Lost Souls (Soul Charmer Book 3)

by Chelsea Mueller

  Adam preened. Pride practically poured from his ears.

  “Where’s Nate?” she asked. She kept six feet between them. Out of arm’s reach, but also far enough to dampen any soul magic fire or freeze.

  “You don’t get to ask stuff like that,” Adam practically sang.

  Good thing Callie had lost all sense of pride in the ER the night she’d been fired. “Whatever. I’ve got his shit. Where’s mine?”

  “Can’t say. Boss said to be here and collect the souls.” The envy in the words made her think he’d rather work for the Soul Charmer, but also that he had no idea he was gathering his boss’s soul.

  Derek’s elbows edged out from his body. It was a subtle swell, both making himself larger to protect her and opening himself up in case of a fight. What had he seen that made him think body shots were on the agenda?

  Callie tilted her head toward Derek. “Here’s the souls.”

  Derek pulled the jar from his pocket and handed it over to Adam. The dealer’s eyes were on the jar and not on the way Callie edged away from the action.

  “They all in here?” Again, that awe.

  “Yep. They don’t take up that much space.” She wasn’t about to explain that she didn’t know what state the souls would be in after their shared confinement.

  Adam pocketed the jar. “You going to return my shit, too?”

  “No,” Derek said with finality. “Where’s Zara?”

  “Nate said to give you this receipt, and that he’d be in touch once he verified the souls—whatever the fuck that means—to return the woman.” The woman.

  Adam handed Callie a long envelope. It was folded in half. While the paper wasn’t flat, it wasn’t wide enough to have another appendage in it. Thank fuck.

  She peeked inside the paper, and almost dropped the envelope. If her emotions hadn’t already been pushed to their limits she might have screamed or cried or thrown something. A strip of blood-soaked cloth was the receipt. Beneath the dark red the paisley print of her mother’s favorite peasant top peeked through.

  Callie stared at the cloth, the message. Nate wanted to remind her not to screw him over. She hadn’t planned on it, but now she wondered if Derek had taken out the wrong man.

  She affixed her hardened gaze on Adam. “Thanks. I’ll be waiting for Nate’s call.”

  Callie turned her back to the dealer, to the cathedral, to fucking Gem City, and walked away.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The world had a way of halting when you were waiting on an important call. Seconds ached and minutes burned. Hours were stretched over aged cactuses and pierced with spines. Callie and Derek had driven back to her apartment without speaking a word, and now time stuttered.

  Inside the one-bedroom apartment with the deadbolt latched, Callie drew the first full, deep breath into her lungs in hours. Tension still trapped her tummy, but the rest of her body was loose enough to collapse onto the couch. Derek sat beside her. His upper lip almost twitched every few moments. The rest of his body was stock-still.

  A thriller paperback—four days overdue at Gem City Library—rested on one corner of her low coffee table. The back cover promised vengeance, and Callie hoped she’d be able to relate soon.

  Derek placed Adam’s cell phone on the center of the table. The screen was dark.

  “How long do you think it’ll be?” The barren room amplified Callie’s rasp. The heater sputtered as it kicked on, but even that rattle couldn’t cover the desperation behind her voice. Derek wouldn’t know any better than she would, but the need to control the situation was biting at her brain.

  “It’ll be fast, doll. Nate wants his soul back.” Derek’s certainty couldn’t puncture Callie’s fear.

  “How’s he even going to get it back in his body? How is he going to know if I gave him the real thing?”

  Derek hesitated for a moment. His fingers fluttering against her leg. Finally, he said, “He was reading that Saint Petro book before. He’s trying to figure out the soul shit on his own. Maybe he will try doing it himself?”

  DIY soul magic had ‘bad idea’ all over it. The remembered cries of the souls smushed into the jar alongside Nate’s rallied in Callie’s ears. “The soul might do the work for him.”

  Or the others in that jar might shove that asshole’s soul out.

  It probably didn’t work that way. It hadn’t at the soul well, but something about the slimy sensation she’d suffered being near Nate’s soul made her think it was possible. Maybe some people were so rotten even their souls couldn’t be commanded.

