“Or too early. Is it an emergency?”
Callie couldn’t do this small talk. She couldn’t let Josh act like she was the one who was out of line here. Like she was alone in being a fuckup. “How do you know Adam?”
She heard a mug slide against a wooden table. Probably Zara’s coffee table. “Adam who? What are you talking about?”
“Dealer down on El Paseo. Tall guy. How do you know him?”
Josh coughed twice into the phone. “Why do you care who I know?”
“For one, he’s a dealer, and you are supposed to be sober—”
“I am fucking clean. You just can’t let that shit go, can you? Miss Perfect. Like you’re the only one who can make mistakes and be redeemed. You work for the Soul Charmer. You got Mom taken. That’s on you. Doesn’t have a damn thing to do with me staying clean.”
Wow. It wasn’t like she wasn’t proud of him for staying sober. She was, but this also wasn’t the first time. Being the responsible one in her family was getting goddamn old. He was the one who slipped back into drug use over and over. He was the one who took and took from her. Her help didn’t mean shit, apparently. Life got hard, and now it was all on her. Again. The post-detox thank yous were gone, but the least he could give her was honesty. She’d earned it.
“I always have your back. I work for the Soul Charmer because I had to get you back from the mobsters who you owed money for drugs.” She let the words explode. “Sorry if discovering you’ve stayed in contact with drug dealers would worry me. It’s not like I let you crash on my couch or paid for your rehab. Nope. I’m completely the asshole here.”
Callie was leaning over her phone. She’d gripped the edge of the counter. She let go, and swiped her hands down her face. Her hands were cold, but without the bite of magic. Small fucking miracles.
“I didn’t say you were an asshole.” Even over the speakerphone Josh sounded smaller, younger. She could almost forget she was the little sister, he the big brother.
“You didn’t answer my question. How do you know Adam?” Her tone sharpened with the smack she wished she could deliver to the back of his head.
“From work.”
Panic bit her chest. “You slinging drugs now?”
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he said under his breath. Before she could return that volley, he continued, “No. His brother works with me. Adam comes by to visit. He does more than sling drugs. He delivers materials.”
“Materials?” She didn’t bother hiding her disbelief.
“It’s construction. We use building materials. Really, Callie, do we have to have this conversation in the middle of the night?”
He really didn’t get it, did he? “It’s important.”
Josh was quiet for a moment. “No, it isn’t. You’re digging into my shit without a cause. You’re doing it at three in the goddamn morning. You should be doing something about getting our mom back. Spending your time trying to drag me down ain’t fair. Either you trust me or you don’t. I’m not the one putting the Soul Charmer before family. I’m not putting an outsider like the Charmer’s muscle before family. Could be that’s why I’m not the one who got mom taken. Could be you need to remember to put Delgados first again.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Callie’s voice was so quiet, it was a miracle Josh heard her.
Something metal squeaked on his end of the line.
“No. Just. Fucking. No. I’m your little sister, but I’ve been cleaning up your messes for years. I never say no to you. I never turn you away. You sent Ford to my fucking door to demand I work for him and then the Soul Charmer. I did things I vowed I would never do—and things I didn’t even know I was capable of—for you. For family. For Delgados. Mom got herself into this shit.” As soon as she said it, Callie knew it was true. It didn’t shake the guilt gripping her spine. Truth didn’t work like that. The truth had to break you before it could set you free.
“Mom chose to be involved with soul renting. She chose to ignore my advice to stay away. She pushed. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but this isn’t all on me. I’m doing everything I can to save our mother, and it would be fucking nice to get some help.”
“Oh.” Josh swallowed loud enough for Callie to hear.
“I was calling for help. For mom. For our family. But, yeah, Josh, I’m super fucking selfish.”
He swallowed hard again. Maybe the bitter truth was caught in his throat?
Finally, softly, he said, “What do you need?”
“I need to find Mom.” She sucked in a steadying breath. Before he could bring up his private investigator idea again, she continued, “Help me find Nate.”
“I’m gonna get us a P.I. We don’t need Nate.”
