Souljacker

by Kodilynn Calhoun

  I shoulder through the door and bells chime out, announcing my presence. Caddie is sitting in a corner booth, elbows on the table, stirring the straw around in a glass of lemonade. She perks up as she sees me.

  “Hey!” she all but shouts, waving me over. I duck my head and slide in across from her.

  “You’re early,” I say, looking at the clock. But then again, so am I. “I figured I’d have to wait a little while for you to get here.”

  “Nah. Early bird gets the worm. Or in this case, the lemonade.” She sips and makes a face. “Needs sugar.” She opens two little packets and dumps them in, and the sugar makes a white mound on top of the ice before slowly disintegrating. She stirs it and grins up at me. “So what’s up, blue jay?”

  “What’s with the nickname?”

  “I call everyone chickadee, but…well, with that hair color, you look like a jay.”

  “Aren’t they loud mouthed, opinionated little bastards?”

  “Are you denying it?” Her eyes gleam as she jokes like we’ve been friends for years versus not even a full day.

  “I guess not.”

  “So who was playing at Cosmo last night?”

  “I don’t know—whoever it was sucked though.”

  She launches into a story about how she met MaXXX from Elysium once, before they were really big, and I settle back into the booth, content to listen. I haven’t had girl time since Sophia, though back then we mostly talked about cute boys and which girls would turn out to be busty cheerleaders when we got into high school. It’s kind of strange to have Caddie yapping away, pausing only to sip at her lemonade.

  It’s almost… Normal.

  “I don’t think I’d ever date MaXXX though, given the chance. He’s hot, yeah. He’s totally orgasmic, but he’s so…” She trails off and I feel my bag twitch. I reach down and open the flap and Sync bursts out, buzzing like a bee.

  “MaXXX is perfect, just the way he is!” she says hotly. “I would totally go out with him.”

  “You’re a robot,” Caddie says, stifling a grin with her cup.

  “You never know; he could have a robot fetish,” I pipe in, brushing my fingers against the glowing red tip of Sync’s antennae. She hums and settles a little. “Caddie, this is Sync. Sync’s been a friend of mine for years now. Sync, meet Caddie.”

  “It’s perfectly possible,” Sync says. “In the future, Luce’s going to find me an android body with long, sexy legs and then MaXXX will look my way.” She sounds almost smug and I have to laugh.

  A pimply-faced waitress takes our order—turns out we’re both hopelessly broke, so to spite Mr. Rockwell, I use the fifty he gave me—and eleven minutes later, we’re digging in to steaming turkey manhattans, soaked in gravy. I cut mine with the edge of my fork, taking a bite and burning my mouth. “Ouch, hot.”

  “It just came out of the oven,” Caddie chides, then takes a big bite. “Ouch! Hot!”

  I laugh, but I think that was her intention.

  “So, you seeing anyone? Since you’re not a lesbian and all.” She winks at me.

  “No.” My mind, on the other hand, has other ideas. It flits to Iofiel, the boy who claims I’m his soul mate. He’s beautiful in a wild way, his hair naturally spiky, no need for gel, and his good eye the color of melted chocolate. It’s warmer than the sun. Just one look and he gives me shivers. The pleasant kind.

  Caddie raises an eyebrow. “Really? No crushes?”

  Sync looks at me, but I’m already shaking my head. For all I know, Iofiel was out on a prank with buddies. He’s not something I want to discuss with an almost-friend. Not yet.

  “I’m not really in the market for a boyfriend. What about you?”

  She ducks her head, dropping her voice to a murmur. “You know Jale Halvers?”

  My turkey manhattan sinks to the bottom of my stomach. Of course I know Jale. He’s my own personal cafeteria. “Uh, yeah. He’s pretty rich?”

  “And hot.”

  “He sleeps through most of his classes.”

  “So? He’s got enough brains.”

  “He’s one of those people who will float through life with no worries, just because he’s born into money,” I mutter, shoving my plate away from me. That’s why I chose him in the first place. If I got out of control and Jale died, well, no big loss. His parents could just buy another son.

  She wrinkles her nose. “Well I think he’s hot. I’ve been trying to get him to notice me. No such luck yet.”

