Soul Thing

by Lana Pecherczyk

  She smiled. “It’s okay,” she seemed to say. The words echoed in the corners of my mind. “It’s okay.” Her face flickered, and the table disappeared. The kitchen fell away and the darkness of my soul threatened to take her into oblivion. I willed my arms to move and latched onto her arms. We fought—the darkness and I, and I refused to let her go, I couldn’t. “It’s okay,” she said, her body fading but my hands still clutching. “This is our fresh start. I can help you from this side. I am not afraid. She fooled us both, but I can make it right by bringing light to balance their darkness and you will see clearly. I was wrong, I didn’t need distance for a fresh start, I needed to be closer to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better sister.”

  “No, I’m sorry, I should have been there for you,” I cried. “I won’t let the darkness take you.”

  But the darkness I fought was me, it was my own private hell. How could I fight myself? Leila hated witches, despised them, yet she was willing to lock herself in a cage with them to fight for me. My hatred for Petra raged, turbulent and relentless. I would make her pay for this. Someday I would get the souls out, and then I would make the witches pay. Leila was right. Absorbing Petra would make the third dark soul inside me. I needed light.

  I let go, darkness overwhelmed me and I succumbed to the dizzying sensation of falling then opened my eyes and found the empty shell of my sister’s body lying in my arms. Her life-force had gone and so had Petra’s, but I felt them stir in the darkest depths of my soul. A wave of anxiety hit me as though the four souls warred against each other. The conflict echoed in my trembling body; the darkness tried to outweigh the light. But she didn’t fold. Leila held her ground. She was there.

  She was also beneath me with a gaping hole in her neck, evidence of my savagery. The smell of blood and flesh amplified inside my dome of silence. I stood up, stumbling backwards. My body was numb. My mind reeled as I tried to grasp the enormity of what I’d done. My hand covered my mouth. I drank my sister’s blood. I’d killed her.

  I was a monster. My incredible high plummeted like a body-rocking overdose. Darkness stippled my vision. The blur of Leila’s body was all I could see as I staggered backwards. A movement tickled the edge of my consciousness and I whipped around then recoiled from intense vertigo, both hands clutching my head. Soldiers banged on my invisible wall with the butt of their guns, trying to get through the thick energy. Everyone spun around me as though on a merry-go-round, and the earth shifted. My eyes rolled back, and I lost control of the shield, letting it drop with a whoosh. Noise slammed into my being and I fell backwards to land on the shore with a splash, blinking at the blue swirly sky. The cool ocean lapped at my skull, then traveled to my shoulders in a calming and nurturing caress.

  Through the commotion, I heard a comforting voice.

  “Roo,” Cash said, followed by splashing and grunting—someone was fighting.

  Water hit me again in a wave, its soothing embrace worked at clearing my mind and I noticed a curious lack of noise. The fighting had subsided. The soldiers hadn’t come for me. Someone barked orders, and I winced at the noise.

  “Take the body, clear the evidence.”

  The evidence?

  “Roo!” Cash’s panic filled the air but I couldn’t move an inch. A burst of sorrow sprang from deep inside and burned my eyes. Tears ran to meet the water, and I sobbed. If they wanted to take me, I didn’t care.

  “Roo—where are you? I can’t see. The water masks your scent.” More splashing to my right.

  I wept for my sister and for the little girl Petra used to be. I wept for Tommy, because I would never see his puffy, laughing eyes again, and Kitty and Alvin. I didn’t know if they were alive. I gulped deeply. There was not enough air in the world to satisfy my need for oxygen.

  “ROO! Where are you? I can’t see.”

  His urgency snapped me out of my misery long enough to croak, “I’m here,” and soddenly roll to my side, catching sight of the men who carried my sister’s body away. I winced and closed my eyes.

  “Keep talking, I can’t see you. Are you okay?”

  “I’m here,” I said again, and dragged myself into a sitting position. “I’m alive.”

  Cash stumbled and fell in a splash. His hands found my shoulders then fumbled around my body. His eyes were still white, his skin pasty.

