To Catch a Stolen Soul

by R. L. Naquin

  As much as I wanted to play Food Truck Ninja, that ring needed to be emptied as soon as possible. I tried not to let Ash see how disappointed I was.

  An unmarked white van pulled up next to us, and three people piled out. They looked like regular human folks—two men of average height, one with dark hair and one with reddish blond, and a tallish woman with close-cropped burgundy hair and tiny shell earrings.

  The man with dark hair carried a clipboard. “You Kam?” His face shimmered for a moment, and I caught a glimpse of a much taller creature—taller and hairier. Sasquatch, maybe.

  “Yep.” I shook his hand. It felt perfectly fleshy and human. “He’s in the truck.”

  “Seriously?” The man with the reddish-blond hair scowled. “Man, not the Tea & Sympathy truck. I loved that place.” Under the scowly face, I spotted nothing but air until I looked down. His real self was only a few feet tall, and he sported a long white beard and chubby hands. A gnome. I’d crossed paths with a few before but hadn’t ever spoken to one.

  The woman snorted in disgust. “Typical, Bubba. Can you have a little class and not think entirely about your stomach? A man died.” She shook her head and snapped on a pair of rubber gloves.

  I squinted at the mass of brownish green I caught for a second. She looked like a regular human—maybe a schoolteacher or a tennis coach. In reality, she was a web-fingered swamp creature. I supposed she could still have been a schoolteacher or a tennis coach, but she certainly wasn’t human.

  The new magic that disguised Hidden was amazing. I took a moment to appreciate how the rubber gloves fit perfectly over her human-looking hands, even though they’d be impossible to wear over the webbing on her real fingers.

  The team was magnificent, and I had to stop myself from clapping my hands and telling them so. I loved seeing such a variety of creatures all working together. It reminded me of being home at Zoey’s place. I had Ash with me, though, so it was important to play along with their disguises.

  Bubba grabbed a pair of gloves and followed the swamp lady into my truck.

  I pulled Truman aside before he could go with them. “I didn’t want to disturb the body, so I couldn’t retrieve his ring.” I spoke in a quiet voice to be sure Ash couldn’t hear me. “Can you grab it for me, please? It’s loaded, and I really need to get those souls to a release station.”

  He gave me a curt nod. “Sure thing. I’ll just need to see your stone for identification and I’ll be happy to hand it over.”

  “Thanks.” I relaxed. Everything was going to be okay now. Poor Pete was someone else’s problem. It could have been fun. But my job here was already done, as soon as they brought me that ring.

  I wandered back to Ash. Her expression was drawn, and she looked pale.

  “Are you okay?” I touched her forehead and found it a little clammy.

  She hugged her arms around herself and nodded. “I’m fine.” Her voice was quiet. “I think it just hit me. There’s a dead body in there. I’ll be okay.” Her gaze flicked to the truck, then flicked away.

  “Do you want to lie down in the room? Maybe you need some rest.”

  She glanced at the truck again. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

  I handed her a key card. “I’ll take care of this.” I grabbed her phone and typed my number into it. “Call me if you need anything. Okay?”

  A smile tugged at one side of her mouth. “I will.” She turned toward the motel that was half a block away, then turned back. “Kam?”

  “Yeah?”

  She stepped closer and gave me an awkward hug. “Just...be careful. And thanks.” She took off at a trot.

  I grinned as I watched her go. I’d always wanted a little sister.

  * * *

  There wasn’t enough room inside the truck for me to go in and pester the team while they took care of Pete, so I was stuck outside waiting. Bubba came out a few minutes later and rummaged in the van, came out with a crowbar and a mallet, waved at me, then disappeared into the truck.

  A string of curse words followed the sound of banging, the squeal of metal peeling away from metal and a loud thunk. Truman backed out of the truck, rubbing the back of his neck.

  He grunted, then turned to face me. “Good news and bad news for you.”

  “I hate when people say that.” I braced myself. “What have you got?”

