by M J Marstens
The soul passes through the racist lady from before, and I see the woman give a full-body shudder at the contact. She didn’t feel the soul like I did when it intentionally made contact, but humans can still sense their presence on an unconscious level. Generally, souls try not to step through humans as a courtesy- again, something retained from their human existence, but the older the soul, the less humane they become— like this dick.
I wait for it to make a move, but we both know that it’s a waste of time. I’m stronger, faster, more skilled, and armed. Souls aren’t without their own strengths, but being human gives me an edge since I’m bonded to a physical body.
Even though I’m currently incorporeal, I’m still anchored to a physical entity in the human realm, unlike the spirit. If it does manage to injure me, I can merely slip back out of the In-Between to heal. A soul doesn’t stand a chance against me and my trident, realistically.
It’s when souls band together that they become a threat. Thankfully, they are too self-centered and disorganized outside of completing their unfinished business to do this. It has happened on rare occasions, but the havoc that banded souls wreak is catastrophic, to say the least. The last time this happened was almost twenty-four years ago.
Realm Guardians were nearly eradicated.
Since then, the Voodoo communities have put up protective measures between the human realm and the incorporeal realms. A new era of Realm Guardians was trained and here I stand today, one of the few tasked with monitoring the In-Between.
Rarely do I have encounters with dick souls. Maybe eight or nine times a year. This is March and my third rogue soul. I roll my shoulders again thinking that the year is off to a crap start. But the malevolence pouring off this dick soul makes me hesitant. It can barely keep a human form, but its facial expression is almost. . .
Smug.
Why the fuck would a soul be smug?
Suddenly, I feel a tingle at the nape of my neck and I whip around, arms and legs still spread wide in a fighter’s stance. I keep the dick soul in my periphery, in case it decides to rush me, and then I assess what raised all my hackles. My blood figuratively freezes when I see four more souls circling me.
Son of a witch doctor.
This isn’t just a dick soul.
It’s a dick ambush.
And I’m about to get fucked.
* * *
1 Louisiana Creole French for grandma. Creole is a stable natural language that develops from the simplifying and mixing of different languages into a new one within a fairly brief period of time.
smug souls
Another correction— anyone else in this situation would be fucked.
It really isn’t looking great for me, but I’ve actually been in worse scrapes. Probably because I don’t have a partner. Most Realm Guardians are assigned a partner for whichever realm that they are tasked to protect. Strength in numbers or the buddy system, or something like that, I guess. Unfortunately, because of the lack of Realm Guardians due to our near annihilation two decades ago, there isn’t enough for everyone to have a partner.
Couple that with my exemplary training scores, and The Guild of Guardians didn’t feel that I needed a sidekick, even though the In-Between is one of the more problematic realms to monitor. That’s right, that two percent of dick souls causes more problems than the whole of the demon realm, just to put things in perspective. My mèrè protested vehemently, fearing for my safety, but I prefer to work alone. The only person that I have to look out for is myself.
A partner might come in handy right now since I’m surrounded by five banded souls, but I only have to scrape my ass out of this sucky situation. I smile confidently and rush at one of the souls to my left, my trident raised high above my head. It mimics my smile and doesn’t even flinch.
What.
The.
Fuck?
Completely pissed, I let my anger tint my vision as I swipe at the spirit, but my trident comes into contact with nothing. I gape at the spot where the soul was just seconds before, trying to comprehend what just happened. Souls can’t just ‘vanish’. They are bound to the In-Between unless they are crossing over.
Or somehow find a human to possess.
And this soul didn’t look like it was crossing over.
I don’t get to process this horrifying thought because two of the banded souls come at me. It would have been a smart tactic on their part if I had been actually distracted. But, I’m not. I pretend to still be in thought and just as the two reach me, I tuck and roll. My motion is a blur of fluidity and speed.
I lithely stretch back into a fighting stance, slashing my trident in a wide arch, piercing one of the soul’s back. It lets out an inarticulate cry before disintegrating into oblivion. I quickly do the same to the second soul that thought it could double-team my ass.
Two down, one missing, and two to go.
Technically it’s three since I will have to figure out what happened to the one that went poof, but two sounds better.
I turn towards the remaining souls. One of them is the original soul that touched me. The other is newer; its features are crisper and more defined since it clearly remembers being human. It’s rude to make snap judgments, but it looks like it was an asshole human. The fact that it’s trying to do bodily harm to me might be influencing my opinion.
Even though this newer soul has more power, more energy, I keep a wary eye on the older soul. I can tell it’s the dick leader of this little band of spirits. And the bigger the dick, the cockier that they are. Ballsier, too. Who knows what this rogue fuck might attempt- if it can get up enough power. But the elder soul makes no move to attack me.
Nor does the younger one.
Both seem supremely satisfied- like they know something that I don’t know.
But I can promise you that I’m about to find the fuck out.
I don’t even bother coming at either of them; instead, I forcibly launch my trident at the younger soul. It’s a brash move since I’m defenseless without it, but the elder soul is less of a threat than the younger one. I can easily somersault downward and retrieve my weapon before the spirit will even be able to act.