  “You know, doll, you can be fucking scary when you want to be these days.” He’d meant it as a compliment, and the praise mingled with notes of admiration and a more sensual approval.

  “We’ve got time to kill….” She cast a knowing glance toward the bedroom, but delivered the words with enough humor to make it clear she didn’t mean it.

  “We ain’t missing that call.” He stretched in a slow, languid movement. He dropped his arm behind her shoulders. “Seriously, I think Adam about shit a brick when you turned your back on him.”

  “Nate has something to hold over us, but not that guy.” There had been a time when she would have buckled under the steady gaze of anyone who stuffed a box-cutter in their boot. Shit had changed. She had changed. Confidence was a necessity now. It was an invisible exoskeleton built to brace her from Gem City and its worst. Each strut and brace born of necessity. Shaped steel was dangerous when it was molten, but resilient when it cooled. Callie wasn’t as hard as metal, but she was determined as fuck.

  “No one gets to hold shit over your head, Callie, not for long. Nate will get his when this is over.” It wasn’t hyperbole, it was a vow.

  Callie needed to stay focused. “We need to get through this first.”

  “I wish I’d taken out Nate when I had the chance.” Regret ripped through the room.

  She’d had the same thought. Would saying so change anything?

  “No,” she said. “This is on me. Stealing souls has consequences.”

  Derek pulled her close. Her cheek nestled against his shirt. Soft, clean, and warm. Home.

  Callie closed her eyes. “We need to quit blaming ourselves, and start blaming the Charmer.”

  “Long game.” The finality, the earnestness in the words was what she needed. She and Derek agreed to get out from under the Soul Charmer. They were buying time. Once they could, they’d get away from soul magic.

  Once she had control of her abilities.

  Once they had a plan.

  They’d ditch all this bullshit.

  Adam’s phone buzzed. Callie startled at the harsh clunking of the vibration against her cheap-ass table. Derek’s one-armed hug steadied her. She picked up the phone. Its screen was bright with a green bubble at its center.

  One new message. Unknown number.

  Callie damn near choked on her heart.

  “It has to be him,” she said with reverence reserved for the prayers of the faithful.

  The message was scant. An address and a threat.

  “‘We’re done for now.’ Are you fucking kidding me?” Callie’s incredulity rivaled her anger, and that was saying something.

  Derek pulled up the address in his phone. “She’s up north. Looks like he left her in the middle of the Pojoaque rez.”

  Callie blocked the taunting jab from Nate from her thoughts. Zara was waiting somewhere off the highway. “How fast can you get us there?”

  Derek pulled off US-84 twenty minutes later, and the car grouched over the sandy dirt road. This spur from the main highway was sparse. No lights or pavement here, just dusty desert and nocturnal predators. They were on the reservation, but nowhere near any residences.

  Being this close to Pojoaque and with Derek and a damn plan gone awry was too familiar. They were mere miles from the mystical shop Tess had worked out of. A shop where Derek had been stabbed. A place where Callie’s life had changed. She’d discovered how deep her ties to Derek went, she’d
discovered what she was capable of, she’d made allegiances. Did Nate know that? Did he know about Tess? Did he know what had happened to her? Why she’d disappeared?

  Callie bit the inside of her cheek and dislodged the thought. Nate wasn’t that fucking smart, she told herself.

  Derek slowed the car. Snow shimmered in the headlights. “She should be here.”

  Callie didn’t wait for more information. She hopped out her side of the car, and then yanked the zipper on her coat to her chin. “Mom?” she called loud enough a coyote should have called back.

  The trunk slammed behind her. She spun, hoping to find her mother.

  “Flashlight, doll.” Derek lifted the device and clicked it on. The rough, barren desert turned a ghastly grey in the artificial light.

  Together they called for Zara. Five minutes stretched into five years. Callie’s pleas for her mother became more frantic. Her ribcage seemed to shrink with each passing second until Callie’s breaths were coming rapid-fire and her head was going light.

