“It was over two hours of liturgy.”
“Ouch.”
“Exactly.” Derek held the door open for Callie. “I’ll wait here. Remember, we need to move quick.”
Like she could forget.
The sanctuary windows were glowing with the midday sun. The saints watched her walk toward the confessional booths. Every church was big to Callie. Something about the tall ceilings always made her want to shrink, but the cathedral actually was behemoth in size: ornate sconces, intricate artwork, and a delicate weave in the carpet. She walked along the right edge of the room. The border on the carpet laid out the story of Saint Stephen and his martyrdom in gold thread against the rich garnet background. His sacrifice spilled in shimming grandeur and lost to the edge of the well-worn path. If it were her place to say such things, she’d advocate using money on feeding the homeless and increasing access to rehab and mental health in the city instead of weaving shit people were going to walk on, but no one cared what she thought.
Father Henry stepped out of the confessional closest to her. He was dressed down in a simple black button-up and his ever-present white collar. “Callie?”
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” she said.
“Oh, no, it’s fine.” He tugged his shirtsleeves down. “Is my brother with you?”
Callie inclined her head toward the entrance. “He’s waiting for me outside.”
“In that case, how can I help you today? Did you need to take confession?”
Judgment slicked over her, its oily residue choking her pores and going a long way toward explaining why Derek wasn’t a big fan of his brother. “No confession, Father Henry. I need access.” She tried to force the right amount of meaningfulness into the words without sounding like a creep.
“Come again?”
Damn. She held her wrist up. “I need to go below.” She was not going to say soul well. Not in the open. Not with someone she barely knew. Definitely not someone who implied she needed to confess her sins. He wasn’t wrong that she’d made massive mistakes, but she’d owned them. They were hers.
The priest hesitated. He glanced around the room. The two of them were alone with the echoes of God and his saints. “Are you certain?”
This was getting old. She didn’t have time to parlay. She didn’t have time to get her boyfriend’s brother to like her. She needed those souls and she needed them fast. The flask in her pocket trembled against her hip as if in agreement. “Completely,” she snapped. “I’m in a bit of a time crunch. Can you let me down there, or do I need to ask someone else?”
He wrung his hands, but his voice was steady. “I can let you down there. It’s only that the Soul Charmer is not a godly man.” No shit, Sherlock. Father Henry glanced over his shoulder yet again. When he continued it was in a scant whisper. “Regardless of his…help. He is not on our side. I don’t know what made him that way, but I don’t want that for you or for Derek.”
At least the guy was being honest. She’d give the priest that. “I’m not trying to get into the game, but I have obligations. I have to protect us—me and Derek—and that means I need to get down there right now.” She didn’t spell out the consequences, because she wasn’t entirely sure what they’d be. Whatever would happen if she failed, it would hurt them both. That hadn’t been a lie, and Father Henry knew it.
“Okay,” he said with more certainty this time. “I can’t go down there with you. I don’t have the approval yet, but I can unlock it for you. Do you know what to do?”
She had no clue how this would go alone. She’d had a hell of a time when she’d been here before, and there hadn’t been anywhere near the pressure. Henry didn’t need to know any of that. Burdening him with her fears or her problems or, shit, even her sins was too much. Too much to put on her boyfriend’s brother, no matter how judgmental he was. They might not be close now, but family mattered.
“I can handle it.” She tossed the words casually in his direction and hoped they were the truth.
Their footsteps were muffled by the plush flooring, but pale blue light glimmered only on Callie’s shoulder. The sickening sense someone was watching rotted in her gut, but then maybe that was church. She’d been gone so long she no longer was used to the awareness within these walls. She shook off the thought before Father Henry turned to face her again.
He pulled a lone, oxidized silver skeleton key from his robes. The metal didn’t match the warm wood of the confessionals, but the outline of a bird in flight at the tip of the key did. The hawk was echoed in the scrollwork on the last confessional, the one Father Henry now unlocked. The one marked with the same predatory bird she bore on the inside of her wrist.
