Soul Magic

by Jennifer Lyon

  Morgan walked up to the girls and introduced herself, then she led them up the stairs back to the rooms.

  “She has a knack,” Carla said.

  Joe looked down into her face. “She does. She’ll take care of the girls. Sutton said the upstairs has been cleared. I have four very good men coming over. We’re going to keep this place safe.”

  She believed him. “How did Sutton find me?”

  “Been a lot going down tonight, Doc. Phoenix was shot. Darcy’s with him now.”

  There was a buzzing in her head. “How is he?”

  “Pissed. We think your woman was the one who shot him. The rogues tracked her here.”

  “Guess they were trying to get her back.” But they’d killed her instead.

  Max and Sutton walked up. Max reached for her hands. “You might need stitches.”

  She pulled her hands back. “No, it’s not all my blood.” Her stomach rolled over at the memory of crawling through the blood. Quickly, she said, “I just need to wash them. I’ll make some tea …” She turned and hurried across the dining room into the kitchen. It was a wide rectangle kitchen with industrial-grade appliances. She went to the deep stainless-steel sink and just stood there wondering if she had enough power to heal herself.

  Every movement hurt her shoulder and stomach.

  Finally, she forced herself to act and reached to turn the water on, but her bloody hand slipped off the handle. “I have to get the blood off!” she hissed to herself. She started to tremble, and hot tears burned her eyes. She struggled to blink them back to stay in control.

  Two large hands reached around her. One hand turned on the faucet. The other hand squeezed soap into her palm, then pushed her hands under the warm water.

  Sutton. His musky scent surrounded and comforted her.

  His body pressed against her back; his breath touched her face as he leaned over her. He didn’t say a word. He used his fingers to gently lather her palms and rinsed them.

  The soap burned but his touch soothed her.

  He poured more soap into one of his hands, lathered it, and washed the skin of her wrists and forearms with soft, easy strokes. He rinsed her, then he grabbed a towel, keeping his body pressed to hers, and gently dried her.

  The torn skin on her palms and fingers barely bled. As she watched, her powers started to close the wounds, almost without her making any effort.

  “Good girl.” He ran his fingers over the closed skin. “Now tell me where else it hurts.”

  “My shoulder. But it’s not that bad.” She raised her left shoulder to loosen it.

  Sutton lifted his hand and put it on her shoulder, then used his fingers to caress the muscles and tendons from her neck to her upper arm. “Here?”

  The sweep of his fingers warmed her, made her lean back into his body. “Yes, but—”

  He leaned his head down, replacing his fingers with his mouth, his lips dragging across her skin, then a touch of his tongue.

  Her powers blew up from her center and raced to each cell he touched. Against her skin, he whispered, “I can taste the exotic spice of your powers.”

  She had to be inciting bloodlust in him. Not that she could ever imagine Sutton turning into a rogue. “My shoulder is healed.”

  He lifted his head, dragged in a breath. “Where else are you hurt?”

  “My stomach, but it’s from witch karma.”

  He stepped back and turned her around. Clenching his fists at his side, he said, “You used witchcraft to fight the rogues?”

  She lifted her chin. “He was going to stab me—damn right I did! The knife flew, handle first, into his stomach.”

  Sutton winced. “Thank God it wasn’t the blade side. As it is you probably took a hell of hit from witch karma.” He dropped to one knee.

  As he lowered himself down, she got her first real look at him. “Sutton! Your face!” There was a line where the skin had closed over a bad cut, and bruising.

  He put his hands on her hips. “Healing, barely feel it. We’re going to take care of you.” With one hand, he lifted her T-shirt.

  She felt the cool air followed by his warm breath. Then the soft touch of his fingers sliding over her vividly bruising stomach. “Focus your powers here.” He kept gently brushing the area between her belly button and left hip bone.

  She didn’t have to focus her powers. They suddenly took on a life of their own and rushed for his fingers. “It’s witch karma, I can’t heal it.” The punishment for using her powers for harm was that she wasn’t allowed to heal herself. Another witch might be able to do it, but right now, she barely felt the pain at all.