The shiver shooting down Callie’s spine had nothing to do with the thermostat. That familiarity. She hated that her brother had ever met Ford, Nate, and the other scary dealers, but she might have hated it even more that he didn’t hold grudges against them. Josh had gotten himself addicted. She wasn’t trying to put that on the people who distributed the drugs. But Ford and Nate were more than that. They’d kidnapped him. They’d blackmailed her. Those acts were on them, and if she could have she would never have spoken Nate’s name again. She had to, though. She had to play his stupid game, because he held the cards now.
“Seriously?”
Josh’s end of the call offered only the rustle of fabric.
Once again, she had to take the lead here. Had to guide him along. It’d be nice if he could be the same big brother who had protected her as a kid. The one who snuck her out of school for baseball games, who hid snacks under the sink for her when Zara earmarked all their money for Blackjack, who had helped her piece together Halloween costumes, and who had hidden her from bullies. She stifled a sigh, but resignation rattled against her ribs.
“Nate has our mom, Josh. He’s literally the bad guy here. Tell me who to talk to, where to go. Something for fuck’s sake.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. Honest. I haven’t talked to Nate. He’s missing, too. That’s why we need to hire a guy to find Mom.”
Josh was lucky they were having this call over the phone, because the urge to crunch his junk with a kick to the pants was begging for attention.
“Do you at least know of anyone who is close with him?”
“His ex-girlfriend is a cocktail waitress at Rodrigo’s.” His voice wavered, but the undercurrent of hope didn’t escape Callie.
“What’s her name?” she asked, trying not to imagine anyone wanting to have sex with Nate ever in the history of time.
“Cindi, I think.”
Callie glanced at the clock. It was almost four a.m. Rodrigo’s was a T&A joint serving sucky bar food. It also kept nightclub hours. Nights and weekends only. Talking to Nate’s ex-girlfriend was off the table for at least another twelve hours. Too long. Adam was on the move, and that meant at least some of Nate’s crew knew she was searching hard for him.
She needed another lead, but Josh wasn’t up to giving it to her. They said goodbyes, and Callie started scrolling through Adam’s phone messages for more clues.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Callie had been staring at Adam’s phone for so long, she almost didn’t recognize the buzz of her own cell. The rattle of plastic and glass was a reminder of her obligations to the Charmer. If she still worked at the retirement home, requesting leave would be as simple as a form and a promise to keep others updated. She might earn an on-the-books paycheck from the soul-renting gig, but it didn’t come with a 401K or any time off.
Becoming an apprentice to the Soul Charmer had not given her freedom from collections duty. She now had more to do without Derek at her side. She missed his casual lethality, and the way it put clients in the mood to remit.
He hadn’t returned yet. She texted him. “Any luck?”
Derek’s response pinged back almost immediately. “Plates were stolen.”
Well, shit.
“Recent. Am looking into
the victim,” his next message read.
Derek had connections to get access to the Gem City PD files. He should be able to dig into this without putting himself in danger. At least that’s what Callie told herself. Only three people knew Derek had bombed Ford’s properties: Callie, Derek, and the Soul Charmer. None of them were going to speak the words aloud, but lying low still felt necessary. Ford’s crew—was she supposed to start thinking of them as Nate’s?—weren’t dumb. They knew who had grudges, and the Soul Charmer was top of that list.
Callie needed to make a move without catching attention. She needed to do it without Derek. He could stay busy on one angle, and she’d take the other more dangerous one. It was about time she started protecting him the way he did for her.
The alerts on her phone showed four overdue souls. Three in the suburbs and one in the Railyard district had her name on them. Her scavenger hunt through Adam’s messages gave her an idea. She opened the full log, and scrolled through the locations. Beck had almost as many repos assigned, but one caught Callie’s eye. Johnny Rocks—probably not his real name—was one of the hardcore tweakers who still held a fervent belief in God. He was determined to rise to Heaven—just as soon as he finished getting high on earth. Callie and Derek had picked up from him before. Some days Johnny Rocks was docile and an easy pick up. Other days, though? You better know how to dodge punch.