  A shadow shifted to her right. “I need the flashlight over here.”

  Derek was at her side, flashlight at the ready.

  Zara.

  Mom.

  Callie skidded onto her knees next to her mother. Frost formed on Callie’s fingers, but she didn’t bother reaching for the flask for warmth. Zara was curled in the fetal position. Callie called her name, but her mother barely stirred. Ice shot up Callie’s arms, and her hands were now too stiff to articulate. None of that mattered. Her sinuses burned with the strain of holding back tears. She nudged Zara onto her side more fully and away from the lone juniper bush at her side. Dirt caked bloody streaks down Zara’s face. Derek stepped closer with the flashlight, and the deep gouge at the crown of Zara’s head was apparent. Blood continued to seep from it, though some of her hair was matted to staunch the flow.

  “I’ve got some gauze in the trunk.” Derek sat the flashlight against the dirt, and ran back to the car. Thank God.

  “Mom, we have to get you out of here.” Gauze clung to Callie’s icy fingers, but she pressed the clean side against the wound and hoped they weren’t too late. Zara’s eyelids fluttered, which was better than no reaction at all.

  Derek hurried back, and dropped to his knees next to Callie. His breath was coming fast. His hulking shoulders shaking.

  Callie hoped the cold from her hands might help slow the bleeding. Hazy purple bruises cut with raised red hash marks scored the right side of Zara’s face. What did they do to her? Zara’s hands were in black, knit mittens. How many fingers had she lost? How long could you go without them and still reattach? Callie had stored them just in case, but her memories of medical anything were blank right now.

  Callie’s voice was soft. “I know we can’t take her to a hospital, but...”

  “The fuck we can’t. I’m not taking her to our backup guy. Not your mom. We’ll figure out how to deal with it when we get to the hospital.” Derek pulled off his jacket. Goosebumps pebbled his skin the second the leather was free. The outline of his pecs was visible beneath his tee, even in the minimal light. He handed Callie the jacket, and then stooped to scoop Zara up into his arms. Callie was once again thankful of his strength because she didn’t know how to do any of this, including carrying a wounded and unconscious person without hurting them.

  He eased Zara into the backseat. “You ride with her. I’ll get us to St. Vincent’s as fast as I can.”

  It was the closest hospital, and Callie was thankful for that. It was even close to Zara’s house, which her mom would like too. Locals only.

  Callie grabbed a few fresh squares of gauze, and climbed in next to Zara. Her mother was slumped over. A memory stabbed sharp between Callie’s lower ribs, as if trying to skewer her spleen. Tess, again. It’d been Callie’s car. The other woman bound on the floorboard. They’d shot her with tranquilizer darts, but she lolled at the same angle Zara did now. A stolen blanket had kept the blood from seeping into the floor mats then. Callie curled an arm around her mother. Moonlight streamed in from the window, turning the thin layer of ice coating Callie’s hands into a shimmering blue. Tess had been tortured that night. She’d disappeared in the permanent way shortly after. All for wanting a piece of the soul rental business, for going up against the Soul Charmer. Zara wasn’t in the market to take over organized crime. She was a pickpocket and a con woman, but not a team player. Would Nate have treated her the way the Soul Charmer had Tess? The gauze beneath Callie’s fingers was already turning tacky, which suggested he had. Callie’s cheeks burned, and she realized she was crying. She wasn’t weeping over her fear or her worry or even her guilt. Callie tried tears of fucking anger, and each drop that rolled down here cheek was another nail in Nate’s coffin.

  Zara made a small whining sound. Callie needed to focus. She pressed the gauze more firmly against the wound. At least she was a human ice pack, but they needed real help for Zara.

  Derek settled in behind the steering wheel. He was taking them to the hospital, but that only traded one problem for another. How could they save her mother and still have a chance to stop Nate?

  “Wait,” Callie said.

  The car was in drive, but Derek’s foot was still on the brake. “What?”

  “Josh.”

  “We can take her in, Callie. It’s okay.”