  “I’m okay,” I said, and grasped his wrists, trying to steady his panic.

  He flinched at my touch, but then placed a palm on either side of my face, feeling my cheekbones with his thumbs. He shook my face gently.

  “I couldn’t see you, I couldn’t hear anything.” His voice was brittle, and his blind eyes darted heavenward before shutting and squeezing tight. He inhaled deeply. “I couldn’t keep you safe. Fuck these feelings I can’t think straight.”

  He exhaled and yanked me into his embrace, my face squished against his chest, deaf to everything but the sound of his heart beating like a snare drum.

  “Are you hurt?” I asked, not sure what to make of his emotional response, but his powerful arms didn’t let go.

  “No, I mean yes—fuck!” He squeezed and little by little, my muscles relaxed. I allowed my arms to curl around his warm body and held him tightly.

  He pushed me away fiercely and scowled. “What the hell were you thinking? I told you I needed to question her. She’s dead isn’t she?”

  “I-I,” I stuttered, not sure what to say. “I got some information out of her. It’s okay.”

  “Fuck it, Roo. How the fuck do you know what information I need?” He shook me by the shoulders, rattling my teeth. “You might have ruined everything.”

  “Oh shit, Cash. I’m sorry, I didn’t think, I was—”

  “You didn’t think!” He growled and let go.

  Coolness rippled over my skin as a shadow fell over our bodies. Someone cleared his throat, but the sun blinded me, and all I could see was a pair of black army boots.

  “Samson,” a gruff voice said. “How are you going to explain this mess to the public? Do you have a plan, or do you need me to do your job for you—again?”

  I knew that voice. I frowned and lifted my hand to shield my eyes. Cash grasped my shoulder, fingers penetrating deep. “General Urser, it’s… I can explain,” Cash said.

  Fear, hate and regret stabbed through me all at once. “Son-of-a-bitch. You two know each other?” I stood up and stumbled backwards into the water.

  Cash flinched as his hand fell from my body.

  “Now, now, is that any way to greet your father?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  WE WERE BACK at Urser Manor. I’d been placed under house arrest in Leila’s room until the testosterone-engorged crew decided my fate. Downstairs, they argued. I put my ear to the door and caught a phrase or two but the nonsensical banter of the guards in front of the room blocked anything else. Normally, I’d hate men deciding my fate, but for now, I was exhausted and confused.

  I gathered that my father and some sort of special unit had cleaned up the incident and covered it up. They sent all the sleeping beauties home and attended to the injured—including Kitty and Alvin. They were recovering in hospital. Any stragglers were chased down and influenced to blame everything on the Inquisitor who was also in the hospital, but under protective custody.

  Who were these people, and why did they bow down to my father?

  Shouting between Cash and my father grew louder. They weren’t fighting over the fact that I’d killed someone, or about the witch and her murderous rampage. They weren’t even arguing about the hate-group’s actions. They were fighting about who got me—who would manage my welfare and be in charge of my unique brand of skills, and who got to take me to the Ludus to learn about the Game. Marc had predicted they would fight over who got to use me. He’d been right.

  I huffed and turned back to my prison. My room had been gutted from the move, which meant no clean clothes or supplies, so I borrowed my sister’s. I moved past her daisy-quilted bed, trailed a finger over her
fake flower arrangement and inspected a small, wired metal box with suction pads—her dream-catcher. I turned away and tugged Leila’s brush through my freshly showered hair, ripping out chunks with every stroke. The strands dangling from the bristles were red. They kept returning to red.

  My blood boiled. I didn’t know which bastard to hate more: bastard-number-one for presuming he could walk back into my life and assume control of me, or bastard-number-two for lying about knowing bastard-number-one. And to think Cash had spouted honesty from his high horse.

  “Ugh!” I hurtled the brush at the door. It landed with a thunk and dropped to the ground. The guards’ conversation paused, then picked up again with a chuckle.