Callie peeked at her watch. Beck usually hit up the Charmer in the early morning. He’d drop off the previous night’s collections, and get his face-time with the boss. If Callie could get down there soon enough, she could catch him.
It had finally stopped snowing, but the grey sky was tinged with enough green to tell her this was merely a short intermission. Someone had scattered chunky salt rock on the steps and sidewalk outside her apartment, which would have been nice if they ever remembered the parking lot. Especially as Callie’s Chuck Taylors didn’t offer much grip. She edged down the stairs slowly, and plotted a path out to her car. Once she stepped out of the breezeway, ice became the least of her problems. A trio of black-and-white police cruisers was parked near building nine. Callie lived in building ten. The cherries atop the cop cars weren’t flashing. Uniformed officers clustered at the opening of the other building’s breezeway. Yellow and black tape partitioned the entrance, and laid claim on the space. Callie averted her gaze before she appeared too interested. She was interested. She didn’t spot Grady or Ortega, which meant maybe this didn’t have to do with her. Cops at your apartment complex wasn’t ever a good sign.
Callie slowly shuffled the soles of her sneakers across the icy patches and into the parking lot. Mrs. Rios stood behind her son’s truck. She puffed a cigarette, and watched the police. She nodded at Callie. “You believe this shit?”
“What happened?” Concealing curiosity was more complex than people gave it credit for.
Mrs. Rios, who lived two apartments down from Callie, let out a long breath. Smoke and steam from the cold rushed from her lips before she answered. “That squirrelly guy with the glasses and the noisy car. You know the one?”
Callie didn’t know his name either. “Yeah.”
“He killed his girlfriend and then himself.”
“Damn.” How did people get to that point? How did that happen? Callie had done a lot of desperate things, but even at her lowest she couldn’t fathom that.
“Been listening to the cops. Sounds like the guy’s fingerprints don’t match his file. He’s got a record for something. Guess he’s one of the soul users.” Mrs. Rios shook her head. “I know this ain’t Evergreen Estates, but you’d think they’d do a background check on people before letting the move in here.”
Callie mumbled an agreement. Placating her neighbor wasn’t a priority. A soul user had killed his girlfriend and himself. If his fingerprints were still jacked, he still had a borrowed soul in him when he died. This was not fucking good. How did the match go so wrong? How did this guy get the wrong soul? The Charmer was careful. He had protocols to avoid this. He wasn’t perfect—shit—but this was bad. If they thought the cops were interested in soul magic before, the heat about was about to flip full inferno.
She needed out. She needed to find Nate, get her mom back, and get the fuck out of the soul rental business.
Beck was pacing in the front room of the Soul Charmer’s emporium. Callie’s Chucks sunk into the carpet, but any sound was lost behind the squish-suck-plop refrain from Beck’s heavy circuit.
“You okay?” she asked out of habit. Everyone asked that question these days, and everyone lied when they answered. Politeness with the promise of abdication. Those who truly knew us didn’t have to ask.
Beck slowed his path, but didn’t stop. His noncommittal shrug the same lie Callie would have offered. Where Derek was blunt bat with a metal core, Beck was lean muscle wrapped around rebar.
“Fair enough,” she said to herself. Louder, to Beck, she asked, “You waiting on the Charmer?”
Even her small talk was salty.
Beck stopped pacing. The floor whined beneath him. “Always these days. He’s double-checking the souls I brought back. Like I’d bring the wrong ones.”
Beck wasn’t as adept with soul magic as Callie was, but he had the ability to use one of the retrieval containers. Its magic did the work for him. She and Beck were the only two who could use the latent magic in the container to pull a rented soul from its host. Derek had tried to take in the Charmer’s magic before, and the result was a lot of vomit and a sore stomach. Maybe that’s why she understood Beck’s frustration. At least she was able to command souls on her own. At least she had some leverage against the Charmer. Beck didn’t hold the man’s magic in his belly. He didn’t burn like vellum in a lantern near an open soul. He couldn’t bring back the renter’s real soul. Even her flask didn’t have that kind of power.
