This is why I never used my soul-sight, never followed its false leads. I shouldn’t have made an exception for this job. To the marrow of my bones, I knew soul-sight was untrustworthy.
“Hang on, Madison,” Kyle said, grabbing my arm as I started to stand. I froze. “You’re definitely the right person for the job. You’re the first enforcer to walk through that door in nearly two weeks.”
“I don’t even know what that means. I’m going to save us both some time and leave now.” I tugged to free my arm.
“Holy crap! You’re a rogue.” Kyle jerked away from me, shaking his hand like I’d given him cooties. Unbalanced, I fell back into my chair.
“That explains your age,” Kyle said, speaking more to himself than me. “And your job history. You haven’t been playing games with me—you really don’t know . . .”
I stood again as he trailed off, and his gaze snapped to focus on my face. “It was nice to meet you,” I said by rote. “Good luck with—”
“One question.” Kyle stood, cutting off my escape. He towered over my five-feet-ten by a good eight inches. Despite his wiry frame, the odds weren’t in my favor that I could knock him down before he could grab me.
Taking a deep breath, and reminding myself that I was in a safe public place filled with people, I said, “Okay. One more.”
“Did you apply because you thought you could pretend to be qualified for a sales position or because the ad glowed?”
My breath caught. The fact that the job description in the Help Wanted section had glowed in soul-sight had been an inexplicable anomaly. Dead, mashed pulp couldn’t glow. It wasn’t alive. It didn’t have a soul. But the fact that Kyle knew about the glow set my arm hairs on end. No one knew about soul-sight except my best friend, and that was only because I’d told her. Soul-sight was my own personal aberration.
Seeing my hesitation, Kyle plowed on.
“Three decades as a rogue has got to be a new record. I’m not sure why you chose to come out of hiding, but I’m not letting you get away now, not when I’m this close”—he pinched his forefinger and thumb together—“to escaping this puny region for some real action.”
“I haven’t been hiding. I think you’re mistaken—”
“Come on. We both know you’re not qualified for a sales position even if it did exist,” Kyle said, flicking my resume. The crisp white paper skittered off the table to the floor. “But if you could see the glow, you are qualified to be an enforcer. Hum, let’s see, how to explain this to a thirty-year-old rogue?”
“I’m twenty-five,” I corrected softly, wondering why I was still standing there, why I hadn’t stepped around Kyle and walked out the door.
“You have the ability to see the world differently than this ‘real world,’ right? Black and white? Plants and animals glow all pretty and clean. People look like they’re wearing snowy-weather camouflage. Is this ringing any bells?”
There was definitely a ringing in my ears. He’d just described soul-sight. My knees wobbled and I sank disjointedly into my chair.
Kyle sat across from me, shaking his head with amazement. “I can’t believe you’ve maintained a rogue status for so long. I mean, I understand the appeal of not having a boss, but you’re also not on anyone’s payroll. Why not become a real enforcer and get paid for it?”
Paid to use soul-sight? Has he infected me with his insanity?
“I, um—”
“Trust me, this region’s not hard at all. It’s a good place to cut your teeth, but it gets monotonous real fast. Still, let’s see what you’ve got. Tell me what you see here.”
“A coffee shop,” I said, not quite willing to believe he and I were talking about the same thing.
“Fine. I’ll go first.” He twitched his long, pointy nose and grinned at me. “You’ve got great color. Very pure. Which is how I knew you were an enforcer. No atrum in sight.”
I shifted in my chair, irrationally pulling my suit jacket tighter to cover myself, but Kyle had already turned away.
“Now that guy behind the counter, he’s not the honest type. Look at the way atrum coats his fingertips and wrists. Disgusting.”
Kyle grinned at me. I tried to remember to breathe. He was truly talking about soul-sight. I wasn’t the only person with the ability. All brain activity got jammed up between that thought and his statement that people—he—got paid to use soul-sight. Once I could formulate a complete thought, I was going to have a lot of questions.