  The thought of Cash and my father working together infuriated me. I felt chewed up and spat out, just like the half-eaten muffin on the bedside table. That sent me down another level self pity because, even though I was ravenous, food didn’t agree with me. My hunger had been sated by blood and life-force, but it only sustained one part of me. My nerves sang every time I thought of it. I pushed away the craving and sipped on some orange juice, letting the sweetness trickle into my cramped insides, calming my nerves.

  I plonked down on the bed. Did I have the right to be angry with my father? He’d just managed a massive cover-up and had probably saved me from persecution. I thought back to the early years. I supposed he’d been an attentive father, then. He’d told us stories, took Leila to therapy, and always made sure we had enough money… until he left. It was entirely possible he’d sent Cash to watch over me. But did those deeds outweigh his abandonment when I’d needed him most? Maybe his reappearance was a symptom of manipulation.

  I twisted my hair into a bun then let it cascade down my shoulders. I stared at the ceiling and counted the corners, stewing over Cash. What an idiot I’d been, assuming I knew the right questions to ask Petra. I’d stuffed up big time. He really yelled at me. Dropped the f-bomb a few times. That hurt. Maybe I could make it up to him if I could get the souls inside to speak to me… or even force some memories to surface, somehow. They stirred, restless. They didn’t like that idea.

  Cash hadn’t told me about his connection to my father. Was that so bad? He’d done nothing but look after me since he arrived. And what had I done for him? Got his brother killed that’s what. On the plus side, I’d reunited his broken soul with its missing tripartite. That was a win, right?

  I rubbed my eyes and rolled onto my side, curling around a pillow. A crash downstairs shook the house and a new bout of shouting ensued. I’m sure I heard the word “mentor”. My father must be having trouble accepting that Cash had completed the ritual with me. The crash was probably a fist through a door or something. Ha! Control that, bastard-number-one. I smiled as I drifted to sleep.

  I woke with a start, thinking somebody was in the room with me. My eyes adjusted as I scanned the room and blinked a few times, holding my breath. A shadow moved at the foot of my bed and I picked up a familiar energy signature.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you, love.”

  “Marc?” I rubbed my eyes just to make sure then squinted and checked his state of undress. Starkers again. He stood before me wearing a smirk and his older suave self, hands covering his family jewels, out of respect, I supposed—or fear.

  It’s a dream, I thought. He’s in my head. Out loud, I said, “Don’t you dare think you’ve got the run of my dreams. I’m totally in control this time.” I waved my finger at him. That ought to do it.

  “Oh? Shame.” His eyebrow quirked. “You’re a lot easier to communicate with this time though. You know this is how I communicate, right? Through dreams?”

  So this dream was real. The last one must have been as well.

  “Bloody hell, love, I’m the flippin’ god-of-the-in-between.” He sounded offended that I hadn’t put two and two together. “Dreams are in between.”

  “Right, sorry. God-of-the-in-between. Got it.”

  He snorted and rolled his eyes.

  I sat up in my bed and swung my legs over the edge. The sight of his naked body, whilst not unpleasant, was becoming a common sight.

  “So, what’s up?” I waved my hands in front of my face. Yep, they certainly looked real, then I pinched the flesh of my palm just in case and yelped.

  “There’s a joke in there but, considering I’m here on actual business, I won’t say it. Too much respect for you, yeah?”

  “Well, thank you for your consideration, sir. You are too kind.” I stood up and curtseyed with a flourish.

  “That’s quite all right, love. Few women can handle all of this.” His face flickered to the younger version. It appeared the immature Marc was just dying to get out.

  He cleared his throat and said, “We have a problem.”

  “I know who Cash is,” I said at the same time.

  We spoke over each other, blustering through a series of questions and answers until I held up my hand and said, “You first.”

  “Pet, you first.”

  “I should probably tell Cash before I go blabbing his secrets,” I said.

  “All right then, love. Me first. Your father is here.”

  “No shit, Sherlock. I knew that.”

  “Oh.” Marc sat next to me, still covering his genitals. He looked genuinely puzzled. “Do you know then, that he’s Cash’s ex-mentor?”

  My blood turned cold. I shook my head.

