Lost Souls

by Chelsea Mueller

  “I’ve got a ‘burb retrieval from Jose. You know the stockbroker guy who wears those khaki slacks that the golf nerds down the mountain love?” She was rambling. She needed to focus. “That guy’s wife exhausts me.”

  Beck chuckled, but those eyes remained wary.

  “I don’t want to go out there. I saw you had Johnny Rocks on your list today. Happy to swap.”

  “You want that sketchy addict?” He didn’t hide his curiosity. Callie had only been in this business for weeks, but she already knew curiosity usually ended with shit on fire.

  She edged behind the counter, and pulled out the stash box filled with incense. There were three lit in the front room, and the one nearest the door was burned to the stub. Hands busy, eyes down. Faking low-key vibes would only work if she could hide her weariness. Opening the door for him to ask about what was going on, to wonder why she really wanted to spend her morning seeking out a couch-surfing tweaker, would only further complicate things. Her life already was taking on chess master-level complexities, and she was purely a checkers girl.

  “He likes me. Makes it an easy pick up. Plus no chance of running into Jose’s wife Melinda.” Callie edged past him to place the fresh incense in the holder.

  For the first time since the Charmer’s blustery exit, Beck’s shoulders eased. “She isn’t that bad.”

  Callie turned to watch Beck from over her shoulder. She didn’t have to lie when she said, “Last time she almost hit me with a vase.”

  “She threw a vase at you?” Wariness melted away, replaced by a keen sharpness. The Soul Charmer didn’t hire idiots. You didn’t stay out of jail or with your soul long in this building if you couldn’t read a person.

  “Not at me. At Jose. But I had the flask on him at the time.” Amusement laced her words, and Beck bought them. None of this was funny. Jose and Melinda weren’t funny, but the story at least wasn’t a lie.

  “All right, Callie girl, I’ll swap the junkie for the philanderer with the angry wife.”

  So he did know Jose. Melinda hadn’t been mad about the soul renting. Derek had collected cash from her before. No, Jose’s wife was pissed he was using the soul to step out on her without having to confess to their priest. Of all the parts of that situation to be mad at. Callie shook her head at the memory.

  Callie slipped out the front door before the Charmer could pop his head out again and demand some fresh absurdity from her. Tracking down Johnny Rocks wasn’t going to be quick, but if anyone knew where to find the guys with the good meth, the guys who would know Nate, and who would be legitimately scared of her, it was him.

  All she had to do was find the junkie.

  That would be easier to do if she’d found him more than once. Last time Johnny Rocks had been beatboxing outside Deco’s, a local arcade. He’d told her he liked the lights. He’d tried to pet her hair. He’d been very high. Other than being too touchy-feely for her tastes, he’d been an easy repo.

  Once back in her car, she cranked the heater. While she waited for the car to warm, Callie texted Derek. “You still busy?”

  She’d planned to do this on her own, but his help wasn’t horrible. She wasn’t about to admit it to Derek, but not eating or sleeping was taking a toll. Acid churned in her stomach, and her belly let out a grumbling plea. She popped open the center console, and pulled an energy shot out. She knocked back the liquid, and hoped the organic pep shit wouldn’t rot her veins.

  Derek didn’t answer her question, just replied, “Tell me where to meet you, doll.”

  His devotion warmed something in her. Maybe her brain was going gooey, but she couldn’t help but smile. Even with Zara missing, even after Josh was an asshole, even knowing what lay ahead.

  “Taco time,” she replied, and could already imagine his grin in response.

  The greasy little taco shop had a different name, but a dozen years ago ran a promotion with a guy in a cartoon taco suit with an oversized watch dangling around his neck. The little pieces of matching pasts that she and Derek shared aligned in simple ways, but they mattered to her.

  Derek confirmed he’d meet her at the south side taco shop in twenty minutes. Callie pulled away from the curb, and hoped Derek could help her find Johnny Rocks quickly. Finding someone who knew Adam was essential. Josh might not be willing to give her a possible address for Nate, but she wasn’t afraid to push Johnny Rocks to get her one.

