Soul to Shepherd

by Linda Lamberson

  “I’m here.” I gently touched his shoulder, letting him know I was next to him in bed. “Did you have a bad dream?”

  Without saying a word, he rolled over and wrapped me up tightly in his arms, curling his entire body around mine.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Not really,” he replied. “Just—don’t leave, okay?”

  “Okay, I won’t,” I agreed without hesitation.

  “Okay.” He sighed and buried his head in my hair before going back to sleep.

  *

  “Do you really think we need the Journal to save me?” Quinn asked the next morning as I rinsed his dishes from breakfast and he loaded them into the dishwasher.

  “I think it’d help, but no, I don’t think it’s the only thing that will save you.” I immediately wondered if his question was tied to his nightmare last night, but he’d been so shaken I didn’t want to make him rehash it.

  “What did Ruben tell you the other day that made you so upset?” Quinn asked.

  I’d been waiting for this question—actually, I’d been dreading it because no explanation I gave Quinn would soften the blow. I took a deep breath, turned the tap off, and dried my hands on a nearby dishtowel, using the delay to try to come up with the best way to begin.

  I turned to face him, leaning my hip against the edge of the countertop. “He said that if we stuck to our plan, you should be fine through the eighteenth—that no harm would come to you.”

  “But,” Quinn added in the wake of my silence. This was a big conversation—one I wasn’t about to have while doing dishes.

  “Come on.” I took his hand, led him to one of the couches in the living room and then sat next to him, turning to face him.

  “So?” he asked.

  “So, given the information Ruben and Ronald had at that time, and the possible futures based on that information, he said the Servants would find a way to attack us eventually. And when they did, it didn’t seem likely that both of us would walk out of this unharmed.”

  The color in Quinn’s face drained and his expression hardened. “It’s me. I’m the one who’s not going to survive—that’s what Ruben told you.”

  I looked at my entwined fingers in my lap, knowing I couldn’t hide the pain in my eyes.

  He sighed and ran both hands through his hair before rubbing his temples. “You know, deep down, I think I already knew. I could see it in your face that day. I just didn’t want to believe it.”

  “Quinn, you have to understand, what they saw isn’t set in stone—it’s a prediction based on facts that can always change. If we change our choices—take the unexpected road, introduce unexpected variables—we can change the future. I think that’s why Ruben told me in the first place, so we’d be motivated to explore new paths, find new options.”

  “And have we?” he asked warily.

  “Yes! I made the decision to bring the Journal down here after Ruben met with us. That’s good.”

  “But it was stolen—that’s bad.”

  “Not before I read some of it—a lot of it, actually.”

  “Will you tell me what you read in the Journal?”

  I told Quinn everything I remembered reading about the Servants’ origins and their structure. And I told him about how the Servants and Shepherds entered into an Agreement, which led to the birth of the Curse of Three.

  “Have they ever broken the Agreement and gone after someone more than three times?”

  “I don’t know. Initially, I thought they had when I was reassigned to you, but Tara explained that they weren’t trying to kill you in April—only kidnap you.”

  “Just so they could kill me later,” he tried to joke, but his shallow chuckle couldn’t mask the fear in his voice. “Evie, what happens to my soul if the Servants convert me? Does it go to Hell?”

  “Quinn—” I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me, replaced with a thick, asphyxiating dread.

  “Just humor me.”

  “There’s nothing funny about this.”

  “Evie, please.” The tone of his voice had changed from harsh cynicism to a kind of anguished determination, like he was preparing himself for the worst. It scared me—he was scaring me. But I’d promised to tell Quinn the truth, as ugly and awful as it might be.

  “Your soul is destroyed.”

  “How?” he asked so matter-of-factly it was almost as if he hadn’t heard what I just said.

  “During the conversion,” I continued hesitantly. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Look, Quinn, I know I told you I’d be honest with you about everything, but please don’t ask me to describe the details of the ritual to you. I’m asking you to let it go.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  I couldn’t respond for fear my voice might crack.

  “Do you think the Servants are worried I’ll become a Shepherd if I die? Do you think that’s why they’re out to make me one of them?”

  “That’s a pretty loaded question. Any one of the Servants’ targets could become a Shepherd, and they know that. But the truth of the matter is they don’t have any better idea of who will become a Shepherd than I do. Only the Order can decide. I mean, if we were able to predict who would become a Shepherd, both sides would end up stacking the deck by determining which humans should receive more or less attention in an effort to boost the numbers in their favor.”

  “But there’s still a chance.” Quinn was treading carefully, too carefully, setting warning bells off in my head. I remembered having a similar conversation with Tara when I was first reassigned to Quinn, and I didn’t like her answers to my questions any more than I liked the direction this discussion was heading.

  “Quinn, you have to understand the odds of that happening are low. Targets rarely become Shepherds when they die. Even if the eligibility conditions are met, the selection process is completely under the Order’s control.”

  “Does Ronald influence those decisions?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “What made you eligible?”

  “Quinn—”

  “I want to know.”

  I sighed heavily, knowing full well my answer might only serve to fan the flames of whatever crazy notion was brewing in his head. “Peter once told me the eligibility criteria—on the list is having your soul and spirit fuse before or at the time of death.”

