Lost Souls

by Chelsea Mueller

  “Not bad. Thanks.” Callie was impressed he could mobilize people so quickly. She wondered how long the collector had worked here. She’d been doing soul pickups for weeks. Had he been doing it for years? It hadn’t even occurred to her that the job would require contacts. She wasn’t out there to make friends. She’d picked up souls to keep the Charmer off her back.

  “Doll.” Derek touched her back.

  He had contacts. She should have realized he had made this whole thing so much easier. She wouldn’t let him lose his brother. Wouldn’t let Nate hurt Henry. This needed to stop now, or everyone they loved was at risk.

  Callie leaned close to Derek.

  He pressed a heavy folded knife into her hand. “I want you to carry this.”

  “It’s massive.” The knife weighed more than the purse she carried sometimes, and there was a reason she rarely took it with her.

  “It’s effective.” He closed her fingers around it. “You used one like this before?”

  “Did you really just ask me if I’ve ever used a pocket knife?”

  “This is a defense weapon, doll. Sure, it works for cutting boxes, but that little hole there?” He took the knife back, and pointed to the hole at the edge of blade. “That’s your quick release option. Slip your thumb into it, and lift.”

  He demonstrated and the sharp, shiny blade zing-ed out of the metal sheath. He depressed the back of the knife, and then folded the blade back into hiding.

  “I don’t know about this.” The blade was almost four inches long. The knife was bigger than her hand.

  “I can’t do this without knowing you have a weapon.” His brow drew tight.

  “We’ve never needed me armed like this before.”

  “You want me to save Henry. I do, too, but I can’t do that if you aren’t ready to cut that bastard Nate.”

  “I didn’t say I wasn’t willing to cut him…”

  “This is not a joke, Callie. I can’t lose either of you.” There was a tenuous relationship between anger and fear. Derek rarely let the latter rise to the surface. His anger was proof of his fear. Now, though, he was dropping the ire for her. The harsh lines on his forehead smoothed, and his lips pursed, and hurt raged a widow’s song in his stormy eyes.

  She took the knife, and hoped it would be enough.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  It had been three minutes since they’d seen a person outside. Derek drove slowly past the dull, grey buildings on the south side. The massive warehouses were quintuple the size of any of the big buildings in Gem City proper, and carried the cold veneer of the new. Smashed metal in red, yellow, and blue rioted like wildflowers behind a chain-link fence, but no people were outside the adjoining chop shop.

  The wind whistled and even inside the protection of the car it echoed in Callie’s bones.

  She turned to Lexi, whose silence had been appropriate. “You sure this is the one?”

  The warehouse in front of them proclaimed it stored corrugated cardboard. Not a chief export from Gem City. The windows that weren’t boarded had cardboard behind the glass. Bits of silver industrial tape peeked at the corners.

  “Yeah. There’s a door around to the left. That’s where I went in to pick up last time.” Nerves jangled in Lexi’s throat.

  “No cameras?” Derek asked.

  “I have no clue. I just came here to pick up souls before heading out for delivery,” the soul dealer said.

  Callie searched the eaves of the building, but couldn’t find any of the signature black bubbles to indicate cameras in use. “Do you see any?” she asked Derek.

  “How long has Anonymous Souls been using this place?” he asked instead.

  “I started three weeks ago.”

  “And they were using this place then?” Callie asked.

  The woman nodded.

  “So how do they stop anyone from just walking in?” This looked too easy, and anything that looked like it wasn’t going to be a problem was a goddamn trick. Callie could practically hear Nate’s sniveling snicker already.

  “No one seemed worried to me. Maybe because it’s in the middle of fucking shit town out here. There’s a guy inside the door. That’s all I know.”

  It didn’t matter if this was a ploy to get them inside. Options were thin. They could wait and meet Nate when he expected it and fight over shoveling souls for him, or they could bust into this place and rescue Henry—and hopefully all the souls in Nate’s possession in the process.

  Derek killed the engine, and they exited the car. He gave Lexi a small shove forward, and she led them around the left side of the building. The door was riddled with rust and frayed edges of metal, but the brass doorknob was shiny and new. As was the matching deadbolt above it. At least Lexi hadn’t lied about this place being in use. Maybe they could luck out and there was a lone door guy inside. They could crash in, grab Henry and the souls, and book it.

