. The thirty-minute drive to the center of the island passed in blissful silence.

  We passed the old rusted gas station where I used to meet up with Renard Martin. The kid had gotten accepted early to Stanford—they’d been impressed by his writing abilities. Good thing I’d made him sign up for AP English.

  Eden Hunter, mentor. A sign of end times if there ever was one.

  The station faded into the dense jungle. Another fifteen minutes, and four switchback turns later, and the car’s navigation system beeped.

  We’d arrived at our destination.

  I came to a gentle stop as the one-lane dirt road ended. Up ahead stretched a pasture of green grass and orange trees—a pleasant little valley in the middle of nowhere. At the center sat a one-story ranch style home, a faint path of matted grass leading to its doorstep.

  Smoke poured from the brick chimney.

  “Looks like Valeria’s home,” I said.

  Lucille didn’t answer. The naked goddess got out of the car, not bothering to shut the door. Her bare feet kicked up grass as she sprinted across the pasture.

  A shotgun ratcheted.

  “Lie face down on the path. Do it slow.”

  A gust of wind answered—Lucille’s response.

  Then it died, like a fan being shut off.

  A vine shot out from an orange tree, lifting the naked goddess high off the ground.

  I didn’t have a chance to blink before I, too, was ensnared by one of the dangerous citrus trees, my feet dangling ten feet off the ground.

  An older woman—not elderly, but on the cusp—with straight posture and short gray hair emerged from behind a tree.

  “You’re trespassing,” she said.

  “I am the goddess of rain.” Lucille didn’t look very god-like squirming in the tree’s brambly tentacle.

  “I’m well aware,” Valeria replied, pointing the double-barreled shotgun at the goddess. “Now tell me what the hell you’re doing on my land.”

  Thunder clapped, and the vines shuddered, but the orange trees held their grip.

  Despite the weirdness, my main objection to this situation—for some reason—was that orange trees didn’t have vines.

  I could only conclude that sleep deprivation and a generally shitty twenty-four hours were finally taking their toll.

  “Release me.” Lucille’s voice was almost plaintive. “Now.”

  “Five.” Valeria’s lips pursed together in a stern expression.

  “There will be retribution—”

  “Four.”

  “I command you to release me.”

  “Three.”

  Shit.

  This sorceress meant business. I jerked my arm, finding my bonds slightly loose. Most of the magical defenses must’ve been used to contain the goddess.

  I spotted a bead of sweat dripping from Valeria’s temple.

  “Two.”

  It wouldn’t be the worst thing if Valeria shot the goddess in the head.

  But if she shot Lucille, this sorceress would probably bury me next.

  A violent clap of thunder rolled through the valley. The sky flickered.

  The vines shuddered, but the defenses held.

  I realized that the countdown wasn’t so much of a warning, but a necessity.

  Valeria only had enough energy to contain the goddess for a half minute at most.

  “One.”

  My hand plunged into my pocket.

  In a smooth motion, I flicked out the Reaper’s Switch and plunged it into the vine’s green flesh. It released its grip, and I tumbled to the ground.

  A tremendous gust of wind rushed through the valley, sweeping my hair back.

  I heard a crack.

  Glancing to my right, I found the naked goddess stalking toward an orange tree as the sorceress tried to stagger to her feet.

  Another burst of wind pinned Valeria to the tree. Lightning bolts knifed across the graying sky, striking each of the trees. Fire erupted from their green branches, cloaking the pleasant valley in a veil of smoke.

  “You will reverse the Scent of Fire,” Lucille said, her voice now carried by the wind itself, swirling about the entire valley like a tornado.

  “And if I refuse?”

  Another crack, followed by a scream.

  I realized, then, that the first crack hadn’t been the tree.

  It had been one of the sorceress’s bones.

  I grimaced, pushing myself off the grass with a clenched fist. I retrieved the Reaper’s Switch, which had slipped from my grasp during the fall, and gingerly limped over to the tree.

  After glancing between the goddess and the ailing sorceress, I said quietly, “The reason we’re here is simple. You’re going to die.”

  “Then kill me,” Valeria said. “The DSA deserved it. Scum.”

  She spat.

  Lucille raised a hand, and Valeria froze in place.

  I’d witnessed this trick once before—in the jungle, with Cross.

  “But this psycho is going to make your death so painful that it’ll haunt your soul forever,” I said, nodding toward the dirt-covered goddess.