  It’d been five days since her mother’s fingers had been delivered. Mob medical teams were not remarkable. Zara needed her. Time had to be running out. Callie would not let Zara die. She would not let Nate take her mother from her. Callie gritted her teeth. Now wasn’t the time to let blame drip down her bones.

  Souls, fire, drugs. Whatever it took to get her to Nate, to Zara, she was going to do.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tacos couldn’t solve everything—they weren’t pie—but they sure didn’t hurt. Derek had arrived at Alberto’s first, and ordered Callie two of the shredded beef tacos. The food was plain, but still decadent in a dripping-grease-everywhere kind of way. Callie ate one of the tacos without question, and Derek relaxed. Seeing his jaw ease and his shoulders soften reminded her how much he was willing to bear. The bombings weighed on him still. His arms would twitch in his sleep, and his lips would curl down in a childlike pout, and though they didn’t speak of it in the mornings, she knew he was remembering placing the blast caps, igniting the fuses, running.

  She didn’t want that life for him any longer. They’d agreed they were getting out from under the Soul Charmer, but that was an easier goal when mobsters weren’t disappearing with your family and when you didn’t know the people protecting unattached souls.

  They didn’t speak of these things while they crunched through the fried corn tortilla shells. There was something to be said for savoring the silence. Unfortunately it couldn’t last.

  Callie crunched the paper taco wrapper into a small ball. She bit the end of her soda straw, but didn’t sip. Finally, she said, “I need to find Johnny Rocks.”

  Derek groaned, and eased back into the rigid metal chair.

  “I swapped with Beck,” she added before he could suggest he take care of dragging the guy into the shop on her behalf.

  He stared at her for a long moment. “Do I want to know?”

  Probably not. “We need to find Nate. Adam’s phone didn’t tell me a whole lot.” She paused just too long, and Derek snatched the thread.

  “What did it tell you?”

  Callie’s toes curled inside her Chucks, but she managed not to squirm. Derek wouldn’t judge her. Why was this so hard?

  “Josh was in the phone. I called him, and he wasn’t helpful. And he’s all set on hiring an investigator, and wouldn’t tell me where to find Adam or Nate, and he knows Adam because he works with the guy’s brother, but he wouldn’t tell me where safe houses were or give me any leads and it was pointless,” she ripped through the truth.

  Derek didn’t flinch or pull away. He simply nodded.

  “I told him it was his turn to help,” she added softly, shame squeezing the words.

  “Hey.” He reached a scarred hand out and lifted her chin until her gaze met his again. “It’s hard to tell the ones we love they’re hurting us. Hard to call them on their bullshit. I’m proud of you.”

  Whenever soul renters blabbed about the sensation of taking on an extra soul, they sang about the light in their chest, the lift, the reprieve from whatever crushing concerns held them back from what they wanted most. It was like a guilt-free euphoria, supposedly. Callie hadn’t gotten as much as an endorphin high the one and only time she’d had a second soul wedged in her body. This, though? Right now? It was the closest she’d come to that rush. It wasn’t that her body warmed so much as that her ribs expanded on a fully oxygenated breath and in that newfound space lightness built scaffolding along the ribs. Each inhale was easier. Callie couldn’t remember the last time someone outside the family had said they were proud of her. Fuck. She couldn’t
remember the last time anyone was proud of her. Derek didn’t say shit like that to score points. Tears prickled along her lower eyelids. She sucked in a quick breath through her nose, and hoped her sinuses would get the “hold that shit in” message.

  Derek simply smiled at her. “It’s okay. I’ve got you, doll.”

  “Thanks” might not have been the right answer to anyone else, but Derek’s chest expanded and from the other side of the table it sure looked like satisfaction.

  “I guess we need to find Johnny Rocks then,” Derek said without a hint of irritation.

  He continued, “But I want to look through Adam’s phone later, too. There might be more info to squeeze from it.”

