“He’ll need a place to stay when he gets out.”
Callie would have provided that, without the added anxiety of some weird reverse Oedipus shit. “And?”
She waved away the question, but still answered under her breath. “A little cash, to get him back on his feet.”
Pretending big favors were little wasn’t about ego with Zara. Guilt filled the bones of every member of the Delgado family. Zara atoned for her self-loathing and shame with her son. In sitcoms the baby was always spoiled, but in Callie’s house it had always been the boy. Josh was where Zara found redemption. There and, apparently, a soul-siphoning masseuse/crazy cult lady.
This conversation was futile, and Callie didn’t have time for it anyway. So she went for the kill strike. “You don’t have cash, Mom.”
“How would you know? You barely visit me.” Zara threw the jabs while getting up from the couch and moving toward the door. She didn’t want to travel this road, either.
“Okay. Whatever. Let me know when you hear from Josh again.”
Zara paused near the door and her shoulders rose as she pulled in a rallying breath. “You find out what happened to Tess, or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?”
“I’ll find another way to make this happen. I need the relief a couple times a week, Calliope. I have a life to live, you know.”
It sounded like a threat, but then most conversations with Zara ended that way. “What do you mean?”
“You know.” If she could have underlined her words with a black marker, she would have. Zara was barely the right side of classy to be above using his name, or admitting she knew him.
The Charmer. Of course. “You can say his name, Mom.”
“I only said her name so you’d help. I’m not going to say his name. You shouldn’t either, or the fallout of messing with him is on you.”
She’d been buried under the Delgado family fallout for years. At this point, what was a little more rubble? Soul magic was already in Zara, and the obsession was enough to send her to Callie’s door instead of waiting until the next time the cat got stuck somewhere.
“Go see Father Gonzales.” Callie had to try something.
Zara’s eyes widened. “Excuse me? I see him plenty more than you do.”
“The soul magic doesn’t really fix anything. Work it out with Father Gonzales.”
“Her massages work. They ease the … ” Zara trailed off. When she sniffled a moment later, Callie recognized it was true emotion.
“It ruins you. I can’t explain everything, but you’re chasing highs just like Josh. Don’t fall down that hole, Mom.” She pled like her eight-year-old self would have. That was before Zara slid into total selfishness.
“So you’re saying I’m ruined?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m saying you’re better than letting some hack mess with your soul.”
“I’ll rise up to heaven.” No matter how devout the phrase sounded, the shaky breaths beneath it belied her fear.
“You can do that without Tess.”
“Fine. You’re clearly not interested in helping your own mother. I’ll just have to find someone who can.” With that last barb, Zara slammed the door behind her, and Callie hung her head. The sight of the chipped pink polish on her toes blurred as tears welled in her eyes. It’d been years since her mother had made her cry.
How did you get someone clean from the rush of soul rental? There wasn’t an additive you could just remove from the bloodstream. Callie’s tried-and-true method of hiding from her feelings didn’t make her the expert, but Zara would have to deal with her guilt to get free of that need. Callie wasn’t Zara’s biggest fan, but family came first, and there was no way she’d allow the Soul Charmer to rent to her mom.
“You don’t have to do this,” Derek said for the eight hundredth time. He’d parked his motorcycle in the same alley where they’d first met. She’d spent the afternoon worrying over how to keep her mom from the Charmer’s doorstep, and now the sun had set and she was the one slumming it downtown.
Callie rolled her eyes. “We both know I do.”
“Why not just—”
“There’s no ‘just’ anything. Not with this. Ford was clear this was a requirement. He’s right. I’m not having this traced to me.”
“I don’t like it.” His lips pulled tight, and every muscle on his face hardened.
“I’ve never liked the idea of renting a soul, and now that I know so much more my distaste has quadrupled, but guess what? The whole reason I agreed to work for the Charmer was for this soul. So I could do this job and save my brother.” Case closed.