“Go ahead, look around in Primordium. I’m going to see if I can attract us a little fun,” Kyle said.
For the first time in ten years, I intentionally blinked in public.
I gripped the edges of the table for support against the wave of dizziness that broadsided me whenever I switched between visions, then I purposely examined my surroundings. The coffee shop was slate gray, all color nonexistent in this vision. From the floor (which I knew was tiled white) to the wooden tables to the chrome espresso machine, every inanimate object was shades of charcoal. The overhead lighting didn’t exist in soul-sight—in Primordium, I corrected myself. Shadows didn’t exist in Primordium, either, not traditional light-created shadows. Something worked in this vision to give depth to objects, but trying to focus on it was a recipe for a migraine. The only bright spots in the room were the people.
I forced myself to examine the man behind the cash register to verify Kyle’s description, fighting against soul-sight-avoidance instincts honed over the last ten years. My fingers tightened on the table. The barista’s fingertips and wrists were smeared black, like he’d had a run-in with a dirty chimney. The rest of his arms were pale gray, as was his face. I knew from experience, those dark patches represented some immoral choices and actions. Light gray was normal for a human; black was pure evil. Only animals and plants were pure white in Primordium. The barista’s smudged wrists meant he’d made some bad choices, but I couldn’t tell what. That was only one of the flaws of soul-sight.
The only person’s soul I’d ever seen that was as pure as an animal’s was my own. Since I was far from perfect, I figured I couldn’t see my own flaws. That was fine by me. Seeing my soul felt like looking inside myself, and it was a sure way to induce stomach-churning vertigo.
I swiveled my head to look at my companion, fully expecting him to look like a variation of every other human I’d ever seen.
Kyle, the plain-looking salesman, glowed brighter than most searchlights. I lifted my hand up to shield my eyes, but it was as impractical as shining a flashlight in my eyes to shield them from the brightness of the sun.
“Aha! There are a few curious imps. Figured there would be with the traffic in here,” Kyle said. He was too bright to see his facial features, almost too bright to see a solid outline. When he talked, I couldn’t tell if his lips moved. It was one of the creepiest things I’d ever seen.
I had a thousand questions for this man—why had we never met before? why did he refer to me as a rogue? could he please dim himself?—but what came out was, “A curious what?”
“Imp.” His glowing head swiveled toward me. “You have killed evil creatures before, right?”
I shook my head. “What evil creatures?”
“Amazing. Truly amazing. It’s like you’ve been hiding under a rock, invisible to both sides.” He shook his head in wonder. “You’ve not imploded a single imp? Not even a small one?”
“Maybe I have,” I said, belatedly offended and not sure why. “What do they look like?”
Kyle laughed loud enough to draw several stares. “No shit. A rogue with zero experience.” He chuckled again. “The best Brad can attract to his puny region is an untrained nobody with no clue. I’d love to see his face when—” He raised his hand to forestall my next question. “Never mind. You’ve got the ability; you’re trainable. Brad won’t turn you away, not when he’s so desperate for an IE. Ah, that stands for illuminant enforcer, which is the job I’m leaving to you. So let me give you your first demonstration of what a true en
forcer does. Watch carefully.”
I tore my eyes from his shining aura. There was no after-image like with real light, which was a good thing, because I’d have been blind for a half hour after how hard I had stared. Logic said the bright light of Kyle should have cast shadows all over the room, but in this strange sight, logic didn’t apply.
I wasn’t sure where I was supposed to look, so I scanned other customers.
The coffee shop was busy but not full, with groups of two and three people scattered around the free-floating tables—mostly college students or business people escaping the office. People firmly rooted in reality, not looking at dirty souls and talking about illumi-something enforcers and Primordium.
I focused on the group of four people to my right. Like everyone else in the room, they had gray dollops peeking through the V-necks of their shirts and flecks of black soot defiling their hands and wrists. I could see their features faintly through their bodies’ natural light, and I flushed with embarrassment when all four turned to stare back at me. I rarely let myself use my soul-sight around people; despite my discomfort, it was heady to use it so blatantly now. Of course, to them it just looked like I was staring rudely.