  Instead she felt the brush of his fingers stroking her in soft caressing circles. Her powers kept following his fingers, doing nothing to heal the injury, but instead, opening a pit of longing deep in her belly. It was a desire, the bone-deep ache, to be touched and filled.

  Her eyes filled again and she blinked away the tears. Shock. It had to be shock making her crave a connection. Carla knew that sex was a healing gift. And yet, in the two years since Keri died, she hadn’t been able to connect with anyone that way. Until now. Sutton’s touch was more than skin-deep, more intimate than anything she’d ever experienced. But he might not belong to her.

  And he was a witch hunter. “You have to stop. The bloodlust …”

  He looked up at her, his eyes filled with a fierce heat that burned like the center of a gas flame. He rose to tower over her, and lifted her face to see his blazing eyes. “When I walked in and smelled your blood … yeah. But then I touched you and it’s not the kind of lust I’m feeling.”

  What were they doing? She had to bring them both back to reality. A mortal woman had been murdered. Phoenix was shot. And her sister was still trapped somewhere in a rogue’s knife. She caught sight of the gold eagle earring in his left ear and blurted out, “I can’t do this.”

  He dropped his hand and rose to his full height. Picking up a teakettle off the stove, he reached around her to fill it with water. “Who is Max?”

  He had both arms around her to reach the sink, while looking down at her. “My friend.”

  “More.”

  She blinked at his soft command. “He’s a doctor of sociology but found his calling in helping people who have been indoctrinated into cults. He extracts them, and then works with them here in this Transitional Clinic to undo the brainwashing.”

  “Doctor of sociology. So he’s book-smart.” He shut off the faucet and went to the stove. Setting the kettle down, he turned on the flame.

  She had no idea what he meant by that. “He’s street-smart, too.”

  Sutton turned. “Know how I found you, Carla? We were tracking the woman who shot Phoenix. She has to be another brainwashing vic of the rogues. We tracked her to the park when my eagle starting keening and scratching my skin raw. I knew you were in danger. I could feel your fear. That’s how I found you.” His eyes practically lit up the kitchen. “I would have found you anywhere.”

  She busied herself getting cups and tea bags out. “Keri loved eagles.” She didn’t have the energy to argue with him.

  “And you love Max,” he said softly. A mug slid from her hand.

  Sutton moved swiftly, catching the cup. He set it down and took her face in his hands. “Tell me. Do you care for him? Love him? Is he that important to you that you’d crawl through blood and glass to get to him and save his life?”

  She was trapped in his stare. His words were gentle. “He’s my friend.”

  He let her go. “Doctor, your friend is in love with you. You’d better figure out if you feel the same.” He walked out of the kitchen.

  He didn’t stop walking when Joe called his name as he passed through the dining room. He couldn’t. The dual drives in him were ripping him apart, bone by bone, muscle by muscle, tendon by tendon.

  When he touched her, he craved her heart and body.

  When he took his hands off her, he craved her blood. The cuts on her hands made him hurt to feel her
blood.

  He stormed out of the house and across the street into the park. Far enough away to get control of himself, but close enough to watch out for Carla. It was still dark, but he could see perfectly well. Standing in the grass, he lifted his hands and looked at them. They tingled from the feel of her blood. Even mixed with the mortal’s blood, soap, and water, he could feel the dark pleasure of it sinking into him and feeding the curse, making him want more. But that need had been muted by touching her. He recognized Axel’s tread as he walked up behind him.

  “You touched her blood?”

  “She was bleeding. She crawled over glass to get to another man.” His eagle shifted and itched at the memory of Carla crawling toward that man to save him.

  “Easy, Sutton.”

  “He’s a doctor. Like Carla. Smart like her.” Not like him. How many times had she told him that she was nothing like him?

  “You think she cares for this man?”