  “Well, how does that happen?” he asked.

  “You can be born with it—as in the case of an old soul. A radical near-death experience can be strong enough to fuse a soul and spirit. It can also occur when a human’s fate is manipulated by someone other than the Three Sisters.”

  “Like the Servants.”

  I nodded.

  “So being a Servants’ target is one of the prerequisites to becoming a Shepherd.”

  “It’s more like being one of their victims,” I clarified, also remembering what Peter had told me shortly before I returned to protect Quinn.

  “And then what? You just wake up as a Shepherd?”

  “Something like that—only it’s a lot more confusing and unsettling.” I paused for a moment and looked at him. I was becoming increasingly worried about his underlying motives for asking these questions. “Why do you want to know all of this? I mean, even if you met all of the eligibility requirements, you realize you can’t do anything to make this happen, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess I just wanted to know all the options—even if they’re not necessarily my options.”

  I nodded, still feeling uneasy.

  “Can your soul be destroyed?” he asked.

  “If the Servants destroy me, they destroy my immortality—they break the connection between my soul and my spirit—but my soul will still survive. It’ll just follow the natural course of every other mortal who dies normally.

  “But,” I continued, “there is a way for me to lose my soul. If I will it. I can give my soul away if I choose.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” he scoffed. “When would there ev
er be a situation where you’d willingly choose to give away your soul?”

  “I can think of one—to save you.”

  He looked at me in alarm.

  “Quinn,” I said before he could react verbally. “Remember Dylan’s comment when we first arrived up here—about how I needed a piece of a Shepherd’s soul to heal me?”

  “Yeah,” Quinn replied uncertainly.

  “Well, remember how weak I was after healing Mary?”

  “Yes,” he replied even more hesitantly.

  “I’d used up so much of my life source, my energy, that I was just hanging on by a thread—so much so I couldn’t heal myself. I needed help,” I continued, tiptoeing on eggshells. “Thankfully, Peter was there.”

  Quinn cringed at hearing his name, shifting uncomfortably.

  “Unfortunately,” I continued, “he paid a pretty big price when he healed me. He willingly had to sacrifice a piece of his soul—at least that’s what he told me, anyway.”

  “Did he?” Quinn asked coldly. He leaned back slightly, looking at me like part of me was a complete stranger.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

  Quinn turned away from me and ran his hand through his hair. It must’ve been killing him to hear this. I didn’t know what bothered him more: the idea of Peter sacrificing his soul to save me or the fact that I’d needed Peter’s help—help Quinn couldn’t have given me. It meant Peter could offer me more than Quinn, a mere mortal, ever could. To Quinn, I bet it seemed like I needed Peter more than I’d ever need him.

  “Quinn.” I leaned in closer to him, but he wouldn’t acknowledge me. He wouldn’t even look at me. “Hey, it doesn’t matter what Peter did. The important thing is that I’m here, right?” I asked, trying to put things in perspective for him, but Quinn didn’t respond.

  “Look, I’ll always be grateful for what Peter chose to do regardless of his reasons for doing it. I’m still here because of him. But nothing he did changed the way I feel about him. And it certainly didn’t change the way I feel about you. Nothing ever could.”

  “You won’t be saying that if I become a Servant.”

  “We will find a way to stop them for converting you,” I asserted.

  “How? If Ronald and Ruben can’t figure out a way to save me, then how can we?”

  “Because we don’t have another choice.”

  That evening, Quinn had another nightmare.

  *

  “Good morning, lovebirds,” Dylan called out as he materialized on the patio the following day.

  “We’re in the living room,” I replied. Dylan walked inside and sat down on one of the chairs across from us.

  “Day seven on Servant watch, and I’m here to report that all is good on the home front.”

  “Day seven already?” Quinn sounded disappointed, but I was instantly on pins and needles.

  Tonight was the night. I feared this night with every ounce of my being because I was still incapable of protecting Quinn.

  “So it’s safe to assume that this place agrees with you two then,” Dylan stated, obviously hearing Quinn’s discontent.

  “You did well.” I forced a smile while the knots steadily formed one on top of the other in my stomach.

  “Good.” Dylan smiled. “Well, you know what they say: ‘Time flies when you’re having fun.’ But this is it, folks. Full moon’s tonight, so I don’t want you leaving here under any circumstances until M or I arrive tomorrow. Got it?”

  “Got it,” I replied.

  “Oh, and I think we should have a secret code—you know, just in case something goes haywire,” Dylan suggested.

  “Okay, what did you have in mind?” Quinn asked.

  Dylan paused to think. “Got it! If something seems fishy, I’ll come up here are say: ‘I put the awesome in threesome!’” Dylan grinned from ear to ear.

  “Seriously?” I asked. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “So? They’ll never suspect it.”

  “That’s for sure.” Quinn was cracking up laughing.

  “Well,” Dylan stood up, “I’ll let you two enjoy what little time you have left up here alone.”

  “You got this, right?” I asked Dylan telepathically. “I mean, you know I’m not back to one hundred percent yet, so you’ll be ready if all hell breaks loose?”