“May He be with you, lift you up.” The words were standard.
The rote response bubbled to Callie’s lips, but she denied them. The priest wasn’t offering a standard goodbye. The words meant more now. They were real, and Callie took them as they were offered.
“Thank you. I’ll be quick.” Or at least she’d try.
She stepped into the booth. The door closed behind her, and Callie took the first terrifying step onto the landing. The smooth black lines of the hawk on her skin began to shimmer and sting. She reached unseeing to her right. Her hand met the slick wood. She trailed her fingertips lower, lower, lower until she found the switch. A single sconce lit at her side. A lantern and a matching lighter sat on a small table a few feet ahead.
She started to move closer, but a high-pitched whine pierced her ears. She gnashed her teeth together. Caught the inside of her cheek. Iron. Rust. The air thickened. It pushed and pushed closer to Callie. Her bones ached, and her skin tightened until she half expected her skeleton to leap out for a reprieve. She would have screamed if her jaw could move. It hadn’t been this bad last time. God. Please. She would have remembered this. What had the Charmer done before? The priest? What was happening now? She fought to still her mind, to ignore the way her body began to bow. Her muscles and flesh always returned after magic ripped at her. She would recover from this, too. She pushed aside the pain, and imagined every thread of soul magic flickering beneath her skin. Pulling them together in her mind was quick, weaving them into a wall of sense and power.
Her power.
Last time she’d been here, she’d pushed. That wouldn’t be enough. Callie shoved her power forward, imagining the wall hovering a foot in front of her. It was a glorious, glowing shield, and she kept a tight mental grip on the reins.
The air quickly dissipated to a standard oxygenated blend. She reeled the magic back into her body, and then doubled over breathless.
Once she caught her breath, Callie lit the lantern and began her descent down the winding staircase. As before, she couldn’t sense how deep into the earth she was going. She tried to count the steps, but even that distraction failed her. Her mind wandered. Derek was waiting. Now Henry was probably waiting too. Her mom. Her brother. The Soul Charmer. She needed to do this, and she needed to do it correctly.
That was the burn. She arrived at the wood-paneled hallway. The soft hum of the well already teasing her forward. Those souls deserved more than what the Charmer could give them. Why was the Cortean Church okay with this? Was it really a safe move for someone like her to take them? Without supervision? Was she damning them? She’d been told they understood the consequences. This was a volunteer gig. A round of rentals as an act of contrition. That knowledge didn’t assuage her guilt. Maybe nothing ever would.
She approached the well. The hawk at her wrist began to glow white. The flask was oddly silent.
The grey and green dome atop the well pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Was she imaging that? What had the Soul Charmer told her last time? She needed to let them call to her. There were so many voices. Soft coos and plaintive pleas and charged promises bubbled from the mystical space. The portal stretched and morphed before her, as if the souls on the other side could see her. She ignored the needles pricking along her spine. They couldn’t see her. They couldn’t hurt her
. She had the power here. Or she would if she could channel it.
I got past the barrier on my own, I can get past this bullshit, she reminded herself.
Callie pulled the flask from her pocket, and thumbed off the cap. She wished it could offer a swig of something potent, but the act steadied her nonetheless. She pushed out with her senses again, and gained the space to breath, to talk, to focus.
“Okay,” she said aloud. “I’ve got room for two.”
The cacophony of cries redoubled. If her ears could have collapsed closed, they would have.
“It’s a rental gig. You’re going to be riding with…not great people.” She wasn’t sure why she told them. These souls knew the deal, and no matter what she was still shuttling them to the Soul Charmer. Maybe it was finally getting a night’s sleep that was urging her to keep her conscious at least a little clear.
