Soul Thing (The Game of Gods Book 1)

by Lana Pecherczyk

  “Get the papers ready and I’ll sign them on the way out. I’ve told you all you need to know so, respectfully, fuck off. I have work to do.” Cash closed the door.

  My jaw dropped, and I felt an overwhelming urge of protectiveness for Jed. He was just trying to do his job and Cash had been a dick.

  He turned to glower at me. “Your name is fucking Urser? You didn’t think to tell me that at the beach?”

  I glowered right back. “Excuse me? No, my name is not ‘fucking Urser’. It’s just Urser, and I don’t go waving it around. I hate my father, why would I advertise my attachment to him?”

  During an awkward silence I watched as he regained his composure. He adjusted his tie, cleared his throat and sat in the chair across from me. I got the impression he was the kind of man who was used to getting his way and liked to be in control. This situation messed with him.

  “Let’s try this again,” he started.

  “Is Leila okay?” I asked.

  “Depends on what you mean by okay.”

  “Is she going to recover?”

  “Depends on what you mean by recover.”

  I gritted my teeth. “You know what I mean. What is Leila’s condition?”

  He leaned forward and splayed his hands on the table. The blue and purple tattoos peeked out from under his shirt.

  “Let’s get this straight,” he said. “I don’t have to tell you anything. You’re the prisoner here and, if I’m not mistaken, there’s no one else scrambling to help you. Someone posted a video of your incident online and now the whole world knows witches aren’t really dead. They never were. You can’t kill a witch with fire.” He stood up and paced around the table. “I’ve been trying to tell them that for years. Drowning is the only way to kill a witch. It causes their life-force to dissipate into the water. Air conducts it, feeds it, so the hundreds of thousands of women who burned at the stake died for nothing. Half of them probably weren’t even possessed. When the government figures that out, the Purge will be defined as the biggest failure the world has ever seen.” He jabbed his finger at me. “They’ll be looking for a scapegoat and frankly, you’re it.”

  I suddenly felt very cold. “I don’t see how that’s my fault. I’m the victim. She tried to possess me, and those injuries weren’t as serious as everyone thought.” There, I’d said it, glad I’d practiced. The words sounded almost confident.

  He lifted his brows, unimpressed with my speech and moved to stand over me. “That was a lot of blood Miss. Urser. Anyone else would have died.”

  “Well, I’m not anyone else.”

  “I can see that. Are you ready to tell me what you are then?”

  “Hungry and irritated.” His rudeness got on my nerves. My fingertips felt warm again, and I tapped them on the rubber. Just because he was rude to everyone else, didn’t mean I had to take it. He was cocky, self-assured and knew nothing of personal space. I leaned back in my chair and attempted to lace my fingers together, but the glass cuffs stopped me. He sat down, loosened his tie and popped the top button of his shirt, revealing more of his tattoo and a hairless neck that probably led down to a hairless chest. I averted my gaze. Had I seriously just thought that?

  I snuck a peek at him. What was he waiting for? His face gave away nothing as he stared back at me. Oh, okay. You want to have a staring competition? I’ll kick your ass, mister. I flared my eyes, then narrowed them, seeing through the shadow of my lashes. Bring it on, mate.

  He broke the stare first and reached into his pocket. He held something between his finger and thumb and dropped it on the table. It bounced a few times before settling near my hands. My heart leapt into my head, pounding in my ears. I felt sick.

  “Care to enlighten me?” he asked.

  “No.” I grabbed the plastic square and hid it between my hands. I swallowed and looked around for a camera. My resolve hardened when I found none. It was me against him. “This only proves that my mother was attacked by a witch when I was born,” I said. Maybe he hadn’t seen it yet. Wait—had I just given myself away? I pursed my lips.

  “I could read your mother’s lips.” He lifted his hands to make quotes with his fingers. “La Roux is fighting back. She is the red string that will bind us all together. What do you suppose that means?”

  So he could lip-read. Tommy was right; Cash was good at everything.