  It wasn’t, though. If they wanted revenge for this. If they wanted the chance to follow it through. If they wanted any fucking assurance that Nate wouldn’t come after Callie’s family or Derek’s again, they needed to keep the cops out of it. The more police looking at Derek and into the Soul Charmer and into Ford’s death, the more likely it was they’d end up in jail. Callie used to think prison would be the worst outcome. Now she feared what would happen to her family, to her city if she and Derek were locked up. What kind of hell would Nate bring to Josh and Father Henry? What kind of shit could happen if he tried to take on the Soul Charmer?

  “No—”

  “We can call your brother from the hospital.” Derek flipped a U-turn and headed back toward Gem City.

  “No. I mean, yes, we could, but he also could be the one to take her in.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The parking lot at St. Vincent’s Hospital had fifteen lampposts in its parking lot. Callie waited underneath the only one with a burned out bulb. Enough snow had fallen to cover the concrete in the lot. She let the shadows shield her from immediate judgment. The hospital glowed bright as a bastion of hope. She’d worked in a hospital once, and even knowing where the astringent was stored and the sharps were disposed of and even having visited the morgue, the place had never lost its shiny hope.

  The people working inside that building were saving lives. They were good people. She used to be one of them. She sucked in the shadows, letting the muddy darkness fill those empty holes in her chest. Now wasn’t the time for sulking about missed opportunities. Now was about Zara. It was about family.

  Josh had been waiting in the parking lot when she and Derek arrived. He hadn’t asked questions or berated her. Derek had extracted Zara from the car carefully when Josh wasn’t certain how to start. Bloody gauze and a few strands of Zara’s long black hair had clung to Callie’s palm. Her skin was warm again now, the cotton fibers long fallen away.

  Josh had taken Zara inside, and about a half hour later had texted that their mom was going to be okay. He hadn’t said more.

  Not yet.

  So Callie waited.

  “You want to get back in the car, doll?” Derek asked. His jacket was open, and the heat from inside his sedan teased her through the open window.

  “Not yet.” She’d asked him to wait in the car earlier. She wasn’t certain how much time had passed, but her nose wasn’t completely numb yet. She needed the slap of the below-freezing temperatures to steady herself. She wasn’t so sanctimonious to suggest she deserved the bitter bite of cold. She just didn’t want to feel, and natural cold was far better at killing her senses than the magic-induced frostb
ite had been.

  An ambulance screamed into the lot, and whipped around the corner to the brilliant red Emergency awning. The red and white flashing lights almost touched her, but no one at that entrance was watching the parking lot. They had bigger priorities.

  Derek opened his car door and stepped out next to her.

  “I promise I’ll come in soon,” she said, her tone flat. She’d come in once she had a plan. Callie had no idea what to do next. She needed sleep, but crashing out without knowing if Zara was conscious or what all was wrong wasn’t an option. She couldn’t go raging into the hospital to find out. She couldn’t go to work. The Charmer needed souls. Souls she’d brokered to get her mom back. She hadn’t even bothered trying to control her magic around her mother, which was a whole other problem. Moving into the car or into the light were her only paths right now, and so she stood still.

  “Callie.” His hand was on her shoulder. “Your brother is coming.”

  Sure enough, Josh’s lanky, slouched silhouette was gilded from the glow past the sliding glass doors. Callie and Derek were at the back of the parking lot. Josh shouldn’t have been able to see them yet, but he headed straight for them.

  He scratched his head, tousling his hair. From the messy array, he’d only run his fingers through it before coming to the hospital. He approached quickly, but kept his gaze locked on the ground. “Hey.”

  Callie rushed forward to meet Josh at the edge of the shadows. She wrapped her arms around him, and held tight. Frost bit at her cheek against his chest and at her forearms embracing him. She willed the magic to give me a fucking second. His ribs pushed against her arms, even though his clothes. He hugged her back with a ferocity that squeezed the air from her lungs, and let her forget the magic glazing her with ice, the fear of the last several days, and the consequences of everything. Josh used to be her safe place, and for that half moment he was again. She’d missed that. Missed him.