  “And do you know that they aren’t allied?”

  I didn’t know what that meant, but my best guess was trouble.

  Marc launched into an explanation. “You see, Little Red, when I found the lad, he was confused and alone and a wee bit barmy. Two of his parts had just reunited, and he didn’t have a clue he was part of this Game—much like you, love. He was on a rampage—hunting witches and killing them for money. This all happened about the time your old man left you, yeah? Your father thought his investment had been ousted by a bloody witch, a whore of evolution. You know what I’m saying, yeah?”

  “Uh, no.”

  “Well, I’ve been doing some research. You were supposed to be a warrior princess, but instead you showed signs of being the witch who attacked your mother. When you were accused by the public, your father thought he’d wasted all those years on a witch and, as your mother wasn’t alive to give him more offspring, he left.

  “You see, your father isn’t supposed to play the Game, he’s a Watcher. But as Royalty, he has to create supernatural bodies for the Players. Remember? I told you. Our souls won’t fit in a normal Simon. And that blood tie gives him an advantage—his Players pass on their evolutionary points to him when they finish their Game. When he thought you’d bodged it all up, and he heard about Cash—a strong and powerful warrior—he offered his hand.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Hmm.” Marc scratched his stubble and shuffled closer to me with his hips. “About four years.”

  My shoulders slumped. “That was before my trial.” My father knew he’d be leaving before I was accused of witchcraft. The notion he was Petra’s boss wouldn’t leave my mind. Maybe my father enlisted her to put me on pause while he sorted out his connection with Cash. That’s essentially what the collar had done, stopped my sixth sense from developing. If I was right, then he was responsible for the shit I’d suffered since Petra had turned up in my life.

  “Oi, love.” Marc slapped his thigh to get my attention. “Let me finish. So there are three kinds of relationships in the Game: parent and child; mentor and progeny; and ally or enemy. They’re in that order, too. Under the tutelage of your father, your mate Cash finished his trials within six months, then immediately declared himself an independent Player. Your father was right pissed, he was. Disgraced for sure. I mean, yeah, he’d get the bonus points at the end of the Game, but he’d just used up his get-out-of-jail-free card on someone who didn’t want him. He’s also had his daughter pilfered from him, and his plan to illegally smuggle souls to the other side thwarted.” He slapped his hands together and made
a squashing action. “You know about that right? You figured it out?”

  “That he was gathering souls, yeah I did. I kinda guessed he was the one Petra collected for. But I don’t know why.” If my father knew I’d harvested at least four, he’d probably do anything to get them.

  “I’ve had my suspicions about your father. I believe he is the miscreant who caused the rebellion, swayed his cousin the Prince. You see, so that makes him the Queen’s nephew. Following? They weren’t satisfied with this three-dimensional piece of real estate anymore. They want all of the Queen’s territory, they want to take her Empire. And this planet was the only thing standing in the way. Created as a place where all lands could come in harmony to experience the marvels from across the galaxy, now, it’s a place where they’re all free to play out their sick games without actually hurting themselves. But Urser… well, let’s just say we’re investigating. We need proof before I oust him, so mom’s the word, yeah?” He tapped his nose.

  Pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. “Cash found out.”

  “Yeah, as soon as Cash discovered his mentor was a slimy bastard, he split. It’s the reason we get along so well, he and I. He’s a chip off the old block, barely a splinter really, I mean… look at me.” He watched his biceps as he tensed them a couple of times as though he spoke to them, and then cleared his throat. When he turned back, his eyes were full of arrogance. “But, he’s a good chap and he’s helped me in this silent war. We need to protect the Empire.”

  I held my breath. Should I tell him? About Cash and his connection to the Queen?

  Marc must have mistaken my silence for a need for comfort. He draped his arm over my shoulder then squeezed me against the side of his chest. His thumb ran circles on my skin.

  “Do you need a hug, love?” he whispered into my hair.

  Yep, he was a charmer, all right.

  “I see what you are doing, Marc, and it’s not going to work.” I peeled his fingers off and placed his hand back in his lap.