  “Look, Cash. I really don’t know. That’s the first I’ve heard those words. Maybe she was crazy; she married my dad right?” My palms were sweaty, so was the back of my neck. I regretted not making a run for it when I had the chance last night.

  A sizzling sound and searing heat came from my hands. I cried out and dropped the burning square. The chip fell in a warped, melted mess. My eyes darted around the room, anywhere but at Cash.

  “That’s irrelevant, and it doesn’t matter if you destroy one chip, there’s more where that came from.” He hadn’t even blinked at the sight of me burning plastic with my fingers.

  But I had—I’d never done that before.

  I shifted in my seat and swallowed. More? Had he found the jar of nightmares? I pointed at the chip. “You mean that’s not from the evidence room?”

  “Yes it is, but”—he smirked—“I’m a hunter Miss. Urser. I hunt and I find.”

  His eyes sparkled with egotistical confidence. Had he found the jar or not? He was so irritating!

  “Does anyone else know about them?” I asked. “The memory bytes?”

  “Just me, and they’re in a safe place.”

  “Are we being recorded?”

  “No. Cameras interfere with witch-proofing a room. You should know that.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So, if you’re such a great hunter, how come you didn’t know I was an Urser?”

  He avoided eye contact and fidgeted with his collar, looking uncomfortable. “My headaches have been getting worse, distracting me, and I didn’t realize there were two Urser daughters. It was an oversight. It won’t happen again.”

  “Why should I trust you? You hunt witches for a living and you’ve made it pretty clear what you think I am... actually, no, you’ve made it unclear. You say you don’t think I am a witch and you keep asking me what I am. So why don’t you tell me what you are? Are you Nephilim too?”

  He ignored the question. “So you have no markings whatsoever? No tattoos?”

  “Nothing.” I rattled my restraints.

  “But your last name is Urser.”

  I snorted and shrugged. “Not for long, I want to change it.”

  “Why do you hate your father so much?”

  “If he deigned to show up to my trial, he just sat there and let those men do horrible things to me. Then when I passed the stupid tests—he left. He’s a jerk.” The emotions I’d worked so hard at squashing over the last few years surfaced in a brief cloud of self-loathing misery. I hated myself during that trial. At one point I despised myself so much I actually believed the Inquisitor when he said I was the spawn of evil and an abomination. I’d wanted to die.

  Cash frowned, but the hint of a smile curved his lip. He looked pleased with my answer. He removed his jacket and hung it neatly on the back of his chair. Then he undid his left cuff and rolled up the sleeve, exposing more tattoos and scars. His hand balled into a fist and rested on top of my cuffs.

  “I’m going to show you something,” he said and lifted his fist slightly. It was as though he were—No! I jerked back, but it was too late. He slammed his fist on the glass and shattered it. Pain spiked in my wrists as the sound crackled through the air and shards spilled across the table.

  Too scared to move, I gawked and bit my lip. The bastard looked completely sane as he picked off glass bits and freed my hands, gently dusting off the powder. A minute ago, his touch had been harsh enough to break glass, but now feathered as he inspected the damage. A few spots of blood had welled, but my skin itched and closed the wounds as we watched. He smeared my blood with his finger to examine the new skin, then let go of my wrists and sifted
through the broken glass.

  “Just so you know, you should never mix your blood with anyone else’s,” he said. “That’s why I’m getting a clean shard. For people like us, it can have regrettable consequences. Ah, this one will do.” He grabbed a clear piece, big enough to look like a scalpel blade, then lifted his gaze to mine. He sliced his wrist diagonally over an old silver scar.

  “Oh shit.” I covered my mouth with my hand. “What—” Blood flowed down his wrist, but before the rivulet hit his elbow, his wound closed, leaving a scar that kept fading, just like mine.

  I stood up so quickly I knocked my chair over. “Y-you can heal too? I thought I could do that because—but you’re a man! Are you a witch?”

  He snorted. “God, no.”

  “Then why? What are you?” I inhaled sharply and hissed, “What are we?”