  “Want my opinion?”

  “On?”

  “Jale’s taste in women.” Slutty and cheap? Totally not Caddie. She shrugs, so I go on. “Ever thought about changing up your hair color?”

  “To what?”

  “I don’t know. Violet? Pink?”

  “I don’t know if it would look good.”

  “Well then, what about a pink streak? If you straightened your hair…” I reach out, tugging a curled strand flat. It comes down past her chin. “And put a bright streak in it, just enough to set off your jaw line, I think you’d be really cute.”

  “So I’m too ugly for Jale Halvers?”

  “Wha—no! I didn’t say that!” Great, one chance at a friendship with a girl who’s not afraid of me, and I insinuate she’s ugly. “Really, Caddie, I—”

  “Lucy. Breathe,” she says, mocking me with a grin. “I’m kidding. If I decided to get my hair done, would you wanna come with? We could make it a girls’ day out.”

  “Isn’t today a girls’ day out?”

  “We can never have too many days out!” She finishes off her plate and stacks it on top of mine. I gulp the rest of my cola and she sets her lemonade aside, deeming it too sour even with four packets of sugar.

  I glance up at the clock. We’ve been here a lot longer than I’d expected. “I’d better go. Mr. Rockwell will have a fit if I don’t get home before three.”

  “Cool. I’ll talk to my mom about the whole hair thing. See you at school?”

  “Yep.” I plop Sync back into my bag and give a little wave, my heart floating in my chest as I walk out the door. She wants to go out again. With me. AKA: She doesn’t think I’m a freak, or else this is some huge elaborate plan to show the world what I truly am. From Caddie? It’s hard to believe.

  My tablet beeps in my bag and I dig it out to find Mr. Rockwell’s sent me the list of groceries in its entirety. And it’s a huge list. I groan loudly and resist the urge to chuck it.

  “Issues?” That smooth voice ripples through me and I jerk my head up, meeting Iofiel’s stare. He’s leaning against the plate glass window of a large clothing shop, a smile playing on his lips. My heart picks up speed as I memorize the shape of his lips, imagining what they would feel like on mine and—no. I look at him, sliding my tablet back into my bag.

  I slowly shake my head. “No. I just don’t wanna go shopping.”

  The corner of his lips quirk into a knee-quivering grin. “Well what if you had a little eye candy to tag along and help you?” He winks and I suppress another groan. Instead, I roll my eyes.

  “I don’t see any eye candy around here. Sorry, pal.”

  “Lucy, Lucy. Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to judge a book by its cover?”

  “You’re pretty vain for someone with one eye.”

  “So that’s a yes?”

  I can’t help my grin. “Hurry up. I don’t wanna get my ass chewed.”

  “Aye, captain.”

  Chapter 7:

  Iofiel

  “Give me the cart. You take the list,” I say, unhooking one of the hover carts from the row at the front of the store. It hums softly under my fingers, floating along in front of me. Lucy makes a face and pulls out her tablet, tapping it to turn it into a checklist. “Alright. We need the necessities. Milk, bread, yada yada. Along with all this other shit he added.”

  “He?” I tip my head.

  She wrinkles her nose. “Daddy Dearest…”

  “Ah, fathers can be like that. Mine’s a hard ass.”

&n
bsp; “Mine’s not blood, thank God. He’s my foster dad.”

  I glance to her, a little surprised that she’s admitting this to me. “I didn’t know you were in foster care.”

  “It doesn’t really matter. Don’t worry about it.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t know my blood parents.” Probably due to the fact that I was a test-tube baby, raised by Nursemaids and then handed over to a Pack of cyberhounds. Surely they used DNA from somewhere, but I don’t know who it was from. Lylan’s not my real father; that’s laugh worthy.

  “You’re a foster kid?”

  “Kinda? I live with a group of guys, but we’re pretty tight-knit. They’ve been my family since I was a baby, so…” I shrug and trail off, then flash a grin. “I love them. They’re my family.”