  He shrugged. “I killed that rogue right in front of her and she crawled away.” Trying to get away from him? From his brutal violence? Everything inside of him roared for her to come to him. Run to his arms, his protection, his comfort.

  Axel put his hand on his shoulder. “Witches are emotional creatures, they will crawl to the one who needs them.”

  He needed her. “She keeps insisting Keri’s my soul mirror, not her.”

  “What do you think?”

  He turned to Axel. “It’s Carla. She’s the other half of my soul.”

  Axel nodded.

  They had been friends for a decade. Axel was giving him the space he needed to box up his emotions and shove them back under control. “Let’s go back inside.”

  “I’ve got this covered. Go home. Sleep.”

  He shook his head, meeting his friend’s green eyes. “Can’t leave her.” He took a breath. “I’m solid, let’s go.”

  Sutton bypassed the table where Darcy, Joe, Max, and Carla were sitting and moved as far across the room from Carla as he could get. He planted himself by the sliding glass door that led to the small courtyard with a fountain.

  Darcy poured out a steaming mug of coffee and brought it to him.

  He smiled at Axel’s witch. At Phoenix’s house, she’d insisted on healing his face and side. He barely remembered his mother, and he didn’t have sisters. It was a surprise to discover that the female caretaking trait was kind of cool. And she made Axel happy, made him whole. As Darcy returned to sit next to Axel, his gaze searched out Carla. She sat next to Max.

  The man had dark hair, dark eyes, a lean body, and a book brain. He saved girls and women from cults. Do-gooder doctor, just like Carla.

  Sutton hated him. He could crush him like a bug, spilling his guts all over the shiny dining room table.

  Except Carla had crawled over broken glass to save the man.

  He ignored the coffee in his hand and tried to focus on the conversation.

  Max turned to Carla as if he’d just remembered something. He reached out and took hold of one of her hands. “How? Your hands were cut, I saw them.”

  Sutton had to fight the instinct to grab him and toss him across the room. He didn’t want Max touching Carla.

  Carla looked up into his eyes. “It was mostly that poor girl’s blood, not mine.”

  Sutton felt a vibration pass through him and knew it was Carla using a bit of magic to convince Max.

  He frowned, wondering why she didn’t just tell the mortal she was a witch if they were so close.

  Carla pulled her hand free. “Max, it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that we keep the clinic safe. Joe MacAlister and his team are the best at security. Let them help us protect the clinic.”

  He turned from Carla, looking around the table. “How did you just happen to be here?”

  Sutton answered that with, “The woman who was killed here tonight shot one of our men. We tracked her to the park. Then I heard the alarm go off and we came over to see what the trouble was. We found your man, John, with his throat cut outside the window.” Not exactly true. He did hear the alarm, but what yanked him there was Carla. He and his eagle felt her sudden, intense fear.

  Max seemed to be putting the pieces together. “That would explain the blood on her clothes.”

  Carla said, “We think it’s brainwashing. Someone extremely skilled is brainwashing young women into becoming killers.”

  Max turned to look at her. “That’s hard to do. It would take months at least, possibly years, unless the person was already predisposed to killing, maybe a sociopath.”

  “Normally yes, but in this case, we think he’s doing it quicker.”

  Max kept her stare. “Someone with your … skills?”

  Sutton felt Carla’s sudden unease prickled against his spine. What was this?

  She said, “Maybe. Hypnosis might have been used to enhance the brainwashing.”

  Max looked away from Carla. “Why was the woman in the park?”

  “We tracked her straight there,” Sutton said. “My guess is she was told to go there and wait for someone to pick her up. She had no identification and no ride that we could find.” He would put her into the tracking program he was using to find information on Pam. But so far, it was a dead end. Where were these girls coming from?

  His brow furrowed, his dark eyes searching each face. “She was unresponsive when I found her.”

  Carla said, “Her mind couldn’t accept what she’d done. She was being forced to act against her own morals. Her brain couldn’t take the stress and shut down.”