  The large folding knife Derek had foisted on her protruded from her pocket. The end bit at her hipbone with every other step. She wouldn’t forget the weapon was there, which was perhaps the point.

  Lexi’s left foot dragged in the gravel more than her right, but she made it to the door. She slapped her open palm flat against the door. Callie’s hand went to her hip and the blade.

  Lexi edged closer to the door. “They can’t hear when I knock otherwise,” she said in a tone reserved for murder plots and confessions.

  Callie relaxed, but the tendons in Derek’s neck were bulging and tight. She might not be ready for this fight, but he was starving for it.

  The door opened a few inches, and a man Callie didn’t recognize peered out at them. He wasn’t much taller than Callie. His thick moustache twitched when he saw Derek. “Who are they?”

  Lexi stepped more fully into his line of sight. “New drivers. Vega asked me to help.”

  Vega sure as fuck better not be on the other side of that door. Callie’s heart pounded until her ribs rang in response. Seconds stretched into eons. Derek was practically pulsing with malevolence. He’d never been anything but calm and calculating in emergencies, but his energy scraped against hers. The temptation to push her magic toward him to help maintain the cover of new hires was quashed quickly. He deserved to feel the way he did. He also knew a whole lot more about situations like this than she did. Conserving energy and waiting for the chance to strike was what she needed to be worrying about.

  “Vega just left.” The door guy opened the door completely, and stepped to the side. “He dropped off a batch of fresh souls in the back.”

  “Thanks,” Lexi chirped, and swung her loose curls over one shoulder. The door guy’s eyes stayed on her even as Derek and Callie followed the woman past the threshold.

  The door clunked closed behind them, and the doorman dropped back into a folding metal chair. He resumed playing a game on his phone. They’d passed. Holy shit. They were inside, and no one was running at them with guns. Callie let out a little breath, and the edge of panic riding her heartbeat ebbed. They walked down a bare corridor, echoing footsteps announcing their approach.

  Pictures lined the left wall. Familiar ones. None of the images were framed, but the photographs had been taped to the wall like this was a detective’s office on a TV crime show and not a warehouse in the industrial park. Callie squinted at one of the images. Benton. One of the soul rental clients, one of her clients, was on this wall. Fuck. These were the images from the Soul Charmer’s store. Nate had made his team steal the pictures of clients, too? As if she needed more proof this man was out to get the Charmer.

  “Souls are off to the right,” Lexi said.

  She might have been maintaining their cover or letting Callie know which way trouble would come from. Callie wasn’t certain how much this woman was on their side for the moment. The warehouse opened wide at the turn, but it wasn’t empty. Industrial pallet racking lined one wall. Two-ounce tins littered the shelves. Callie stepped closer, and the off-key buzz of a dental drill hit her. Her ankles wobbled, and h
er footing faltered.

  She paused to steady herself. Derek held at her side, too, and she appreciated not being left alone. The thick wet smack of meat against meat filled the air. Each slap was followed by a harsh oof. Lexi continued forward without them.

  “What the fuck you doing here?”

  Terror punched down Callie’s throat and sunk its talons into her stomach. Nate was here.

  Lexi was already on the verge of hyperventilating when she said, “Picking up souls, Mr. Nate. Sorry.”

  Nate was hidden by the wall on the right, but Lexi was only fifteen feet ahead. Tears tracked the beautiful woman’s face. Whatever move Nate made, Lexi’s eyes widened and she darted toward Callie.

  Ca-click.

  Pow.

  The single gunshot rang in Callie’s ears.

  Lexi stumbled forward to face plant on the painted concrete. Blood poured from the hole in the middle of her back. The stunning curls covered the woman’s face. Her fingers twitched.

  Callie’s magic flared. There was no calm collection of energy this time. Another person who didn’t deserve to die lay shot damn near at her feet, and Callie was fucking done. She was done hiding. Nate needed to know he couldn’t do this. He needed her too much to shoot her anyway. Probably. Derek had oozed volatility before. Maybe owning rage was power. Callie walked forward and did her damnedest to project nothing but menace.