  “Lucky boy,” she says, unable to hide her smile, but her eyes cloud over. “My mom died when I was five. I’ve been in the system ever since, tossed from foster home to foster home. I thought I found my forever family once, but…” She shakes her head. “Life doesn’t work like that.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. I want to reach out and take her hand, lay a kiss across her knuckles, twine our fingers together, but I know it’d just scare her off. Slow and steady wins the race, Io, I tell myself.

  “It doesn’t matter. One more year and I’m out of here. I’ll be my own woman, pave my own path.” She grins, but it looks almost wounded under the fluorescent lighting of the grocery store. She throws a loaf of bread in the cart and we amble down the aisle.

  “So why are you really here?” she asks after a moment, looking at me through tangles of blue hair.

  “You don’t believe I just want to be in your company?”

  “That’s sad. Surely you’ve got more interesting things to do with your time.”

  “Alright then. What if I said I’m along for the eye candy?” I wink at her, and she blushes, then seems mad that she’s blushing. She huffs and storms ahead and I can’t help but chuckle.

  I call after her, “You’re beautiful, Luce. Whether or not you believe it’s up to you, but I think you’re the prettiest thing on two legs.”

  “What if I shaved off my hair and eyebrows and got a bunch of piercings?”

  “Mm. Exotic.”

  “What if I gained three hundred pounds?”

  “Fluffy.”

  She throws her hands up in the air. “Whatever.”

  “You can forgive me cuz I’m cute, right?”

  “You’re so damn vain.”

  “Yep.”

  We collect cereal, milk, bottled water, eggs, and a bunch of oddly useless necessities in silence, the only sounds being the cruddy music playing over the intercom and our shoes squeaking on tile.

  I can’t wait any longer, else my heart’s going to lunge out of my throat and flop around on the floor in a pool of bloody emotions. “Do you wanna go out sometime?” My words stop her in her tracks. She spins on me, her eyes round as saucers. I offer an innocent smile to show I’m not playing games.

  “Where?”

  “A movie? Or maybe mini golf?”

  She seems to consider, nibbling on her lower lip, making a pouty face that’s so damn kissable. I have to clench my hands around the cart just to keep from reaching out and stealing one. I see emotions flicker through her eyes like a TV flipping stations.

  “Okay,” she says in a voice that’s all too feminine.

  I beam at her. “Awesome. Does tonight work?”

  She nods. “Yeah. Curfew’s for sissies anyway,” she says around a wry smile.

  “I’ll have you back in no time. Seven?”

  “I’m bringing Sync.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  She rolls her eyes and trudges ahead, but I can see the bounce to her step and my heart rockets. We pick up the rest of the groceries and I stay with her while she checks out at the Do-It-Yourself aisle.

  “Seven,” she repeats as we head out the door. “See you then.”

  I watch her stride off and smile to myself. Now I just have to get out of border duty on time.

  ***

  I trot down the street, following the built in GPS on the chip in my head. Pretty handy when you’re a directional idiot. Still, I hate the idea that they could track me if they wanted to. My paws pound the street at a steady pace, my eyes darting back and forth as I try and pinpoint Sariel’s location. The little map has a blue dot where he’s supposed to be.

  I find him on the outskirts of town, over the old railway tracks that signify end of boundary lines. He’s propped up against a building, a cigarette between his lips, the tip glowing cherry red in the twilight. If any of the cyberhounds look like their angel names, it’s Sariel. Tall and slender, with blond curls that frame his face and azure eyes, he’s beautiful. He even gives the Fae a run for their money.

  His face tilts towards me and I know my scent has wafted in his direction. I shift and make my way towards him. He takes a drag, then offers the smoke to me with a quirk to his thin lips. “Oh hell no, I don’t need a bad habit,” I say. He merely shrugs and flicks off ash, smoke trailing a thin line from the ground to the sky.

  “You mean another bad habit?” His eyes lock on mine and I freeze, unsure of what he means. “I’m not an idiot, Io. I see the way you look at that punker girl, all googly-eyes and goofy smiles.” His lip twitches and I can’t tell if he’s amused, annoyed, or a bit of both. He drops his voice. “You know that’s not safe.”