Bursting through a curtained doorway shouldn’t have been possible. There was no thud of wood against wall and no heavy thwack of palm against wood, but The Soul Charmer managed to slam the curtain aside with enough force to shock a sharp wind from between the folds.
“Your souls will do,” he said to Beck.
The Charmer dropped a flask on the countertop. The jade exterior connected with a dead clunk against the surface. His flask was larger than Callie’s, but far less ornate. The green gemstone wrapped around the container in four thin bands between the brushed aluminum. Beck didn’t move to touch the thing. His fingers twitched at his side. They were far larger than the stone strips. Would he ever feel the hum of magic stored within the device? A rented soul behind Callie’s sternum hadn’t felt like anything to her, but even now her flask, with its rich onyx exterior, warmed and pulsed inside her pocket.
The Soul Charmer turned toward Callie so slowly his spine should have creaked. Red streaks shot through his eyes, but his inky black pupils were sharp. Watching. “Calliope. About time you came back. I agreed to take you on as an apprentice, pay you, and yet I have more than a dozen souls missing from my shelves. Did you think you could simply steal my magic, and then ignore your responsibilities?”
Callie had never had the Charmer turn an accusation on her, but it wasn’t the first time she’d been blamed for bullshit. Zara had been damn good at making everything Callie’s fault. What did it say about her that she knew had to navigate this kind of irrational anger?
She inclined her head, a deferential move, and then said, “I came here as usual. I’ll get your souls like normal.”
Normal. Usual. Fucking lies. None of this mattered, but she needed this magic, this power on her side. She needed to keep the Charmer calm and firmly aligned with her. If Nate asked for more, she’d need that assurance. She’d need access. She’d need souls. She’d need to be able to do whatever was necessary to save Zara.
“The churn is too much,” the Charmer whispered. The words meant little to Callie, but she knew better than to ask for an explanation. He dropped a heavy hand onto the counter.
“Bring back everything
you can,” he said to Callie. Then to Beck he added, “Send in more business.”
“I thought you wanted us collecting,” Callie said before she thought things through. Yet again.
“My business isn’t simply retrieving souls. It’s finding them homes, hosts.” Simple words packed with the punch of memory. The image of souls stretching against the well’s barrier flashed to the forefront of Callie’s mind. It was gone just as quickly.
“More hosts.” Beck nodded. “Got it, boss.”
The Charmer was already moving back past the curtain when he called back, “Be back before it gets busy.”
It wasn’t clear which of them he was speaking to, but both Callie and Beck remained quiet for a dozen long breaths. Tendrils of smoke rose from the tips of the incense on the counter. Steady, slow plumes. Tension bracketed Callie’s neck. When the air didn’t waver, she relaxed enough to refocus on Beck.
“I didn’t think he could be more volatile, but I guess sleep deprivation is that much of a bitch.” Callie could muster fake confidence more quickly these days. She sounded unconcerned, even let the corner of her mouth tick up in an almost amused movement. Her heart was working overtime, but Beck couldn’t see that.
Beck shoved a hand through his thick, dark hair. “Then he needs to pop a damn Xanax or double dose some melatonin.”
She fought the urge to roll her shoulders. To loosen muscles and her mind. He didn’t have to hide the harsh halos around his eyes with concealer. When your body exuded physical malice, you didn’t need to cover up your flaws. Every mark, even those of fatigue, could disarm the enemy.
“I actually came to see you.” Her strained voice shivered.
That got his attention. Hazel eyes fixed on her. “Why?”
Hell. She came here to ask him for a favor. Passing one another in the shop didn’t count as knowing each other, though. He rocked on his heels, and she could almost see the way his legs flinched, ready to run. The first time she’d seen Beck he had been coming up from the shop’s basement after securing the Charmer’s rival Tess. She doubted he remembered what the Charmer had gotten Callie to do then, what she’d done to Tess in that room, why she’d done it. She wasn’t sure if that knowledge would help or hurt her today.
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