Black lava rocks were stacked in a perfect circle around the well. Each dark brick glistened even in the low light. Callie took a step closer until her knees almost touched the stones. The energy in the room began to swell. Sparks like fireflies flashed in her periphery, but when she turned for a better look they had disappeared. The golden filigree at the top of the well faded in one second, and was brighter in the next. The simple scrollwork shimmered, and then reshaped itself into words in a language she couldn’t place. A steady ba-bum ba-bum ba-ba-ba-bum began beating against her soles. The room widened and narrowed in the same syncopation. It was breathing, but not in time with her. The room was brighter now. Callie squinted.
It was moving too quickly. She didn’t have jars with her, and her breath was gasping to keep up with the galloping room. Her chest burned, but no flames erupted. She checked. Too much relied on her not fucking this up. If she could do this, the Soul Charmer wouldn’t have to know. Henry wouldn’t need to tell his monsignor.
The soul well continued to slosh and writhe. She didn’t have time to be cautious, or to worry about what came next. She stepped close, and listened. A gruff take me hit her hard, and she replied okay. She focused on the harsh call as she held the flask over the tumultuous sea. Gossamer threads tracked past the gate and into her flask. It was so quick. Callie let a little tension slip from her spine. One more. Voices screamed and light battered against the viscous threshold. Callie tried to push that aside. Another soul caught her attention. It offered no words or supplication, but it stretched toward her in such a way that tears began to well in Callie’s eyes.
“Okay. You,” was all she said, and swiftly the soul pierced the veil and slipped inside the flask.
Two souls trapped. Two souls to trade. Two souls that weren’t hers.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Callie couldn’t get out of the Cortean Catholic soul well fast enough. The fresh souls stowed in her flask shouldn’t have prickled her senses, but every fine hair on her forearms was at attention. The thick layer of magic coating the top of the stairwell didn’t choke her this time. Maybe it tried, but the flask controlled her attention. The sensation wasn’t entirely new. The same pressing awareness rode her the first dozen times she’d stuffed Hostess products in her cargo pants at fourteen. A girl had to eat. She hadn’t cared about nutrition at that point, just a full belly. She hadn’t stolen these souls officially. She’d been given access. Father Giles and the Soul Charmer had forced those fucking vows on her to tend the well and maintain the balance. They’d told her to take souls from the well. Said it needed to happen. Neither of them knew she was here, though, or what she’d done. She needed to keep it that way. Lying had a way of making above-board moves feel a whole lot like stealing. Doing so beneath a house of God did not help.
Callie thrust the confessional door open, and it thunked into Father Henry. His oof was high enough to unveil his unease, but his baritone was enough like Derek’s to make her do a double take.
“Callie. You’re back. Everything done?” He didn’t glance around the empty hall, but he’d dropped his weight into his heels. Father Henry had been in fights, and his body remembered.
His tone was too close to a narc to allow her to say much. She wasn’t his parishioner. “Thanks for your help.”
Callie didn’t wait for more small talk. She didn’t have time, and honestly didn’t think any of the conversation with her boyfriend’s brother was going to improve her current situation. Henry stepped forward, his face drawn tight.
“Yeah?” She didn’t bother to hide her discomfort. She was done pretending she was fine.
“Is he…just….” Father Henry let out a long sigh. “Try to keep Derek safe, okay? He needs more good influences.”
Callie wasn’t about to touch that. She was not a good influence. Some days she wasn’t sure she was good. Good people didn’t steal others’ souls. Good people didn’t know mobsters. Good people didn’t get people kidnapped or killed. She couldn’t lie to a priest, though. No matter her issues with the church or her faith. So she said the one true thing she could: “We keep each other safe.”
Her wrist prickled. The hawk mark fizzled, and black ink seeped over the white lines. By the time she returned to Derek in the vestibule it looked like any other tattoo. Any physical touch of what she’d done, of where she’d been, had disappeared. Could anyone tell what she’d done? Derek gave her that same steady gaze she’d seen all day. He took her hand in his, and led her back to the car.