  “Well, we finally pried the storage unit out, so we can take him out in that.”

  I nodded. “Good. That’ll take the smell with him, I hope.” I wasn’t keeping the truck, but I figured I’d finish cleaning it out before I returned it, and I didn’t want to drive it back with the smell. “So, what’s the bad news? Did you break something?”

  “No. The bad news is a lot worse than that.”

  I couldn’t imagine what could have gone wrong if they were getting the body out clean. “So, what is it?”

  “I checked all inside and out. There’s no ring.”

  I froze. “What?”

  “Sorry, chicky. The ring wasn’t there.” He patted my arm in sympathy. “I know you wanted to get out of here, but it looks like you’ve still got work to do.”

  For a moment, it crossed my mind to be suspicious. I’d dealt with a rogue OGRE squad before. But I was a good judge of character. Truman hadn’t taken the ring, and I didn’t believe either of his team members had done it, either. “Well, shit.” I wasn’t happy. But I would’ve been lying if I’d said I wasn’t a little excited at the prospect of solving a murder.

  He nodded. “It means work for us, too. We won’t leave you to solve this yourself. We’ll back you up. No worries.” Every now and then, he turned his head just so, and his fur and muscles showed through his human facade. It was a good disguise. Humans could never spot it, and I caught only the occasional brief glimpse.

  The new order of things was pretty nifty so far.

  It was a relief to know I’d have his team helping me. It was a bigger relief knowing Truman was willing to let me take charge of the case.

  I stood watching them unload the big box full of dead guy off my truck while I considered the chain of events so far.

  Two months ago, Pete had come here on a routine soul collection from someone who was about to die. We soul chasers showed up after the person was dead, when a soul had jumped from the body and gone on an adventure. Reapers always arrived prior to the death, usually when someone was about to die through violent or unexpected means. Under those conditions, souls often became stuck, refusing to vacate their bodies. Reapers assisted the stuck ones by prying them loose and taking them to a place where they could move on.

  Without Pete’s ring, I couldn’t know who that last pickup had been. I did know that he’d never reported in after accepting the assignment, so he must have died—been murdered—right after he’d taken the soul. Whoever had killed him must have known what he was, because Pete had been stuffed into the truck with his wallet, but without the ring.

  Whoever had done this hadn’t been interested in the cash or credit cards, and they’d done nothing to disguise who Pete was, since the ID was still there. Had the entire purpose of the murder been to steal the ring, or had that been an afterthought? Had it been planned that way from the beginning? A crime of passion? A botched robbery?

  I frowned. Had Pete even taken the soul he’d been sent to pick up? We hadn’t received a report saying a soul was loose and needed a chaser to track it down. So had he died before or after the soul had been ready to go? If he’d picked it up, was it still in the missing ring?

  There were too many variables. I needed to start from the beginning, as if I didn’t have any information yet. Maybe they’d tell me something different.

  “Truman?”

  He paused in the paperwork he was filling out. “Hmm?”

  “Why a food truck? And what happen
ed to the truck’s owner?” I’d already heard the story from Neil, but Truman might tell it differently.

  Bubba slammed the side of the van shut, having finished moving box, reaper and tools into it. “I can answer that second part.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Tea & Sympathy was part of the Food Truck Posse that works up the street outside of the business park. The lady who ran it—Anna—was there for years. Her scones were famous.” He paused, scratching his head. “Couple of months ago, she didn’t show up. The truck was still there, but it was empty. No note or anything. Nobody ever found out where she went. Times are hard. Everybody figured she’d given up and walked away.”

  I stared at him. “Did no one think to call the police? File a missing persons report?” What the hell was wrong with these people?

  Joan, the swamp lady, came around from the other side of the van. “We’re the ones taking care of it. And believe me, we looked for clues to follow. There weren’t any. At least, not until Anna turned up dead a few weeks later. She was behind a Dumpster, three blocks away from where her truck had been left.”