Derek nodded, accepting he would lose this battle. He stowed their helmets on his bike and took her hand, and then led her in the side door of the Soul Charmer’s shop. She stayed in the hallway with a million picture frames while he went ahead to get the Charmer.
The anteroom was smaller than she’d realized. The black ceiling soared above her, but she could touch both walls simultaneously if she stretched her arms airplane style. Focusing on any one frame set her skin crawling. Every feature except for the eyes was blurred in the portraits. They watched her. There wasn’t enough magic in this room to turn her hands painful, but she didn’t feel alone. Hopefully that didn’t have anything to do with the woman she’d left in the building’s basement. Everything the Soul Charmer touched unnerved her, and she was about to let him touch her again. Josh owed her. Big time.
Derek peered in from the workroom and nodded to her.
“Ah, Calliope, dear. Is it already time for this?” There was no way she’d told the Charmer her full name. Her skin continued to crawl, but it had little to do with magic.
“Can we get this over with?”
He beckoned her with a rheumatic finger. “In a rush to get your first taste?”
No, she was exhausted after dealing with every egotistical, jerk-faced person in her life in a single goddamn day. Add in her general fear of shoving another person’s soul into her body, and the fact she was on the verge of stealing from the police, and she wasn’t really in the mood for his insinuating tone. But she needed the damn thing, and she needed it with as little commentary as possible. “Let’s just do this.”
The corners of his mouth pulled downward, cutting deep grooves in his cheeks. “You’re no fun today. You wanted an unsullied soul, yes?”
She nodded. Why was she doing this? Oh right. Family.
“It’s more fun when the soul is less like your own,” he taunted.
The memory of the man in the hospital rushed to the forefront of her mind. “The less of a mess we make of my soul, the better.”
He arched a brow. Was she not supposed to know it would mangle her soul? Had she broken Derek’s trust with that comment? Fuck.
The Charmer began to extend a hand toward her, but Callie stopped him. “Wait. Just whose soul is going into me?”
“You worked two weeks for this. Do you think I’m going to provide subpar wares?”
“No, I just … what kind of person?”
The Charmer’s lips thinned, but he answered her question. “I don’t do this normally, but, fine: mid-forties woman. No kids. Worked for the Church. That’s all I’ll say.”
Callie nodded. It was better than nothing.
The Soul Charmer pressed two fingers against the hollow at Callie’s neck. He better not cut her. When she flinched, he whispered, “Close your eyes and breathe. It won’t hurt.”
She noted he hadn’t said anything about not injuring her, because they would have both recognized that lie.
Despite the magic swirling in the room, none of Callie’s flared. His cold fingers traced down her sternum to stop between her breasts. Derek huffed at her side. She held back her smile. No need to let the Soul Charmer get any more glimpses of their connection.
“Deep breath, girl.”
She ignored the condescending tone and did as she was told, and then the air rushed out of her. He hadn’t hit her, but her ribcag
e vibrated like she’d taken one hell of a wallop. She staggered back and Derek caught her. “You good, doll?”
“Not sure,” she muttered, low enough for his ears only. The experience of soul renting had been touted as euphoric; a coworker once said it was better than the relief of every religious confession combined.
“Is that it?” she asked the Charmer.
“Is that it?” He beamed, as though such a question tickled his scaly heart. “Don’t you feel her mingling with you?”
Callie searched her mind. Should there be another voice? Was she supposed to feel like a different person? Did she suddenly want to tell Josh to save his own damn self? Nope, nope, and nope. “Should I?”
Nothing had unnerved Callie more than hearing an elderly creep like the Soul Charmer giggle. “Perhaps not.”
“It worked, though, right, boss?” Derek asked the question Callie was too scared to pose.
He stared at her chest. The perv. “Oh, the second soul is in there. It’s less bright than her own, but it’s still quite visible.”
“Mine’s brighter?” Even after what she did to Tess?