  Nate held a black pistol at his side. His finger was still in the trigger guard. The bomber jacket he’d worn before was thrown in a heap a few feet away, but the lanky asshole was wearing a basic white tee and trying damn hard to convince people he was a gangster from a bygone era. He was a thug and a psychopath and she was fucking done with him.

  “Only an idiot would kill his own people.” She was seething and needed to see him unsettled.

  “She wasn’t fucking mine if she brought you here, but it doesn’t matter.” Nate snapped his fingers, and three men in the corner looked up. “Take care of the big one. Callie girl and I need to have a conversation.”

  The trio of men also dressed like they’d recently discovered vintage clothing broke away from their huddle to charge at Derek. What they left behind was a battered Henry. Callie ignored the gut-punch visual as much as she could, but her heart wept. He was bound to a chair in almost the same fashion they’d secured Lexi, but unlike their hostage Henry wasn’t healthy. His right eye was swollen shut, and his entire face was mottled in blacks and purples. His shirt was torn open, and blood smeared his skin. Nate’s men bypassed her and jumped at her boyfriend.

  Derek’s muffled, “I got this,” kept her on track.

  She tore her gaze from the injured priest. Nate’s lips pulled back in a rictus grin, revealing yellowing teeth.

  “You going to shoot me, too, Nate?” The pure taunt bought her time to push her magic shield a little farther out.

  He dropped the magazine from the gun, and cleared the chamber. “You saying you want my hands on that little body, Callie girl?” He tossed the gun and ejected magazine onto his jacket. “Because that can be arranged.”

  Pallets behind her rattled, but she couldn’t risk looking away from Nate. Derek had to have this. There wasn’t another option. The mob boss pulled a small glass pipe from his pocket and pressed it to his lips.

  Callie’s soul magic shield shook, and a flash of fire streaked before her. “Who taught you to store souls? This place is a fucking mess.”

  The dig hit bone. “I wasn’t given shit. The Soul Charmer—” he sang the name like it was a mythical children’s character “—tapped you with magic. I had to work for it. I had to learn. You didn’t have to gather souls or figure out how to get them in and out of people. You had tools and a teacher.”

  Callie took three more steps toward him. Pressure built on all sides. Her head throbbed, and her limbs bloated. She was the closed can of beer tossed into a bonfire. “Who said you were meant to touch souls?”

  His fingers fluttered against the small pipe. He hadn’t repacked the one-hitter, but he puffed on the pipe again. The drilling whine ground against her pelvis. Every step was wrong, painful, but she couldn’t stop. If she could grasp his soul, she could stop him. She only needed to get close enough.

  “You don’t get to decide that shit, girl. You’re going to work for me or you ain’t going to work at all.”

  The fuck she was. “Working is overrated.”

  Nate shoved his pipe into his front pocket, and then barreled at her. Her shield had held back the flames, but it wasn’t meant to block a 190 lb. man from tackling her. Callie’s shoulders smacked the floor first, but it was the back of her skull that offered a solid crack against the concrete. The barrier she’d erected to hold back the sizzling energy of the souls shuttered and vanished. Nate followed her to the ground, his knee wedged between her legs. Wrongness fused with her bone marrow until her very insides were crawling. She slammed a knee in to Nate’s side, but it didn’t so much as knock the wind out of him. Searing heat ate at her toes, her fingers.

  Nate’s hands clamped around Callie’s throat. “I’m going to take your fucking soul next.”

  He dropped his weight onto her neck, and she bucked hard. He jostled, but didn’t budge. He brought his face close to hers, and gnashed his teeth together. Heat licked up her arms and legs. Nate squirmed and squeezed her throat. Callie coughed and began to claw at his hands. Flames danced in her periphery. Her skin, alight.

  “What the fuck?” Nate’s grip loosened as the fire roared up Callie’s neck and engulfed his hands.