“Do you see the imps?”
I swiveled back to Kyle and blinked against his brightness. Unobtrusively, I leaned against the table while the world spun back into color.
“They’re the smallest of the evil creatures, little blobs of pure evil. Hardly enough brain matter to function. Just enough to recognize food and attack it.”
Not good. This is so not good. I wished I were back at home with my cat, Mr. Bond, and a good book or a TV show. Something ordinary. I did not want to be talking with the only other known person with soul-sight who kept insisting there were evil creatures visible to only us. I felt like a character in a horror movie right before they turn slowly around and come face-to-face with a monster. Seeing evil on people’s souls was bad enough. I didn’t want to see—let alone come into contact with—something purely evil.
And yet, how could I not look?
I blinked, carefully focusing away from Kyle first.
I scanned the room again. Baristas. Customers. Books and CDs. Coffee bags. “What am I looking for?” Kyle didn’t answer me. Movement under the nearest table caught my attention. An inky black chinchilla-like blob sat on the table’s base, its glowing eyes watching me.
“What the hell is that?” Anything with life was always a version of white. Even the sullied souls of the sadistic still glowed with light undertones. Nothing living was all black—it was life that made everything glow. Furthermore, animals were never tainted by ambiguous moral choices like humans; animals were always white. The tiny fluff ball of blackness was darker than the inanimate objects around it. It was black—solid black. Impossibly black. Either there were varying degrees of life I’d never encountered, and this was the zombie equivalent of life, or this creature—this pile of dust with bright eyes—was pure evil.
“Madison, meet your first imps,” Kyle said.
The imp cocked its head at me, clearly curious. Curious meant it could think. Curious meant it was trying to puzzle me out. A thinking evil creature was interested in me. Abandoning my job hunt and moving back in with my parents suddenly seemed like a great idea.
The imp hopped toward me.
I lurched to my feet, sending my chair careening into the people behind me. Scrambling around the table, I put distance between myself and the creature. Its eyes tracked me. It hopped out from under the table until it was less than two feet away from me. I tensed to flee.
Kyle waved his radiant hand in front of the imp the way a matador waves a cape for a bull. Like a bull, the imp charged. I squealed. The imp disappeared.
He’d said imps, right? With an s? I spun around, looking for more.
I spied three behind Kyle’s chair. Like the first one, the dark creatures were fixated on him. In a group they lunged. I jumped back, tripping over a chair. Windmilling my arms, I fought for balance while trying to keep the evil creatures in my sight, but gravity won. In a cacophony of wood and metal and flesh, I crashed to the floor. When I looked back at Kyle, the imps were gone.
“Miss? Are you okay?”
Reality popped like my ears had just unplugged. I blinked. The world swam. I rolled to my side. From my position on the gritty floor, I could see a circle of black-clad feet, and more approaching. Baristas. Everyone in the coffee shop had gone deafeningly quiet, making the cheerful jazz sound like it was blaring. I realized three things simultaneously: everyone—from the patrons to the dishwasher—was staring at me; I must look like I had gone absolutely, raving insane; and my skirt was hiked up to my hips. Shit. Can you die from embarrassment? Please?
I untangled myself from the rungs of the chair I’d tripped over, stood faster than I should have, assisted by the adrenaline of embarrassment, and yanked my skirt down so that it covered me to my knees. I patted at my hair, pulling a bit of muffin out of a clump and wiping my hand on a napkin. And I assured everyone that I was fine, convincing no one.
How could I be fine? I’d just learned that I wasn’t the only person with soul-sight—or the ability to see in Primordium. Worse, there were evil creatures who lived alongside us, visible only in Primordium. Creatures who gazed upon me and Kyle with the same loving look I reserved for triple chocolate fudge cake. Somehow Kyle had made them disappear, but for all I could tell, it was magic, because how did you use a sight to make something vanish? I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t just seen it. It was the equivalent of a person using their normal sight to move and object; it just didn’t happen.