She couldn’t resist touching her wrist again. The skin was smooth. The line work a crisp black. No longer a raised, white brand. Still her nighthawk, though. Still from magic. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—forget.
The heater in Derek’s sedan worked well enough Callie could ditch her gloves within minutes. She peeked at herself in the side mirror. She didn’t look any different. Hopefully the Charmer wouldn’t think so either. Whatever had him fired up couldn’t be the well, which was about as bright side as she could get right now.
“Do you think he knows?” Callie asked.
Derek didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Knows?”
Callie paused for a minute. What did she really want to know? Was this about her? Them? Were they safe? Derek wouldn’t have those answers, but he did understand the way the Charmer’s mind worked.
“About Nate’s soul. About the others I gave him?” The truth of those questions was almost too much. She had gotten good at sharing with Derek, but this exposure terrified her. Her lower torso began to squeeze and slowly the tightness gripped its way up the rest of her stomach and chest until her organs were sure to asphyxiate her.
“I doubt it. He has a lot of eyes and ears throughout Gem City, but he wouldn’t call us all in for that. He would have demanded to see you. Hell, he wouldn’t have wanted me there. I’ve made my stance on you crystal fucking clear.”
A bubble of lightness rose in Callie’s chest. “Thanks for being on my side.”
“Where you go, I go. That’s the deal, doll.” The emphatic nature of his words only further underscored the safety in sharing her secrets with him. It might not get easy, but at least it was starting to feel less wrong.
She leaned over the center console, and rested her head on his upper arm. The dark rumble from low in his throat said he didn’t mind. The plastic partition between them bit at her hip, but she embraced the mild pain.
“You know, I love you,” she whispered.
“I’ve heard that.”
She glanced up, and his smile was broad and genuine. The road beneath them began to jostle the car. Brick paving meant they weren’t far from the Charmer’s. Once again their boss killed the joy in the room.
Callie watched the dashboard clock click over to 1:13. The day was both moving too fast and too slow. “Have you ever seen the Soul Charmer like this?” A moment ago it might have been a brave question to ask. Before she’d reminded him she loved him. Before she let him know her secrets.
His biceps tensed beneath her cheek. “Once.”
Derek was quiet long enough Callie thought he couldn’t tell her more. She understood the kind o
f memories one stored in scars. The crimson pasts and the ashen secrets. Excavating them was a task in itself, but cobbling them back together to share aloud was a second kind of pain. She wasn’t about to force that abuse on Derek. She closed her eyes, and focused on slow, even breaths. His breathing mimicked hers when they lay entwined at night. Maybe this could help.
The car slowed. Tourists staggered out in front of the car. Derek hit the brakes, but didn’t flip them the bird. They waved and laughed, but didn’t ask for directions. When the car was moving again, Derek finally spoke.
“The Charmer used to have competition. Did you know that?”
Callie relaxed against him. “Maybe? I didn’t pay much attention to the Charmer other than to offer an ambitious side eye to the nurses in the ER who talked about trying out his wares.”
She was perpetually thankful she hadn’t had to collect from any of them. Nothing says look how far I’ve fallen like hypocrisy.
“Within a few weeks of opening his shop a few others popped up. They weren’t like Little D. I mean, they weren’t Charmer-level scary fuckers, but they had more skill than that.”
Soul magic had a steep learning curve. “How did they know what to do?”
“A guy the Charmer knew taught them. He doesn’t talk about him in the same way he doesn’t talk about Tess.”
“Gotcha.” Callie could guess what Derek meant by that. No one was talking to that guy anymore.
“Anyway, so other people open shops, too, and he didn’t handle it much better back then. These other soul magicians hired enforcers.”
“Ford?”
“His dad, I think, but the Ford family.”
“That explains a lot.”
Derek shrugged a single shoulder. “Well, I think the other magicians originally paid for protection. Standard racket from the Ford family, but a couple got it in their heads to push out the competition.”
Lost Souls (Soul Charmer Book 3) Page 11