Soul Magic

by Jennifer Lyon

  “Stop it now,” Chandra’s voice was firm. “Keri is dead. We can’t change that. All we can do is free her from the knife so she can go on to her next life. Jerome. Do this for Keri. I know you loved her.”

  The skin on his face tightened, pulling back over his bones so that for a brief second, there was naked grief. Then he dropped his shoulders and chin. It seemed a real effort to look at Carla. “You are sure she’s trapped in this knife?”

  She blinked at the shift in him. “Yes.”

  His gaze sharpened. “How? Have you tested this theory?”

  She could feel the years peeling away under his questions. Like she was a young witch again, doing the magic, measuring the results, then doing blood tests to see if he could isolate any changed markers. “I know from our twin bond. You tested that yourself, Jerome. You know Keri and I were linked psychically.”

  He frowned. “Death didn’t break the bond?”

  She felt her mother’s hand spasm on her arm, and her heart matched the motion. But she had to concentrate. “For almost two years, I thought it had. When I did feel her, I thought it was just a manifestation of my grief. That day when Keri died, I think she was trying to bind her soul to my witch book.” Carla held up her arm with the silver band around her biceps. “But she accidentally got caught in the rogue’s knife.”

  He turned his cup between his hands. “What’s she connecting to in you?”

  “Residual power. We shared power, and could access each other’s chakras.”

  He looked up, his bloodshot eyes grim. “I have to see what happened, Carla. Show me what happened the day she was killed.”

  She jerked her gaze to her mom.

  “Go ahead.”

  Carla got up and picked up Chandra’s computer, then she sat down next to her dad. Angling the screen so she and her dad could both see it, she said, “I’m going to use my communication chakra and project my memory onto the screen.” Carla closed her eyes and felt the first four pops along her spine. Then she pushed the powers and opened her fifth chakra. Reaching for the memory, she directed it to the screen.

  In seconds the memory dragged her back to two years ago. She was running late. Wearing a black skirt and a yellow sweater, she juggled a cup of hot tea and shoved open the front door with her hip. She was thinking about her patient, a woman suffering brain damage from a rogue’s brainwashing. They were making excellent progress, she thought, as she let the door shut behind her.

  She froze in fear. Copper! She smelled rank copper and blood.

  She turned to face the reception area. On the right was a bamboo desk in front of a forest-print silk screen. The rest of the walls were pale green and lined with bamboo chairs. Blood spattered everything in sight.

  The cup of hot tea slid from her hand and hit the floor. She remembered that hot spatter on her legs. But what she saw ripped through her shock. A huge man smelling of old copper was on top of Keri, slicing her up and covering himself in her blood.

  Carla raced across the room, jumping on him, trying to pull him off Keri.

  She saw her sister beneath him, her hazel eyes almost completely yellow with pain. Her skin was pale, her witch-shimmer was limp and gray, clearly dying.

  The rogue jumped up, throwing her off him. Carla remembered landing on her back on the woven mat covering the bamboo floor, rolling to her hands and knees, and reaching out her fingers to Keri.

  Then the sudden slide of cold across her lower back, and a second later, searing agony. She’d been cut! But still she reached for Keri.

  Keri turned and looked at her, and Carla felt her chakra suddenly fill up. She recognized her sister grabbing hold of her chakras. Then she was picked up and thrown back by Keri using Carla’s power. Carla hit the wall, and slid down.

  “Run!” Keri screamed.

  Carla jumped to her feet, her gaze locked on her sister while her chakras shivered and trembled as Keri summoned tremendous magic …

  At the same time, the rogue arced his knife down and hit her heart.

  Carla’s chakras deflated like a balloon, and she heard the echo of Keri’s voice begging her, “Run! Go, Carla!”

  Carla opened her eyes and the computer screen went blank. Thick greasy nausea roiled in her stomach. “I didn’t know it then, but he stabbed her that last time just as she pulled enough power from my chakras to send her soul to my armband. But her soul hit the silver knife that killed her.” She swallowed hard. “And I ran.” Carla the coward. She should have let the rogue kill her with that knife! If she had, she would have sensed Keri’s soul and pulled it with her to Summerland.