  Max took a deep breath, looked at the wall over Darcy’s shoulder, and said, “John was murdered tonight Carla. John, one of ours. You and I could have both been killed. I think I deserve the truth.”

  Sutton was astonished to see that Max was purposely avoiding looking at Carla. He knew, if not consciously, then subconsciously; he recognized her power.

  Her shoulders dropped. “It’s a cult worse than anything you’ve ever seen. Axel, Sutton, and their team have been fighting this cult for a while. It’s not your fight, Max. Let them do it.”

  Max turned to look at her, as if he couldn’t help it. “What kind of cult? Let me help you, Carla. Trust me.”

  Sutton was getting tired of the kid-glove bullshit. If the man wanted the truth, he’d give it to him. “They aren’t mortal. They are witch hunters, created to protect earth witches and kill demon witches. But thirty years ago, we were all cursed. Now we crave witch blood. If we kill a witch, we lose our souls and become the monsters you saw tonight. That’s the cult we’re dealing with, and it’s way out of your league.”

  Max’s dark gaze slammed into him, then cut back to Carla. “True?”

  She closed her eyes, her chest heaving with some terrible weight, then she opened her eyes and said, “Yes.”

  “You’re a witch.”

  “Does it matter?” she asked softly. “We’ve worked together for well over a year, does it matter?”

  “Hell yes, it matters. That’s how you do it, how you reverse the brainwashing in these victims. What else can you do? Find the cults? Stop them before they start? Save girls before they get sucked in? The research we could do! How does being a witch affect—”

  “No.” The word was sliced painfully from Carla. Her witch-shimmer had taken on a dirty brown. She stood up. “Let Joe and his team protect the clinic. I’m going home.”

  Sutton didn’t understand it. What was she angry about? Axel, Joe, and Darcy all started to move, but Sutton got to her side first. “I’ll take you home.” She looked up at him.

  “Give me your keys, Carla. It’s not safe and you know it.” He knew she was roiling with emotions, but she wasn’t stupid.

  “Carla—” Max’s voice was confused and beseeching.

  She turned to look at him. “I’m not an experiment.” She handed Sutton her keys and walked out.

  The cool, predawn stillness stretched out in a comforting, heavy silence. Carla walked to her white Explorer, desperate t
o keep her composure. She knew her worth, understood her gifts of witchcraft mixed with her knowledge of science.

  She helped people.

  But she would not be dissected and reduced to her genetic structure, her power and intellect carefully measured, but her heart and soul ignored, as if they had no value.

  Sutton moved up silently next to her.

  She said, “How do you move so quietly when you’re so huge? That much mass should create more noise.”

  “The same way we can bend light to make ourselves appear invisible, we also mute sound waves. Plus, I grew up tracking through deep wildernesses. It’s always wise to keep silent and not alert any predators to my presence.”

  She cut right to go to the passenger side of her car. He followed her and she asked, “You grew up tracking? Where?”

  He clicked open the lock and looked down at her. “That’s your question? Not surprised that I know about bending light or muting sound waves?”

  She saw his earring again, that fierce-looking eagle, and wanted desperately to touch the gold nestled in the lobe of his ear. What was wrong with her? “You’d have to know in order to do it. I suspect witch hunters knew before the scientists who made the breakthroughs in the mortal world.” Sutton was intelligent and precise. He didn’t just use a computer, but understood how the computer worked. Like tonight when he’d killed the rogue; he’d used a very calculated leap to get the momentum to push the rogue from her while grabbing the hand that held the knife. Everything had been measured. She turned and climbed up to the seat.

  Sutton shut the door and in less than a second, was opening the other door and sliding in. He had to push the seat as far back as it would go, then he started the car.

  She wanted to know more about him. “Where’d you grow up?”

  “Our base house was out by Palm Desert. We had an airstrip so we could go anywhere we were called. We tracked idiots who got lost, or in some cases, criminals who tried to get lost in forests, mountains, deserts, anywhere.”

  “We? Your family?”