Only it had.
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Acknowledgments
In 2009, I wrote 80,000 words of the first draft of this novel, read it, deemed it pure rubbish, and buried it in my “Old Stories” folder. In 2012, Eva was still pestering me to have her story told, so I took the three pieces of the original draft that I liked—Eva, Hudson, and Kyoko—and wrote an all-new 100,000-word novel. In 2013, I revised the new book, rewriting the ending as well as a 20,000-word chunk in the middle.
Then I abandoned it to focus on A Fistful of Evil and Magic of the Gargoyles, but when I started writing A Fistful of Fire, I was once again hearing Eva in my head. So finally in 2015, I gave this book a new chance, another new ending, and multiple rounds of edits, polishing it into publishing shape.
Along the way, I accrued a lengthy list of people to whom I owe a great deal of gratitude.
First, thank you! Thank you for taking a chance on me, and thank you for buying my novel. I hope you enjoyed it!
Second, I have the absolute best fans! I wouldn’t have been able to publish this novel without your support of my previous works. Thank you for trying another of my books, especially one that is about neither Madison Fox nor gargoyles.
Kate and Jennieke, thank you for your critiques of the beginning years ago, which helped me strengthen the first chapter. The goal was always to get Kyoko into Eva’s hands, but how to do so gracefully (or even believably) eluded me for far too long.
Thank you, Shaida, for pinpointing the flaws of logic in Eva’s magical power. The rewrites from your feedback were extensive and painstaking, but I love the novel so much more because of it.
Ilona Andrews, your critique of my novel’s cover copy was invaluable. Based on your comments, I solidified Eva’s motivation, which required yet another rewrite but made the entire novel twice as strong. Thank you! (And if I find out you’ve read this, I’m going to have a major fan-girl freak-out.)
To my stellar beta readers: Karl, Kerri, Shandy, and Dad, you were all so helpful, and your insights changed this novel in subtle but important ways. Thank you for volunteering your time and your opinions; I’m incredibly flattered and grateful. (Dad, I’m going to continue to delude myself into believing you did not read the sex scenes.)
Sara and Mom, do you remember reading one of those earlier versi
ons years ago? Thank you both for your gentle feedback then, and for reading the novel in its latest (and last!) permutation. I hope you both like the new ending!
For the real-life details about a police response to a break-in (which I greatly exaggerated to torture Eva), thank you again, Sara. I’m sorry you had to go through the experience, but I found it helpful. Does that mitigate the loss of your brand-new television?
Cari, thank you for scouting Clover Park for me years ago and sending me video. From the sound of the plane engines to the mesh kid’s control tower, having those authentic details made Sofie’s rescue scene come to life. And I couldn’t resist adding in the dog in a sweater that you saw, too.
For your patience in listening to me talk about this story idea for six years, I should throw a parade in your honor, Cody. Did you know your short fiction inspired some of my favorite support characters, including Atlas, Edmond, and Dempsey? I wanted to create characters that would make you laugh. Okay, I wanted to make every reader laugh, but you were the person sitting in my head as I wrote each scene, and you’re the person I’m always trying to impress. Thanks for always encouraging me to be better—and for loving me just as I am.
REBECCA CHASTAIN has found seven four-leaf clovers to date, won a purebred Arabian horse in a drawing, and once tamed a blackbird for a day. She has been employed as a VHS rental clerk, bookshelf straightener, government pseudo-employee, professional finder of lost sporting goods, and strategy guide wrangler in the video game industry—and now she makes a living as an internationally bestselling author. Dreaming up the absurd and writing stories designed to amuse and entertain has been her passion since she was eleven years old. She lives in Roseville, California, with her wonderful husband and two bossy cats.
Visit RebeccaChastain.com
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