  “I’ll explain everything if you agree to help me find Petra. She has something I need, and she wants you. I can use that to my advantage. If you agree, then I’ll get your questions answered, but not here. There is someone else better equipped for that than me.” When my silence stretched, he added, “You may also be noticing your body is going through a metamorphosis, and you are experiencing new abilities. My associate will clarify that too.”

  I slanted a look at him, picked up my chair and sat back down. How did he know that my sixth sense and burning fingers were new?

  He narrowed his eyes. “I’m right aren’t I?”

  I twisted my fingers and nodded, never taking my eyes off him. Who was this guy?

  He didn’t know your last name.

  True.

  He was flawed. He reached forward and enveloped both my hands with one large warm one, enticing a flutter of nerves at his closeness. A crease formed between his eyebrows. “La Roux, you have a chance to do some good here, to do what’s right. You’ve been gifted with abilities similar to the enemy, but it doesn’t mean you have to act like them. You can save lives where they only take them.”

  Holy crap, was I going to do this—trust him? I nodded.

  “Okay, just to be clear, this is the deal—” He grunted and seized up, squeezing my hands painfully. He pulled away and launched off the chair, but twisted, got tangled and fell to the floor. He scrambled up and staggered to the opposite side of the room where he braced his arms on the wall, shirt untucked, neck corded and back muscles twitching. He hid his face. The sound of his heavy breathing filled the lengthy silence.

  I sat as still as a statue, but my blood surged inside. I didn’t know what to do. He looked like he was in pain—should I help him? Silently, I moved my seat backward and stood. I clutched the edge of the table so hard my knuckles went white. I didn’t want to surprise him in case he flipped out and attacked me.

  Cash flinched and groaned then lowered his body to a crouch, dropping his head to the wall. He winced, and the tattoo on his neck crept higher on one side and moved to the right, under his ear. Dark swirls misted in blue and purple sprinkled with flecks of white. I rubbed my eyes. What the hell?

  His body went rigid with another sharp intake of breath and a strangled noise.

  Shit, he’d better not die on me.

  One thing was for sure; he was in pain. I imagined his eyes were white too, just like at the bar. My muscles relaxed when I realized I probably wasn’t in danger.

  “Cash?” I said softly and walked towards him.

  Like a junkie going through withdrawals, he shuddered and trembled. His head was tilted to the side, but I still couldn’t see his eyes.

  “Don’t touch me,” he said through clenched teeth. “I said I’d clean the weapons and I will.”

  I frowned and darted a glance around the empty room. Was he speaking to me?

  “George was supposed to wake me but something must’ve happened.” He muttered nonsense. Like he was in a dream but aware of his surroundings here. His held up his hand, he didn’t want me any closer. “Don’t... I need to see.”

  A timid knock sounded at the door and Cash turned to me, eyes wide in panic. Clouds swam across the surface of his irises. I pressed my fingers to the burning hot skin on his forehead, it cooled instantly. My fingers warmed as his eyes cleared. He avoided my gaze as he eased my hand away from his head then cleared his throat and stood.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that, again, I can’t control it. I have these visions.“ He grimaced as he tucked his shirt in and smoothed his hair. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. “Visions of my past lives. Sit down.” He pointed to my chair and turned to open the door.

  He saw his past lives? He said it so casually, like one might say, “I eat cereal for breakfast.” I rushed back to my seat as the door opened to reveal Nervous Nelly holding a disarray of papers. Ha! I’d been right, she was a little on the plump side but still—administration. I mentally high fived myself.

  “Mr. Samson, you asked me to alert you to the presence of the Inquisitor.” She licked her pink lips and flicked her gaze to me, eying off the broken glass.

  “Thank you.” Cash closed the door in her face and leaned backward, sighing. Something vibrated. He pulled out his phone and read the message. When his eyes lifted to catch mine, my stomach clenched.