It’s a flawless plan that I execute brilliantly, my aim perfect and true.
Except. . .
This dick soul goes poof, too.
a vindictive stabbing
I can’t help but let out a strangled cry of frustration.
What in the realms is going on?
I actually turn to ask the last remaining soul, but the fucker crosses over! I blink in confusion, my mind simultaneously going a hundred miles per hour and moving slower than molasses.
How could it have crossed over?
Was its unfinished business instigating a fight with me and pissing me off?
I sincerely regret not lobbing my trident at its arrogant face, now. I continue to rant like this- out loud and in my head, when something occurs to me:
The dick soul knew that I was going to attack the younger soul.
It played me.
A shiver runs down my spine.
It’s not a good thing when a soul manipulates you.
Ever.
The question is why?
My answer comes swiftly enough when I hear screams coming from the human realm. All around me, there’s chaos in the DMV. Two humans are stabbing fellow humans with what looks like pens. As a Realm Guardian, I have seen some pretty grisly things in my life, but even this makes me want to cover my eyes and throw up a little in my mouth.
I run to retrieve my trident and simply shift out of the In-Between. The pandemonium is so great, no one is going to notice a human woman popping up next to them out of ‘thin air’. While smart humans are trying to escape, I stomp over and punch one of the assailants right in her ample tit. If done correctly, a boob punch is like getting rocked in the nuts for a chick.
Mrs. Chesty LaRou barely bats an eyelash at my well-trained right hook, but it does seem to turn her attention.
> To me.
Yay.
That’s when I get a good look at her eyes. They’re completely black. This is where most humans cry ‘demon’, but this is a sign of soul possession. The possessed human woman squawks at the man still stabbing at some stragglers who slipped on the copious amounts of blood and he turns his head toward me.
And now I have two possessed souls armed with pens staring at me.
I won’t lie- my stomach totally feels like it might plummet out my ass, but I keep it together because this place has seen enough horrors for one day and no one wants to see that.
These possessed humans might have pens, but I have a trident. In the game of life, that means I win. I pull it out from its sheath and twirl it in my hand, taunting the two fuckers who think that they can wreck shop on my watch. In a deft move, I strike at the one human on my right but, at the last second, I twist my body to the left and sink my trident into the possessed human’s thigh.
The human woman lets out a cry as I rip the offending soul from her body, sending it back to the In-Between. The possessed man is clearly enraged at my actions, but what did he expect? He throws down his pen and kicks out definitely, trying to dislodge my trident from my hand. I jump back and trip over another woman trying to escape the carnage going on around her.
The possessed man uses my distraction to strike me in the ribs with his heavily booted foot. The air rushes out of my lungs painfully and I hear something crack. Fuck, that hurts. The dick soul rears back to do it again, but I’m ready, even in my agony. I grip his foot tightly when he swings it at me and pull hard, causing him to become unbalanced and fall backward.
I leap up as quickly as my rib will allow and slam my trident into his side, right where he kicked me. It’s a slightly vengeful move. Wherever I plunge my trident, the soul’s energy will slowly leak out of; but, it’s also the point where the soul evacuates the possessed human. . .
And the human is left with a three-pronged wound.
tall, dark, and fuck me
To clarify, the punctures are never deep enough to be more than a scratch, really, but I’m sure this human man doesn’t appreciate me piercing his side when the leg or arm would have been more convenient. Usually, I try to be very meticulous where I strike with my trident on a possessed human because I don’t want to inadvertently hurt them.
But, as I said, this was a vindictive move on my part. The human will be ok, but the soul will not only become drained; its wound will become a beacon for me of who I need to come after. The soul might change its appearance, but it can’t conceal or modify the three-pronged laceration in its side, making it easier to identify and eradicate.
I hide my trident once more as I take in the scene around me. Only a handful of humans remains; their whimpers of fright make my heart squeeze. This is my fault. Those souls should never have been able to leave the In-Between and cause this kind of terror. I should have stopped them instead of pussyfooting around.
Now, I have upset and traumatized humans, as well as a giant mess to clean up in two different realms. Three, actually, as the demons are not going to be happy that this incident happened on their turf. I call The Guild of Guardians and give them a brief rundown, wincing as I explain. They hang up immediately to send reinforcements into the In-Between, a Hell Guardian to speak with the demons, and an Earthly Keeper to come to the DMV to calm the humans and smooth things over.
If that’s even possible.
The Guild also sends me a text that I have an appointment to meet with them tomorrow at six in the morning.
Well, isn’t this just fan-fucking-tastic.
Not only do I get to have my ass reamed, but I also have to get up at the butt-crack of dawn. I stomp out of the DMV, pissed at all the realms. I didn’t even get my license! Mèrè is going to be so pissed when she finds out, but I’m content to take the bus. Or walk. Or swim with the gators.
I grumble as a stalk away, thoroughly enraged at this point; so, I’m startled when I slam headlong into the sexiest chest in existence. That sounds like a ridiculous exaggeration, but you’re not looking at what I am. He’s tall, with broad shoulders and a tapered waist. He’s wearing a top hat and a tailored black suit jacket with matching pants and leather gloves.