  I lean back against the building beside him, stuffing both hands deep in my pockets, rolling the lint at the bottoms between my finger and thumb. I could lie, but lying won’t get me very far.

  “I can’t help it, Sare. I really like her. It’s not some silly crush—this is the real thing.”

  “We don’t have hearts. How can you think that you love her?”

  “We have hearts,” I mutter. Everyone has a heart. It’s just how you use it that counts. “And don’t start your bull crap about us not having souls. Just because we were created, rather than born, doesn’t make us any less human.”

  “And that’s your problem, right there. When are you gonna pull your head out from up your ass and realize we’re not human. No matter how hard you try and play the part, you’ll never be part of their world. That’s just how it is, Io.” He sighs, his head resting against brick. He drops the cigarette to the ground and snubs it out with the tip of his boot.

  “Look. We all have feelings. I understand that, but you can’t just pretend to be a normal guy. You’re going to end up breaking that girl’s heart, and from the look of her, I don’t think she’d handle that real well. She’s human. She’s fragile.”

  I snarl at him. “She is far from fragile!”

  “She acts tough. Maybe that’s why you like her. I dunno and honestly? I don’t really give a damn. All I know is it’s only gonna lead to a dead end for both of you. Leave the girl alone, Iofiel. Save her poor heart any more pain. And it’ll save you a whipping from Lylan. He’ll be beyond pissed if he finds out.”

  I bite my tongue hard enough to taste blood. I know this. Lylan will skin me alive and send me to the Unseelie for punishment. I doubt I’ll even get a warning. But I can’t just…forget about Lucy. She’s like a virus, injected into my very soul. Eating away at my heart. I want her so badly it hurts. I shake my head.

  “I can’t just leave her alone.”

  “Then you’re not a very bright pup,” Sariel says, a little sadly.

  I shrug. “No one ever accused me of being smart, Sare. Just…don’t tell Lylan. Please. Pretend we never had this conversation, pretend you never saw me.”

  Sariel sighs and wraps an arm around my shoulders, tugging me into a loose, brotherly hug. Then he rubs his knuckles against my skull and I growl and squirm away from him. He makes a shooing motion with his hand and I shift and turn away, my heart lodged somewhere deep in my gut.

  Lucy and me, we’re kindred spirits. And I’ll find a way to keep he
r, if it’s the last thing I do.

  Chapter 8:

  Lucy

  “You’d look like an American flag,” Sync says as I pull a red and white dress out of its drawer, holding it up to my body to show off my ideas for an outfit.

  Hell, she’s right. I groan and fling it to the floor, where it piles up with all the other discards. Having a limited wardrobe is a slag. Why couldn’t I have gotten fostered by a rich couple or something? At least then I’d be able to dress nice for my date.

  My stomach flips over. I press both hands to the flutter there, unable to completely erase the grin on my face.

  I have a date. With a totally hot guy. Who seems to really like me, despite the crap I put him through. Just the way he looks at me, beaming brighter than the sun, is enough to send me into melt-mode.

  “I don’t know if I can do this…” I admit, reaching for the next shirt. My stomach’s totally in a knot now.

  “You’ll be fine! You like him, right?”

  “More than I should. This shouldn’t even be happening—I don’t trust myself. What if I hurt him? Or worse?”

  “Deep breaths, Luce. If you freak out, just tell him you’re schizo or something and excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. If you have to, crawl out the window and come home. I’ll support you, even if I think that’s the cowardly way out.” Her faceplate grins at me and I shake my head.

  I settle on a blue and black plaid mini skirt with buckles on the sides over black leggings. I find a fitted T-shirt I forgot about in the back of my bottom drawer. The word ‘Rebel’ is emblazoned on it in silver sparkles and I feel it’s fitting, somehow.

  I pull my hair into a loose ponytail, letting a few wisps fall down to cup my cheeks, and line my lower lids with cheap black eyeliner that could probably withstand a hurricane without smudging.

  “Very cute!” Sync chirps as I regard my reflection with a wrinkled nose. Not amazing, but not bad. I squeeze my arms together so my boobs are a little more pronounced, looking at my cleavage in the mirror. Sync huffs. “You’re beautiful the way you are.”