  “I’ve just been given some good news—for you, anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Getting you out of here is going to be easier than I thought. They don’t have the legal right to hold you on suspected witchcraft, and the probation violation can be explained. Looks like things are about to get interesting. I’ll have you released into my custody so you can officially help with my investigation.” He picked up the warped memory byte and crushed it, crumbling pieces of tiny plastic onto the table. “You will follow my orders, stay at my house and, in return, I will endeavor to have your questions answered and keep your secret. If you look for answers alone, you won’t get far. That’s not a threat it’s just the truth. Besides, Tommy would be sulking for days if I didn’t get you released. Let’s go.” He rolled his sleeve down to cover the blood trail he’d left on his forearm. After sweeping the glass into his jacket, he wrapped it up origami style and walked to the door. “We can’t leave our blood here.”

  I didn’t move. When he realized I wasn’t with him, he turned. “What now?”

  “You want me to stay with you—like at your place? I-I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I stammered. “Can I just stay at my new apartment?”

  He stewed over my words and shifted his feet. “It’s all above board. I’m signing you out through the system and Tommy will be there too. I don’t need to force myself on women if that’s what you’re alluding to. I’m not a pervert.”

  Heat rushed my face. “No, that’s not what I meant. I don’t want to drag you and Tommy into danger. Everyone near me gets hurt, or ends up hating me. I don’t want that. I… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “You’d rather face execution?”

  I shrugged.

  “People get hurt all the time—they get caught in the crossfire. If you stay here and people die because of it, wouldn’t that be worse? The logical thing is for us to work together to stop the witch from possessing anyone. Besides”—he yanked me out of the chair by the elbow—”unless you want me to carry you again, you’re walking out of this room.”

  I had no choice. I’d have to go with the flow and he seemed a safer option than the Inquisitor and a certain fiery death.

  He led me down the corridor. As we approached a corner office, I heard arguing. The words stirred bone-trembling emotions inside me: fury, hate, denial. The last time I heard that voice, I’d complied. This time, I poised to attack.

  CHAPTER NINE

  CASH STOPPED ME with a hand to the shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” he hissed.

  I listened to the conversation in the corner office. My head clouded with rage and my fingers burned.

  “I swear I didn’t do it,” a female sobbed. “I just smiled at him. I didn’t make him do a
nything.”

  A loud slap made me jump. Something got hit. The table or her face?

  “That’s not the story we’re getting from his family.” The Inquisitor’s voice made me cringe. “We’re not getting anywhere here. We’ll take her back to headquarters for questioning, Sergeant, and get to the bottom of this.”

  I wrenched from Cash’s grip and burst into the office, hands like claws, ready to attack the monster I’d heard. My glance swept over a mousy-haired girl who startled at my intrusion and lifted her glass-cuffed hands to shield her face. Then I saw him. My muscles seized and my mouth went dry.

  “You get away from her you bastard,” I screamed and leapt toward him but was yanked back so fast, I got whiplash.

  “La Roux,” Cash barked. I collided with his mountain-like torso, and he locked me in with his arm across my chest. The stability behind me was the only thing keeping me from going berserk. Cash’s grip lightened, and he leaned in and sniffed. Had he just smelled me? I turned and swatted him. He scowled at me briefly then transferred his menace to the man in front of us.

  The Inquisitor smirked and tapped his thumb and forefinger together. I remembered the habit from my public trial and the private questioning-slash-torture sessions. His pale, plump skin reflected the pink tones of his Specialist Witch Taskforce uniform. A small gold crucifix pinned to each of his lapels twinkled under the fluorescent lighting. He raked his smug gaze up and down my overalls before jigging his heavy utility belt and bouncing on his toes. This was the loud, buzzing-boom aura from earlier. I flinched back into Cash.

  I’d never noticed his aura before I was collared, although I did remember feeling like I wanted to shrink to the size of an insect and cover my ears. I flinched again, frustrated at my body’s betrayal. Half of me wanted to escape and get the answers Cash promised, the other half wanted to stay and protect the girl. To fight back.

  “Well, well. You look good in pink, Ms. Urser.” He’d put on weight, the gap between his buttons stretched where they joined. I supposed the women-killing business had been slow. The Inquisitor tapped his gun.