  I blinked, and her face shifted so I could see her gills moving in and out before they disappeared. “Why didn’t you call the human police then?”

  Truman grunted. He did that a lot. “Anna was a water elemental. Whole damn food truck community is Hidden. I’m not ashamed to admit, I’m glad you’re here. We could use a fresh set of eyes. Maybe you can figure out what’s been going on around here.”

  What in the twenty-five hells had Art gotten me into? I touched my lucky gargoyle snot. It didn’t feel particularly lucky all of a sudden. “Pete and Anna are dead, and someone stole a loaded soul stone. I’m totally in.”

  Chapter Six

  Ash’s face was a lot less gray by the time I got back to the room. Color had returned to her cheeks, and she was bustling around putting together something for us to eat.

  I tossed my messenger bag on my bed. “You look like you’re feeling better. You okay?”

  She gave me a curt nod. “I’m fine. I guess finding a body shook me up more than I thought it would.” Her movements were still a little stiff, as if she were waiting for something to jump out at her any moment.

  “Thanks for putting dinner together for us.” I grabbed a plate with a peanut butter sandwich and a sliced apple.

  “Might as well make myself useful. You had to stay behind and talk to those...” Her voice faded away for a moment, and she shivered. “Those cops.”

  I knew she was wary of the police, being an underage runaway, but I wanted her to feel safe. “You don’t have to worry about them, you know. They aren’t going to come after you. You’re fine.”

  Her gaze didn’t meet mine as she took a sip of water. “Yeah. I know.”

  I watched her for a moment, wondering if there was more to it than a circumstantial wariness of the police. Was she seeing beneath the human disguises? I shook my head. That wasn’t possible. There was nothing about Ash that gave any hint to her being one of the Hidden. And as a human, there was no way she could see the Hidden.

  Being a runaway would make anyone nervous. She’d be okay.

  I reached to pick up my sandwich and stopped, wrinkling my nose. “I can’t eat yet. I touched dead guy. Be right back.” I hadn’t actually come in contact with the body, but I’d been around it, and my gloved hand had nudged the wallet, which had been lying on top. It was close enough. I needed soap and hot water before I could think of touching food.

  The bathroom was standard for any motel—sink, toilet, tub with shower. I ran the tap until the water was hot, then used the free soap in the dish to scrub my hands up to the elbows like a surgeon. The sink was small, so rinsing that high up my arms was tricky. As I contorted to fit my elbow under the water, I kicked over the trash can.

  Bloody tissues and gauze spilled out on the floor. I stared at the mess while rivulets of soap water dripped down my forearms and onto the tiles. So much blood.

  I toweled off, then nudged the garbage back into the trash with my toe before righting the can and tucking it under the sink. Should I ask her about it? Freak out and demand she hand over whatever she was using to cut herself up? Pretend I hadn’t seen it?

  Once again, I found myself wondering what my friend Zoey would do in this situation. Since I was Kam, not Zoey, I had no freaking clue what she’d do.

  So, that was no help.

  I flipped off the bathroom light and returned to the room, settling on the edge of the bed with my plate. We ate together in silence for a few minutes while I pulled my thoughts together and she avoided conversation.

  I still had no idea what Zoey would have done in that situation, but I knew what I’d do. I got right to the point. “How’s your arm?”

  Ash coughed and looked up. “What?”

  I nodded at her right hand. “Your arm. It must hurt like a bitch after all that blood.” There. I didn’t accuse her of anything. I didn’t ask the hard questions, like why or how. I asked if her arm was okay. That was allowed, right? Screw it if it wasn’t.

  “It’s fine.” She wrapped her left hand around her wounded wrist and pulled them close to her chest. “I bumped it, and the scab broke open.”

  “Did you put anything on it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  I frowned. “Like a disinfectant or antibacterial cream.”

  She stared at me without moving. “No.”