  Fire crackled in the treetops as the sorceress’s eyes moved slowly to the goddess.

  Finally, she forced out a single word, “Promise.”

  “There will be no promises,” Lucille said, actually shaking with fury. Embers drifted through the air like fireflies.

  I leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Fenrir doesn’t have time for you to do this the long way.”

  After a long pause, the goddess said, “Very well.”

  Lucille lowered her hand. Valeria dropped to the ground in a half-broken heap and looked up, eyes flickering with defiance and rage.

  I had a sinking feeling that procuring this antidote wouldn’t be easy.

  21

  Much to my surprise, Valeria did go easy. The threat of an agonizing death outweighed her general hatred of the DSA. As I sat outside and listened to her work, I realized she hadn’t brewed the Scent of Fire for money or because she was indentured to Aldric.

  She’d done it because she believed the goddess was a plague on the island.

  I could sense it in the strains of Valeria’s citrus-tinged soul seeping through the open door.

  It took her less than twenty minutes to brew an antidote for the Scent of Fire.

  I knew it was done when I heard a crack. Seconds later, Lucille strode out of the house, clutching a vial.

  “Dead,” the goddess said, answering my unspoken question as she walked past. “Carry this.”

  The vial came spiraling toward me. I caught the precious antidote.

  I swallowed hard. Ash sprinkled from the gray sky as I looked out across the ruined grove of orange trees. The shotgun lay by the home’s doorway, its barrel twisted like a pretzel.

  This sorceress had been powerful enough to hold Lucille—even for a few seconds—and she had been squashed like a bug beneath a work boot.

  What hope did I have of surviving once we returned to the villa? Fenrir would be healed, and then Lucille would have her revenge on me.

  Not happening.

  I needed to force her hand.

  Now.

  “You promised to release me.”

  “I do not recall such a promise being made.” Lucille kept walking. “And the work is not yet finished, Reaper.”

  “My role is,” I said.

  Lucille glanced back, already at the top of the small valley, her braided hair swishing over her naked torso like a coiled rattlesnake.

  “Come,” Lucille called, her harsh tone carrying a monumental threat. “Fenrir is waiting.”

  My entire being vibrated with existential fear, but I held firm near the house. “No.”

  “Then I will leave you here.” Lucille turned, her lithe muscles poised to sprint.

  “Too bad I have the keys,” I
said, slipping the vial into my pocket and returning with them swinging from my finger. “Can’t start a car without them. Even if you’re the goddess of rain.”

  Her life of feral hiding over the past two months had caused her to forget one thing.

  Sometimes, technology was more powerful than magic.

  “Give them to me.” Lucille’s voice was positively lethal as she spun around.

  I scrambled inside the house and slammed the door. “Not unless you release me.”

  “Then I will take the keys by force.” Lucille roared. Through the window, I saw her race down the incline like a bullet train, covering the hundred-fifty yards at Olympic speed.

  I threw the deadbolt.

  She collided with the door frame, shaking the entire house.

  A lightning bolt crashed outside.

  The door rattled from a vicious kick. To my surprise, it held.

  Valeria must’ve cast a couple protection wards upon her home. But, like the twisting vines, they wouldn’t last long.

  The house groaned as the wind picked up outside.

  Over the din, I yelled, “Fenrir dies if I do.”

  “Do not threaten me.” The wind itself screamed the words.

  I quickly scanned the interior. Nothing special: beige carpet, a loveseat and recliner in the living area, seated before a fireplace. To the left was a snug kitchen with modern appliances. To the right were two rooms—a bedroom and a closed door.

  Locked.

  Hands shaking, I fumbled with the Reaper’s Switch, removing the bobby pin taped to the handle.

  A sonic boom rocked the house, and I dropped the knife. The pin tumbled to the carpet.

  “Shit!” I dropped to my knees. It felt like the earth was about to open beneath me.

  One of the shingles flew off the roof. A sliver of charred gray sky sliced through the opening.

  It was clear now that Lucille never had any intention of letting me go.

  My fingers ran along the burrs in the carpet, but I couldn’t find the pin.

  Looking up, my gaze settled on a rusted fire poker lying near the fireplace.

  I raced over and steadied myself against the brick flue as the house seesawed.

  Then I darted back to the closed door and swung the fire poker against the knob.

  The handle splintered, and the door creaked open.