  They left Callie’s car outside the taco shop, and swapped for Derek’s car. He didn’t drive it often, but it was too damn cold to be on the motorcycle. It was a basic black and both the right level of new to be quiet and the right level of old to be forgettable. The interior heated more quickly and thoroughly than hers. She tugged off her gloves. The car bumped its way down a two-lane road on the edge of town before turning into Gem City’s industrial corridor.

  The pawnshop they pulled up to had iron bars over the windows and a neon pink sign in the window proclaiming, “We Buy Gold.” Callie’s few pawnshop experiences had been about recovering important items her brother had put up for cash. The diamond studs their grandmother had left Zara had cost Callie quite a bit to get back, but heirlooms and legacies were worth the money. Zara had yet to give them to Callie, and considering the way they parted and her mother’s current predicament, those earrings might never make it to Callie’s hands. Whatever. She shook the errant thought away. Diamonds were nothing compared to her mother’s life. She had to focus. Johnny Rocks. Adam. Nate. Zara.

  If only it could be that simple.

  The door buzzed to admit them. The interior of the shop was bright, and the tile floor polished. She’d often suggested the Charmer’s emporium was a pawnshop for souls, but his place was much darker. Callie and Derek edged along one wall covered with an array of guitars, a sitar, two trumpets, and a lone trombone. A quick scan proved the store empty aside from the clerk. He was the most average guy she’d seen in ages. Shorter than Derek, slim build with pudge around the middle, and a short beard. The case behind him held dozens of firearms. Callie’s pulse sped, but she figured that was the point. Mr. Average wasn’t intimidating, but having rifles at the ready put him in a position of power.

  “Can I help you folks?” he asked, not moving from behind the counter.

  Derek barely moved. His hands were at his side, but he stretched his fingers back toward Callie. She slipped her hand into his, and he squeezed twice. He’d read the room, too. Callie was fine with letting him do the talking.

  “Hey, Greg. We’re looking for Johnny. You seen him lately?”

  One didn’t get into the pawn business if they scared easily or were a shitty liar.

  “Johnny?” Greg didn’t bother hiding his sneer.

  Derek’s back vibrated against Callie’s shoulder, but this grumble didn’t reach anyone’s ears. “Johnny Rocks. Found him here a few months back. He’s late on owing my boss, which usually means he’s looking to sell something good to you.”

  Derek’s eyes were narrowed, and Greg’s did the same. Whatever had happened last time, these two weren’t friends.

  “I don’t buy from thieves.”

  “Didn’t say he was a thief. Just said he has debts to pay.”

  “I also don’t do business with people who can’t pay.”

  “Fine. You see Johnny, though, can you nudge him in the Soul Charmer’s direction as you boot him out the door?”

  Greg offered a slow nod.

  Callie started to move toward the door, but Derek squeezed her hand once more and she stopped.

  “You want to extend your term while I’m here? Looks like you’re a little lacking in employees to cover for you.” If Callie hadn’t known Derek didn’t steal, she’d have thought he was making a threat.

  Greg shuffled beneath the counter, and Callie regretted eating the taco earlier. Her stomach plummeted.

  Long quiet seconds passed until Greg lifted a hand. Green bills peeked from within his palm. “I’ve got four hundred. How long will that add?”

  Derek released Callie’s hand, and walked slowly to Greg. He accepted the wad of cash and shoved it in his pocket without counting it. “The Charmer will let you keep it for another month since you’re such a loyal customer.”

  The front door lock buzzed loudly. Callie and Derek exited. No Johnny Rocks and no souls, but four hundred dollars richer.

  Once they were back inside the privacy of the car Callie asked, “What was all that about?”

  “He’s kept the same rented soul now for months.” He turned the key, and the engine fired.

  “What? Doesn’t that defeat the point a bit?” How would someone be able to escape guilt if it was always in them? Which soul would be absolved at confession if there were no breaks? How did it stay clear which soul was which?

  “Whatever he did, he says he doesn’t want anyone else to know about it or to feel it if they rent the soul.”

  “That sounds like a load of bullshit.”