  Shutting the computer, she looked up at her dad.

  He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “She didn’t have to die. If you two had listened, had stayed with me in the lab and worked—”

  “This isn’t about you,” Carla said coldly.

  He opened his eyes. “Her soul is in that knife. Watching it on the computer, I saw a flash of light that burst from her body and hit the knife.” He spread his hands on the table, looking at his fingers. “Tell me what she’s doing to make you think she’s communicating with you.”

  Carla outlined the two months of smelling incense and seeing eagles, then described the incident with Pam.

  Jerome shook his head in amazement. “Keri never tested out with this kind of power or discipline.”

  “Keri hated being cooped up and forced to sit still. She needed to physically move and be with people. Her power grew when she was with people. I tried to tell you this, but you wouldn’t listen. Witches need touch, and Keri especially needed contact with other people. I believe that energy fed her psychic powers, calming her so she could access her chakras. But when you tried to isolate her, make her sit in a room, her chakras closed up.”

  Her dad slammed his fist down on the table. “I was trying to find the answer to keep you alive!”

  “Jerome.” Chandra reached out and put her hand on his arm.

  His mouth pulled tight, accentuating the tired lines around his eyes. He folded his hand around the coffee cup and dropped his head. “Carla, what is it that you want from me? I don’t have the magic to get Keri out of the knife.”

  Carla looked at her mom across the table. “Did you tell him about soul mirrors?”

  “As much as I know.”

  Looking back at her dad, she said, “Sutton, the man who brought you here is either my soul mirror, or Keri’s. We’re not sure which.” She traced the top of the laptop on the table. “It gets more complicated. Sutton is being pulled into the bond Keri and I have. Maybe he’s giving our bond more strength since soul mirrors act like familiars.”

  Jerome’s eyebrows drew together and he turned to Chandra. “That’s why you lost your familiar. Your soul was halved. I wasn’t going to be able to solve the problem with science.”

  Chandra kept her hand on his arm. “We didn’t know. You were trying to help me when I was so desperate.”

  Her dad didn’t seem to know where to look. He studied his mug before finally returning his gaze to Carla. “So why can’t you use the twin bond to find Keri?”

  She had to make this as clear as she could. “Asmodeus found Sutton and me on the astral plane. When he appeared Keri screamed a warning, then she helped me get Sutton back to the mortal world.”

  Her father’s eyes widened.

  Carla went on. “And since then, something has happened. Someone was able to pull me into a vision that has nothing to do with my or Keri’s magic. Sutton was there, too, but I didn’t see or feel Keri.”

  “What was it?”

  “I don’t know! I couldn’t get a feel for their power or track them. It’s like he trapped my mind or … I don’t know.”

  “You panicked.”

  “Yes.” No sense in denying it. “I need you to help me find out what this is that’s pulling me into visions. And I need to understand what this bond is so I can find Keri.”

  He lifted his mug and drained the coffee in it. Then he set
it down and said, “We need to design a way for you to resist panicking and track …”

  His voice faded and she was spiritually yanked out of her body. The kitchen fell away from her and she felt her mind being shoved into a dark place. Then suddenly, a massive brick wall was rising up around her in a tight circle, going up and up until the isolated terror made her scream. But the scream echoed back on her in waves of endless agony.

  A tiny hole appeared in the prison, and began to widen. Carla was desperate to break out of the dark trap, but terrified of what she was going to see.

  * * *

  Sutton drove around the back of the Axel of Evil nightclub. He started to pull into the parking garage of the warehouse when he saw a shadow. He cut the engine and the lights of the car, jumped out, and got a nose full of copper.

  A new rogue. The older the rogue, the more witch blood they absorbed through their skin and the ranker they smelled. Mortals couldn’t smell it, but witches and hunters could.

  Was it Brigg?