  “No?” I set my plate on the counter. “For heaven’s sake. If it gets infected, you’ll end up in the hospital, and the police really will find you.” I rummaged in my bag and came up with a small first aid kit. “Will you trust me, Ash? I promise. No judgments. No questions. Just let me take a look at it and clean it properly.”

  At first, I was sure she wasn’t going to let me look at it. She clutched the arm against herself and made no move to come closer to me. The look on her face was equal parts hope and terror. My heart beat faster, worried the damage was beyond something I could fix, and I braced myself for the worst. I sat on the bed and waited for her to come to me. Any move I made at this point would likely spook her.

  When she finally came and sat next to me, her eyes were filled with tears.

  I touched her cheek with the back of my hand. “No judgment. I promise.”

  She nodded and held out her arm.

  Her hand shook as I cradled it in my palm and unwrapped the bandage around her wrist. The gauze pad underneath was stuck to the wound, and it took several minutes of careful prying to pull it away without causing the entire thing to bleed again.

  Except, the wound that was there wasn’t at all what I was expecting. I’d assumed I’d find slashes across her arms. Instead, I found a single small circle, hollow from the missing tissue in the center.

  My throat constricted, and I felt light-headed. I had to force myself to take a breath. This was so much worse than what I’d imagined, in ways I hadn’t even contemplated. For a flash, my mind spun back to last year after I’d been kidnapped and mutilated. I remembered what it felt like to have lost a part of myself. To have a piece of me cut out. And here Ash was doing it to herself, not knowing any better.

  “Oh, honey.” I cradled her arm against my chest and fought to keep myself from letting out a sob. “You can’t do this. You need to stop.”

  She tried to pull her arm away from me. Her tone was laced with bitterness. “You said no judgments.”

  I refused to let her pull away. “I’m not judging you. I’m asking why. Why would you cut this out of you?”

  She yanked again and freed herself. “Because it keeps growing back!” Huge tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m disgusting. I have a disease, and nobody can cure me. They just tell me it’s all in my head.” She let out a sob. “Everything’s all in my head.” Ash scrambled for the first aid kit and
clawed at a package of gauze.

  I put a hand on her arm and held it there until she calmed down and took a breath. She gave up on the gauze and finally sat still, but wouldn’t look up at me. “Ash, do you know anything about your biological parents?” I kept my hand on her, sensing she needed contact to remain in control.

  “They died when I was a baby. I don’t remember them.” Her breath hitched, but otherwise she sounded better.

  I glanced at the hole in her wrist and inwardly cringed. “I need to show you something.” I let go of her and reached for my own sleeve. I pulled it up, showing the wide gold bangle underneath. When I touched the mechanism on the side, the bracelet sprung open.

  Ash gasped, and I held my arm out for her to inspect. She reached toward my wrist but hesitated, glancing at my face for permission.

  I nodded. “Go ahead.”

  She touched a tentative finger to each of my two gems, hovering over the empty hole where the third gem used to reside. “What is this?” She examined her wounded skin, then held her arm next to mine. “I don’t understand.”

  I smiled and touched my gems. “I’m a djinn. And this is where my magic is kept.”

  Ash gave me a stern look as if she thought I was making a joke at her expense, but she couldn’t maintain the expression. “No, seriously. Like, a genie?”

  “Phenomenal cosmic powers. Yeah. Except, see how one is black and the other only has a little sparkle to it? My supply is mostly depleted. I don’t have a lot of juice right now.” I waited while she sorted this out in her head.

  She touched the puckered area around my missing gem, then the area around her own wound. “I still don’t understand. I had a...a thing growing in my arm. Not something pretty and magical. It was disgusting. And why do you have a scar?”

  I took a deep breath and folded her hand into mine. “I came from the djinn world a long time ago. My whole family is djinn. I have—had—three gems. I believe you’re part djinn, part human, so you only have one gem.”

  “I don’t have a gem. I had a growth I kept cleaning out because the doctors wouldn’t stop poking at it, like I was some sort of lab rat.” The pain in her eyes appeared to have far more to do with her memories than the gouge in her flesh.