  “Don’t worry, K.C. I promise either M or I will be within earshot of this portal at all times from now until Quinn’s in the clear tomorrow. We’re not going to let anything bad happen.”

  “You’d better not.” I forced another smile in an effort to hide my growing stress and anxiety and fought back the tears welling up in my eyes.

  “Later, man.” Dylan fist-bumped Quinn. “Take care of this one.” He nodded his head my way. “She’s a little on edge.”

  “And, you,” Dylan continued, pointing at me, “lighten up and enjoy the last night of your ‘vacation.’” He winked. “It’s back to business tomorrow, people. M and I will brief you both on everything in the morning.” With that, he phased out of view.

  *

  Quinn found me sitting on the edge of the hot tub a few hours later, my feet dangling in the steaming water. He sat down next to me and looked at the sun as it began to set. He’d just showered, and I could smell the ever-familiar scent of his soap wafting around me. I closed my eyes and breathed him in, but no matter what I did to try to relax, I couldn’t keep my disturbing thoughts away.

  Yes, we’d gotten Quinn’s blood back, but at a costly price. I was stronger physically than when Dylan first brought us here, but I was still nowhere near as strong as I should’ve been. In fact, I had no supernatural powers to speak of. Had Ronald and Ruben already seen this scenario play out? Had my fear come true? Had I become the weak link that would jeopardize Quinn’s life?

  Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at this beautiful man I was no longer capable of protecting, and I caught him looking at me too. Flecks of orange and gold twinkled in his sapphire blue eyes as the reflection of the setting sun danced within them.

  “What?” I asked, now feeling even more self-conscious.

  “Nothing.” He grinned.

  “You’re staring at me.”

  “I’m not staring at you. I’m admiring you.”

  “Why?” I smiled nervously.

  “Because.” He swept a loose lock of hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “It’s the last day of our vacation in this unbelievable place far away from everything and everyone else, and I want to enjoy every last minute of it with you.”

  “I’m not so sure this really qualifies as a ‘vacation.’”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Look around. Amazing house. Amazing views. And we’re here all alone with no one to bother us.”

  “So we hope,” I noted a little less enthusiastically.

  “We’ll be fine. This night will be just like every other one up here. You’ll see.” Quinn seemed like his perfectly confident self again—like everything he’d heard over the past few weeks didn’t matter anymore.

  “How can you sound so sure?” I asked in awe.

  “Because I am sure.” Quinn smiled at me, and I melted inside. Damn that smile.

  “You’re sure,” I said slowly.

  “Yup. I love you too much to let anything happen to you or to come in between us again.” The look on his face grew more intent; he was serious. There was a clarity and a certainty I’d never seen before in his eyes, and it almost made me believe he could take on the world singlehandedly. My eyes welled up with tears.

  “Why the tears?” He cupped my face and wiped away the tears that ran down my cheeks with his thumbs.

  “I wish I could feel as certain about us as you do.”

  “You can.”

  I just shook my head. Quinn had always been the one who believed in us no matter what obstacles we’d faced. I wanted so desperately to believe in us the same way—I just didn’t realize how hard it would be. I didn’t know how to find the faith in us that he had. I
’d always been the one who was afraid—afraid of losing him, afraid of hurting him, afraid of what would happen if I let myself feel what it was like to love him so completely and unconditionally, only to have it all taken away from me in the end.

  “You can,” he repeated as he leaned in and kissed me softly. “Let me show you. Let me help you.” I could feel his sweet, warm breath wash across my face.

  “How?” I whispered.

  “Close your eyes.”

  “Here? Now?” I asked anxiously. “Quinn, tonight’s the full moon. What if the Servants find us?”

  “They won’t,” he stated with conviction.

  “But what if they do?”

  “Evie, the Servants don’t have a clue where we are. Besides, Dylan and Minerva are guarding the portal door like hawks. No demons will get by them tonight.”

  “But—”

  “Shh.” Quinn rested his fingers on my lips. “Trust me.”

  “Okay.” I sighed loudly with a slight nod of my head.

  He nodded once and smiled. “Now, will you please close your eyes?” His tone might’ve sounded playful, but his message was clear—he wanted me to listen to him. I did as asked without uttering another word.

  “Good.” I heard him shift so he was sitting behind me. He began to massage my shoulders.

  “I want you to take a deep breath, and exhale very, very slowly.”

  I filled my lungs with air and then, like a balloon with a hole, I slowly exhaled while Quinn’s fingers worked their magic into my tense muscles. My entire body immediately began to relax.

  “Again.” Quinn kissed my shoulder gently. I took another deep breath and exhaled as he ran his fingers lightly down my arms. I kept my eyes closed and tried to take in everything I sensed. The feel of the balmy, salt-filled air that caressed my skin along with Quinn’s fingers; the sound of the waves crashing below; and the smell of the tropical plants around us, the charred remnants of the burnt wood in the fireplace, and Quinn—his scent smelled like home to me. I was so relaxed I felt like I was almost slipping into a trance. I continued to take deep breaths as he massaged my neck, shoulders and back.

  “How do you feel?”