  The pulsing beat of music and loud voices bled out of the club, but he didn’t hear anything else. His eagle had gone deadly silent and still, seeing the rogue as a threat to Carla. He didn’t understand this new, vivid awareness of what should just be a tattoo, but the creature was as real to him as his own heart beating in his chest. Both man and eagle began to hunt, tracking the scent of new rogue.

  The club and warehouse were in one huge two-story building. Facing the back of the building, the club was on the left, the warehouse on the right. The second floor held condominiums and offices. Axel had a large condo. Joe and Morgan also had one. There were empty ones that the men used as needed. But the rogue scent slipped away from the building, heading down the alley into the part of town where entrepreneurs conducted business out of condemned buildings shadowed by broken streetlights and human desperation.

  Sutton concentrated and shielded his presence, then followed the scent. The rogue was invisible, too, but the scent-trail led him over broken sidewalk, around a sleeping drunk, and into the dark halls of a building that had recently been destroyed by fire. The back part of the building was gone, and the front was a maze of smoke-blackened walls. The burned smell confused the copper scent.

  It hit him that this was a trap. He’d fallen for the lure like a mouse for cheese.

  Stopping, he pulled out his phone, hit 911, and sent a text to all the Wing Slayer Hunters. The GPS on his phone would lead them to him.

  A woman’s scream came from his left, raising the hairs on his arms and neck. He inhaled, catching a scent of rogue in the smoke damage, but no witch scent. It had to be a mortal woman screaming. Keeping his shield of invisibility, he tracked the sound, going deeper into the remaining shell. It was a maze of hallways and partitions.

  He saw a light spilling out of a doorway down a hall, and the sound of a woman crying. He followed the sound, slowly, silently.

  Behind the last door in the hallway, a mortal woman was hunched down in the corner. A lantern sat on the floor next to her. Her clothes were torn, blood trickled out of her mouth, and a fresh handprint blazed across her face. The room was empty, except for her. Someone had obviously hit her and made her scream, but where was that someone? Materializing, Sutton took a step into the room just as he saw that she was holding something in her hand.

  She lifted her big brown eyes to him.

  He saw the blankness there and all the hairs on his skin rose. He stopped.

  The woman brought up her hand.

  Before he could react, the room exploded with a huge flash and deafening bang. He thought he felt rough hands on his shirt yanking him back just as his brain registered bomb.

  He couldn’t hold on to the thought because the whole burned-out building was spinning away from him, replaced by a vortex of white and blue fog. He thought he must be spinning into death. Had the mortal woman killed them both? Why?

  Then he smelled lavender.

  The spinning stopped, and in the fog a woman began to take shape. He could only see her outline. “Carly.” Was he dead and saying goodbye to her? Losing her for eternity?

  She turned, stress tightening the shape of her face. “Sutton. Keri can’t help them. I can’t help them.”

  “Carla, baby, take my hand.” He held out his arm, reaching for her. He had no idea what was going on, but he needed her touch to find out.

  Her hand slid into his.

  The fog pushed back and they were looking down into a room again. They stood there, but they weren’t really there. Sutton could feel Carla’s hand, but if he reached out to touch a wall, it wasn’t there. His hand just moved through it.

  He focused on the scene. The witch was middle-aged, with streaks of silver in her short sleek hair, now darkened with blood and sweat. She was covered in wounds, and the two rogues were on her like animals, burying their hands in her blood, smearing it on their chests.

  Then it would fade and disappear.

  The witch wasn’t screaming anymore.

  He couldn’t stand there and watch this, couldn’t let Carla just watch. “Carla, get us out of here.”

  “No. I can’t panic.” Her voice was strong and furious. “The knife. Look, they are sharing a knife.”

  He looked down and saw that they had been passing a knife back and forth. Witch hunters were particular about their knives. It went back to the pre-curse days when they would take their wings. When the hawk-leader agreed, a witch hunter would have the wings of his choice tattooed on his body. If the Wing Slayer accepted the hunter as one of his, the ring of immortality would appear around the base of his thumbs and the same wings he chose for his tattoo would be magically impressed in the hilt of his knife. That knife was used in duty to the Wing Slayer. Witch hunters, even rogues, were fiercely possessive of their knives.