The Charmer grinned, clearly on to the direction of Callie’s thoughts. “Yes, it’s still quite pure,” was all he said, though.
Her mother had barged into her apartment in search of this high. Joey had gone and gotten another one even after being threatened. People blew paycheck after paycheck on this. Callie didn’t get it. She’d witnessed the high in others. She’s glimpsed the glassy-eyed indulgence. All Callie got was a heavy ick factor at the idea that there was a bonus soul inside her and she’d let the Charmer put it there.
Callie cast a skeptical look toward Derek. “And people get hooked on this?”
He shrugged.
“My magic does change things, but I expect you’ll still rather enjoy the benefits of the soul. Bring it back when you’re done,” the Charmer said, effectively dismissing them.
Business with him had never been this easy. He had to have some plan in play, but Callie’s mind had been run too ragged to recognize it.
She didn’t have time to spare either; she was due at the police station within the hour.
“We need to check your wound.” Callie rushed Derek into her apartment.
“I can handle a little soreness. We shouldn’t be risking you being late over a damn healed injury.”
She waited for him to meet her gaze, and then rolled her eyes. “Healed injury? You were stabbed. Yesterday.”
He stripped his shirt over his head. “Fine.”
After he’d sat on the edge of her bed, Callie ran her palm across the angry red mark on his upper chest. It was raised, like scar tissue, but the healing process had been so fast that the whole thing didn’t make a lot of sense. The area around the healed gouge was still warm, though. “You’re still running a fever.”
He gave her a look that said he’d bust out a thermometer to prove her wrong. “A fever isn’t going to stop me from getting you to that job.”
Did he know what she was trying to do? No, he couldn’t know. The Charmer hadn’t been alone with him long enough to tell him about Callie’s scalding meeting with the queen of soul massage. In fact, the entire time they were there, the Charmer hadn’t cracked a single joke about her being beneath their feet. Which in hindsight seemed a bit weird….
“You need to stay here. Ford didn’t want you involved anyway, and I don’t want to risk you getting hurt a second time on my account.” It was the truth, foreign and real coming from her lips.
He launched to his feet, but wobbled when he got there. “I choose what I risk and for whom.”
Her heart squeezed twice, once because he clearly cared about her, and second because of how guilty she felt about it. The Charmer might say her soul was still pure, but she couldn’t take it if he were wrong. If Derek saw how fucked up she really was. She had to do this alone. Burning bridges now kept him safer long term. She swallowed back her fear and accepted that he meant something to her, and that she was doing this for his own good. “Will you at least take something for the fever? Just a Tylenol or something?”
“To make you happy. Yeah.”
The Vicodin she handed him was too big to pass for a pain reliever, but he didn’t even glance at it before tossing the pill into his mouth and swallowing. “Better?”
Her hollow voice shook. “Yeah.”
Callie adjusted Derek on her bed a few minutes later. That shit worked fast. He was still conscious enough to talk, but not to do much else.
“Why?” he eked out, having figured out that she’d tricked him. She was such an asshole.
“You’re too good to be involved with all my crazy.”
She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If you stay, you can be mad at me then.”
Callie didn’t wait for his mumbled response. She didn’t expect him to still be at her apartment when she returned. Drugging the dude you cared about tended to be a relationship killer. But better that he severed ties with her than get pulled in deeper with Ford.
Enough people she cared about were already under the gangster’s thumb. She wouldn’t pull Derek under just so she could escape.
—— CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE ——
Crossing a street turned out to be more difficult than making a deal with the Soul Charmer. Wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of carefree nature that came with having an extra soul wedged inside you? It wasn’t helping Callie one iota. She reached for her cache of false confidence, but found it empty.
She gripped the still-open door of her car as though letting go would send her into a freefall through space. “I can’t do this.”
She looked to the passenger seat, and could almost imagine Derek sitting there, encouraging her.