  Derek’s laugh curled around Callie’s ears, but his arm slid behind her and pulled her close. The heater began to churn warm air. “It does. I asked the Charmer about it once.”

  She leaned into the crook of his shoulder. “And?”

  “He said sometimes the souls are too similar. He tries to keep it from happening, but they can become attached. The rented soul doesn’t want to leave, and Greg’s soul is fine with it, from what I understand.”

  “So we couldn’t take the rented soul back?” Only now Callie realized she didn’t feel the push of heat from Johnny’s rented soul, she didn’t hear it calling for a home.

  “Charmer could probably force it, but he said it’s easier to let the guy keep paying a low rate. Good for business.”

  “Only the Charmer would fuck up matching the right soul for someone and then still make the guy pay.”

  “Money’s money, doll.”

  Given that her bank account was steadily in the black for the first time in her life, she wasn’t about to argue.

  The next three stops went similarly. No guns, no souls, and no Johnny Rocks. The sun began to crawl behind the mountains. Callie would have done another energy shot, but the handful she purchased were inside her car. She stifled a yawn.

  “Let’s head back to your place for a bit,” Derek suggested.

  Her place. Ugh. The flashing cherries and the black body bag. “Shit. I didn’t tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “A thing happened.” Callie hesitated. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to tell him as much as it was she didn’t know if it even mattered anymore. Had Mrs. Rios’ known what she was talking about? Derek’s brows drew together, and it was enough to make her talk. “So a guy murdered his girlfriend and himself in the complex this morning.”

  Derek’s jaw hardened, but his tone was gentle. “Damn. You know them?”

  She didn’t know most of her neighbors, and rather liked it that way. “No, but supposedly the guy’s fingerprints didn’t match his file.”

  Derek’s slow nod probably mirrored her own. The realization of what it meant. Of the potential impact was creeping into his cortex. “Did the police ask you anything?”

  “Nah. I booked it. I only know what happened because one of my nosy neighbors was in the parking lot. The cops didn’t see me.” At least she hoped they hadn’t.

  “I’ll keep an ear out on this, but we should still hit your place. A little rest isn’t going to kill you, doll.” The words were delivered with sweetness, but the slash of worry beneath them was poorly concealed.

  “We have to find Johnny Rocks. Soul Charmer was worked up this morning,” she said, like this wasn’t another way to solve her own problems.

  “We will. I want to peek at Adam’s
phone. Might give us a lead for Nate and for Johnny.” He was confident and casual, and Callie realized she could see past both. He wasn’t lying, exactly, but the strain in his forearms and the hint of a furrow at his brow said he was worried about her.

  “Fine. We can stop for a half hour or so. Then we have to get back out there.”

  “Do you want to pick up your car?”

  She’d almost forgotten. “You planning on leaving me?” She’d said it as a joke, but her chest tightened while she waited for his response.

  “Never, doll. We’ll get it later.”

  The police had been long gone from the apartment complex when they pulled into the lot. The crime scene tape only covered the late neighbors’ door now. It was almost hidden. Almost. Callie pretended she couldn’t see it, and quickly they were upstairs and inside Callie’s apartment. Derek nudged the thermostat up a few notches before Callie was more than a couple feet inside the door. She didn’t call him on it. Not like they were going to stay in the house that long. She eased off her coat, and laid it over the arm of the sofa.

  Derek sprawled on the seat next to her coat. His boots nudged the edges of her coffee table, but he didn’t put them on top. “Do you have the phone?”

  “Sure. I went through all the messages and the list of his contacts. He doesn’t use anyone’s name, and the texts were dollar figures and times. Only one close to anything was one asking about picking up burritos.”

  She picked it up from the counter, and thumbed the screen on. “I probably wouldn’t have recognized Josh, but he’s had that same phone number since I was a kid.”

  Callie took two steps toward Derek and then stopped.

  One missed call.

  One voicemail.

  “There’s a new voicemail.” She didn’t recognize her voice. She stared at the small phone icon. Derek came to her side.