  He pushed back. Sticky gobs of burning flesh clung to his palms. Whether it was hers or his wasn’t clear. The fire usually didn’t sting, but now agony roared in her bones. The drill bit grinding from the inside out now dipped in acid. She stared at his sternum with every bit the ownership Nate used when ogling her breasts. The souls she reached screamed and begged. One after another. How many souls had he inhaled? She couldn’t find his soul, but the five she found were not interested in helping the man holding them hostage. They were tainted and their keening cries pleaded for escape. She wrapped her mind around them, and kicked hard. Nate flew back from her. Black and grey ash clung to the outside of his white shirt, red pooled from beneath it.

  Callie staggered to her feet. Orange and golden flames flickered in her vision. The fire was hers. It was these souls. It was everyone fucking done with Nate stealing their lives and their hope. It was power and pain and promises. It was hers.

  Nate took another hit from the pipe, the fucking artifact of St. Petro. How many souls had he pushed into the glass for his personal use? He held the pipe tight in his left hand. Callie tried to grab the new soul, too, but her magic shuttered as he held the artifact out in front of him. “It’d be better if I was inside you, but I’ll take your soul as my own little pet. Dead or alive, you’re getting dirty, Callie girl.”

  He thrust the pipe toward her, and began whispering words Callie couldn’t follow.

  Two big hands slammed into Callie’s ribs. “Go,” Derek yelled.

  She flew to the right, not needing the verbal encouragement when the physical took over. She spun to see him fall where she’d been standing. Another man thrust a knife where Callie’s heart had been moments earlier. Derek ducked beneath it, and blasted a rock-hard fist into the man’s solar plexus. The thug doubled over, and Derek landed another hard blow to his face. Callie didn’t need a medical degree to diagnose the shattered orbital socket. The attacker didn’t get back up.

  Henry groaned loud enough to pull Callie’s attention.

  “You get him. I’ve got Nate,” Derek shouted.

  If anyone could, it’d be him. Callie rushed to Henry without hesitation. She plucked the knife from her pocket. Her skin was melting, but the bone hooked into the tiny hole without much fuss. She cut the bonds, and reached to help Henry up. He eschewed the offer. Horror coating his face that had nothing to do with his body being tenderized and everything to do with seeing Callie en fuego.

&nb
sp; Derek was on his back. Nate stepped forward, and dropped a heavy foot onto her lover’s chest. Derek coughed and grappled for Nate’s leg. His grip slid. Blood coated the leg of Nate’s pants. Whose blood was it? Nate moved the pipe closer to Derek. The artifact’s vibration resonated in her ears.

  No. Nate could take from her, but he could not take from Derek. She called the flames to her palm, and the magic pooled there. She threw the heat at Nate with the speed and stealth of a knuckleball.

  A sharp scream.

  A sickening pop.

  Falling glass.

  The pipe was gone, and Nate’s cry reached for Heaven. Only Hell could answer.

  Power surged throughout the warehouse. The florescent bulbs overhead shattered. Flecks of glass and filament floated down. The walls bowed out. Boards flew away from the windows. Power ignited the air. It bit at Callie’s soul. Pushed and primed.

  The soul magic sonic boom quieted quickly. Glass continued to fall. Nate sputtered like a two-year-old priming a tantrum. Derek posted his arm to the side and levered himself up from the concrete. Nate dodged toward Callie and his jacket.

  From beneath the empty firearm and the coat Nate pulled a palm-sized revolver. Even in the shadows the barrel shone with intent. He cocked the hammer, and Derek stilled.

  Callie was done with this man taking from her. She was done with his threats and done with being afraid.

  He lifted the gun.

  The pocket knife was still in her hand. Open and ready. She lunged forward and buried the blade deep in Nate’s armpit. The weapon and the arm dropped loosely to his side. Nate bellowed. Everything’s connected, fucker. Blood seeped onto her exposed muscle. Callie backed away and threw magic around herself again. Her skin began to rebuild. She hoped the flames could disinfect the asshole’s blood from her hand.

  “Derek?” she asked.

  Her boyfriend glowered. He bent over Nate’s body. The other man was squirming to grab the knife from his side.

  “I’ll get that for you,” Derek ground out. He plucked the knife from Nate’s armpit. Blood oozed with Nate’s heartbeat.