Her shoes sank into the concrete. Her mind raced through eight dozen different scenarios, but entering that building and failing? She refused to picture the consequences. She unlocked her phone and checked the time. According to the schedule Ford had given her, she still had fifteen minutes of empty corridors inside the station to make her move.
She’d haul ass down those hallways and be out as fast as possible. She sucked in a steadying breath. This bonus soul stuck in her chest better do its part.
Josh. His shaggy black hair and goofy grin stole to the forefront of her mind. She could do this for him. And, fuck it, she could do it for her, too. Resolve firmly set, Callie released and closed the door, and made a beeline to the Gem City Police Department Substation Eight’s side entrance.
The grey slacks and blue polo she wore—an IT person costume—shifted to muted oranges under the bulb at the access door. The camera mounted above the door didn’t pan at her approach. That had to be a good sign, right? Ford’s key card slid from her pocket with ease—at least the inanimate objects were on board with this mission—and after a quick tap against the electronic plate the door buzzed in approval. Was it wrong to hope Ford’s card wouldn’t work? He couldn’t have blamed her for failing if the tools he’d given her were fucked, could he? Didn’t matter; now it really was on her.
Focus, Callie, she thought to herself.
She stepped into the empty hallway, and the door slammed behind her with an echo that must have carried for miles. The hallway was blessedly empty, so no one caught her jumping at the sound. Dropping her guard because the police wouldn’t have forensic—and hopefully not photographic—evidence of their burglar wasn’t an option, though. Refocusing, she pictured the blueprints in her mind.
Callie hurried forward at the speed of a mall walker: clearly not running, but moving fast enough to make people wonder what was wrong with her and didn’t she know they had gyms for that kind of shit. IT people always seemed like the high-strung types who’d run to solve problems anyway, so maybe she was doing a good job playing the part. She’d never seen one at the retirement home, but made-for-TV movies had taught her a lot.
This couldn’t be a real police station, could it? It was too qu
iet, even at one a.m. While reviewing plans last night, Derek told her the four cars she’d see in the parking lot without police signage belonged to the medical examiner’s team members and the on-duty security. The dead bodies were in the basement, he’d said. Avoiding the living was going to be hard enough, but knowing there were a bunch of dead people just mere steps from her was an aneurysm waiting to happen. And with Derek out of the equation, the planned distractions he would have provided were gone, and they wouldn’t have been able to cover her for passing out and twitching on the floor anyway. Why didn’t she let him come with her again? Damn sense of honor. It better not get her killed.
It didn’t take Callie more than twenty seconds to reach the security checkpoint after entering the building. Despite Ford’s initial description, though, it wasn’t the front desk. There was a small Plexiglas door, about hip high, partitioning the entrance from the main working area. The door was open already, but there was still a policeman sitting at the table adjacent.
He rubbed his right eye as though it’d remove the evidence he’d been desk napping. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh, I just need to pick up a couple files.”
“Isn’t a little late for paperwork?” His question wasn’t cutting, but instead was full of unsuspecting sympathy.
“Not my choice, but you know how it goes.” The truth sprang to Callie’s lips.
“I do, honey. Head on back. If you need anything, my name’s Vic.”
“Thanks, Vic.” She might have said more—to be more friendly or normal or whatever—but fear and elation at having not yet fucked everything up would have made her sound manic if she’d replied. Crazy, squeaky women were probably memorable, and Callie was determined to be nothing more than a figment of his late-shift dreams, the kind he’d forget by the next morning.
Once she walked past Vic’s desk, noting the frat-boy comedy flick he had playing on a phone propped on his desk, the end of the hallway was ten feet ahead. Peeking around the corner would be weird—she’d survived her first face-to-face encounter, hadn’t she?—but going into this blind was too stressful. She slowed near the corner, and leaned around the edge as surreptitiously as she could. There was no SWAT team waiting for her. Hell, there wasn’t even one of those slow Romero-type zombies. She righted herself and made the left turn.
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