He even has a sleek black walking cane, although it’s apparent that it’s only for looks.
His hair is close-cropped and his beard is more like a five o’clock shadow, but I can see the hint of a coil there and I know his hair would be curly if it were longer. His lips are full and sensuous, adding depth to the sharp angles of his cheeks and jaw, but it’s his eyes that arrest me most. They are a pure, piercing blue with a hint of turquoise. Against the lushly deep caramel-color of his skin, they glow like topazes and I find myself falling into them.
I realize that I am falling, my knees giving way underneath me, causing me to crumple to the ground. Thankfully, Tall, Dark, and Fuckable is swift on his feet and grips my waist to hold me up. Instantly, I let out a hiss of agony, my broken rib protesting the tight hold that the stranger has on it. The man must read the pain in my face because he shifts to hold me up by my upper arms.
“Are you all right?” he asks in a husky, velvety voice that reminds me of smoke and sex.
“I’ve been better,” I grumble, trying to tamp down my ridiculous reaction to him.
So, he’s a twenty-two out of ten. A one-in-a-million hottie. He’s not the first amazingly attractive man that I’ve come across, nor will he be the last. But, he is the first that I’ve ever felt this strong of a sexual magnetism toward— which is strange since I usually shy away from people, in general.
I frown up at the man, not liking my body’s reaction and placing the blame fully on his well-defined shoulders. It’s his fault for looking far too fuckable. I decide to categorize his imperfections, instead- to make him less attractive in my mind. The best that I can come up with is his Carnival wear, but even that adds to his distinction. I scowl even harder and shake myself from his sturdy embrace.
It pains me to stand, my rib smarting more and more with every passing minute, but I’m Sass— I don’t need someone to hold me up, let alone some strange, albeit hot, man.
I stand on my own two feet, even if they are swaying, thank you very fucking much. f
he ruined it by speaking
Once I get myself steady once more, I look back up at the stranger.
He’s staring at me intently, with a slightly amused curl to his lip that simultaneously has me wanting to kiss him and punch his face.
“Is something funny?” I snarl.
“You,” he answers simply and, this time, his lips unfurl into a full-fledged grin.
I catch a glimpse of his pearly whites and I forget how much I want to smash them down his throat.
Damn him!
My body is a mixture of pissed off and aroused.
I can handle being pissed- it’s my go-to emotion. I take comfort in the strength and distraction that it gives me, but I resent the intense feeling of lust that this man invokes in me.
“I’m glad my pain amuses you,” I hiss hatefully, my anger more directed at me than him.
“It isn’t your pain that amuses me; it’s your pride,” he corrects.
“Well, thanks for the fucking clarification. Can you please get out of my way?”
Tall, Dark, and Go Fuck Yourself suppresses another smirk.
“Of course, but first, I have a proposition for you.”
“I don’t fuck men dressed like Carnival magicians- especially when it’s not Carnival,” I tell him haughtily.
“Are you saying that you might fuck me if it were Carnival?” he teases and I shove him out of the way.
Or, try to.
For all his soft-looking clothes, he’s made of what feels like pure steel underneath.
“Here,” he says, offering me a white business card. “Before you say ‘no’.”
The small slip of paper is made of heavy cardstock and simply has the initials A.S.S. e
mbossed onto it in a charcoal gray. A slightly lighter floral design edges the letters.
Did this man seriously just offer me a card with the word ass on it?
“We’ve been watching you and upon thoughtful consideration, we’ve decided to extend to you an invitation to join A.S.S.,” the stranger extends magnanimously.
I just raise an eyebrow, flinging the card right back into his far too good-looking and arrogant face.
“Well, I’m flattered; unfortunately though, I’m already part of B.U.T.T. That’s the Brigade of United Tittie Twisters. We’re taking over the world, one purple nurple at a time,” I deadpan.
Then, I turn and walk across the street. I take no more than two steps onto the sidewalk and slam into the cocky bastard again. His knowing smirk has me gritting my teeth and I kick out to leg sweep him but, instead, find myself pulled flush against his rock-hard body.
Electricity pings through my body and damn near fries my brain as I clasp the lapels of his jacket to stay upright. The fucker anticipated my move and grabbed my knee before I could fully extend my leg to drop him. Then, he pulled me forward in a fluid, almost practiced move.
I narrow my eyes on his hand now inching up my thigh.
Even the aching pain in my side doesn’t compare to the voracious hunger that I feel when our bodies are pressed together. And, damn, if I can’t see that same desire burning brightly in his almost unnaturally blue eyes. Slowly, he lowers my leg, making sure that I’m stable, before he lets me go.
He stares at me intently for a moment and opens his mouth to speak, but abruptly shuts it. A ghost of a smile whispers around his lips once more as he brushes one of my dark curls out of my face. He traces a finger down my cheeks and over my bottom and it takes everything that I have not to beg him to touch me more.
“It’s been a pleasure, Ms. DeJais,” he murmurs, pronouncing my last name perfectly, but it’s his use of the word ‘pleasure’ that has my knees knocking.