  “Listen.”

  He unlinked their hands to put his arm around Carla, pulling her in closer to his body. Then he listened.

  Free me. Dying. Can’t hold on much more.

  Chills chased over his skin and he looked down at her. “Your sister?”

  Her eyes were dry with horror. “She’s in that knife down there. The rogues can’t hear us, but Keri can.”

  “Can she tell us anything else?”

  Carla’s voice was brittle when she said, “Keri, who has you?”

  Styx.

  The horror of Carla’s twin trapped in a rogue’s knife cut Sutton to his soul. He said, “Hang on, Keri. We’re going to get you. Keri, you hear me?”

  Eagle …

  They were thrown from the vision. Sutton desperately tried to hold on to Carla but she was wrenched from him.

  When he slammed into his body, there were hands holding him down. He jerked and fought.

  “Sutton! It’s me,” Axel yelled at him.

  “Where am I? I need a computer!” His head was still spinning, and his eagle was clawing him so deeply he could feel the talons in his chest.

  Axel had both hands on his shoulders, holding him down. “In the warehouse. Your face and chest are burned, but Linc pulled you back before the blast killed you. Darcy’s trying to heal you, lie still.”

  He felt Darcy’s warm, small hands moving on his chest. But he didn’t have time for this. “Carla! She’s …”

  Axel snapped, “Ram, get Carla on the phone or computer. Darcy?”

  “I’ve got the chair leg out and closed up as much of it as I can.”

  At his questioning look, Axel explained, “It was blown into the pectoral muscle. Too close to your heart. Linc saved your life. If he hadn’t jerked you when he did, it would have gone straight through your heart.”

  He’d be dead. The pain in his chest was beginning to make sense. He had just assumed it was the eagle clawing at him, worried about Carla, but normally he only felt that on his back.

  “I’ve got Carla on the computer, she’s okay.” Ram’s shadow fell over them.

  “Let me sit up. A, give me your shirt. I don’t want her to see my chest.” He shoved
to a sitting position. Pain stabbed through the right side of his chest. Fuck, that hurt.

  Axel stood, then reached down and lifted Sutton to his feet, got him to the black leather couch and eased him down. “No shirt. Darcy’s already telling Carla.” He tilted his head.

  Sutton saw Darcy talking to Carla while Ram stood there obediently holding the laptop for her.

  “I got it out, and the deeper wound closed, but I can’t seem to heal him any more.” Her dark eyes glanced at him, then back at the screen. “What am I doing wrong?”

  Carla’s voice floated from the computer speakers. “Nothing, it’s me. I’m the one hurting him.”

  Sutton fisted his hands at his sides, hating the pain in her voice. “It’s not your fault.” He knew she’d hear him; the mike on the computer was very sensitive.

  “Yes, it is,” her voice came back. “Somehow I pulled Sutton’s spirit out of his body and into a vision with me. My magical hold on his spirit is blocking some of your magic trying to heal his body.”

  He started to rise, needing to see Carla’s face. Damn it, he needed to touch her.

  Darcy glanced over at him, then took the computer from Ram, walked over to Sutton, and sat down next to him. She set the machine on her lap and angled the screen to him.

  Carla’s gaze stared out, the layers of color in her gaze sharpening. “Oh, Sutton.” She tracked over his face and chest, the yellow color dominating in her hazel eyes, showing her worry. “I’m coming over.”

  “No.” He closed his eyes, fighting down the growing dual hungers for her. He ached to touch her and seal the bond that would make them both whole. His eagle fretted and pined for her, wanting to be her creature, her familiar. But the fierce burn on his chest and face stirred the ugly craving for her blood. He could almost smell the rich Arabian coffee scent that would cool the pain burning his skin and deeper into his bones. He remembered the feel of her blood, so cool and powerful …

  “I can’t stand to see you hurt. I can heal you.” Her voice was soft, almost pleading.