Lost Souls (Soul Charmer Book 3)

by Chelsea Mueller

  “I need to keep you.” Why did honesty always catch in her throat?

  “Not going anywhere, doll. Unless you want to book it, and then we go together.”

  God, she wished it were really an option. The plan to ditch this place was in its infancy, but that hadn’t made it less real. Derek was willing to do it. The realization hit her hard behind the knees. His embrace held her steady now, but even he couldn’t stop the Soul Charmer’s wrath if they bailed on this. If hellfire was real, the Soul Charmer could wield it.

  “I wish we could.” Callie shot a furtive look around the barren room. The tapestries wavered when the furnace kicked on, but otherwise only her and Derek’s energy filled the center of the space. “This whole thing is off, though. He puts magic walls up over everything.”

  “Yeah. I know, but you said they’re gone. He’s gone, so maybe that makes sense?” Derek kissed the top of her head.

  “But they aren’t actually gone. Not all of them. It’s changed, and I don’t know how to explain it, but there’s more at play here. You saw the coal.” It wasn’t a question, but part of her needed the validation she wasn’t alone.

  His thumb worried in a small circle at her shoulder.

  “Right?” she prodded. Tell me I’m not losing my shit.

  “I saw the coal, if that was what the black stuff was. I saw it melt into the ground or disappear or I don’t know what that was, but yeah, Callie, I saw it.” A man that size shouldn’t sound reedy. She didn’t care. The truth was there between them, and if he could at least see that much magic, it might be okay.

  “Okay. Well, that coal was his magic. Only…”

  “Only what?”

  It wasn’t? It left a tang pinching her taste buds and pressure in her ears, and neither of those things was tangible when it came to explanations. “I don’t know…it was his magic, only messed up.”

  Derek rocked his weight back into his heels, and Callie swayed with him. His voice was sturdy, his words stronger. “If his magic has rotted, all the more reason to leave Gem City.”

  “If his magic can turn, so can mine.” She hated the soft squeak of her voice.

  Derek took her face in his hands. His grey eyes met hers with steely resolve. “You are beautiful and strong. He’s a shit stain, and so his magic is ugly and wrong. That isn’t you. I know it isn’t.”

  In a flash his lips were against hers, warm and fervent. Callie tried to take in his ardent belief that she was so much better than the Soul Charmer, that her magic wasn’t tainted. That nasty voice in the back her mind—one that sounded too much like her mother after a half dozen whiskey shooters—reminded her she’d ripped a soul out of man’s body, that she’d burned the flesh off a woman, that when push came to shove, she wasn’t afraid to get ugly if it protected those she loved.

  Derek’s fire smoldered, but he pulled back. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

  Humor expanded in her chest. “Are you asking because shit always gets worse or because I’m being the mood killer?”

  “You’re not killing the mood, doll.” His gaze lingered on her lips. His hand slid around to cup the nape of her neck. The simple, possessive act pushed all tension from her back. “You wouldn’t be willing to stay here if there weren’t more. I’ll keep fighting here with you as long as you want, but now would be a good time to let me in.”

  He so rarely pushed that Callie couldn’t be bothered by the request. It was fair for him to want to know why. She hadn’t demanded he align himself with her, but that didn’t change the fact he had. He’d helped her saved Zara. He’d helped her save Josh. He’d helped her. Derek was damn near family, and it was time she started trusting him like it.

  “The souls back here?” She pointed toward the curtain like he didn’t know where the fucking souls were stored. “What’s left are the good ones.”

  Derek watched her. Waited. She bit her lip, and he inhaled sharply. “Why did you send Miguel and Savannah to pick up the good ones then?”

  He said it so plainly. “I did send them, didn’t I?” She no longer had to hide her awe.

  Derek’s lips found hers again, and this time she let herself fall into the moment. The air between them sparked with potential. Callie leaned into the static between them until her breasts were crushed against Derek’s chest. It was her turn to be soft and pliant against his hard and sturdy. Everything she needed. She deepened the kiss. Derek dug his fingers into her hair. She stepped backward, and pulled him along.

  Her butt bumped against a sideboard table. It was an inch over hip height, and Derek easily lifted Callie to sit atop it. The dark wood disappeared in the minimal lighting, and Callie with it. Her knees fell wide, and Derek rushed forward between them. The dual layers of denim between them failed to hide how much they needed this. Derek pressed the hard ridge hidden behind his jeans against Callie. She gasped, and arched forward. Her mouth slipped down his neck until she was almost to his shoulder. Sweat shouldn’t be this sweet. It was. He was. Derek surged forward. The sideboard clapped against the wall. Every nerve ending low in Callie’s abdomen fired, tightened, demanded at once. She bit down on Derek’s shoulder. His groan could have shaken the snow from the mountains.

  Callie shoved her hands between them. She began to unfasten her jeans, but Derek’s fist in her hair stalled her. She flipped direction and began to unbutton his pants. He angled his hips forward until she could barely move her hands. She nudged him back, but he refused to budge.

  His lips left hers, but he held her hair wrapped between his fingers. “That’s a cheat, Callie.”

  “What?” She wanted him. How was that a fucking cheat?

  His chest rose and fell in double time. He shouldn’t have been wearing a shirt. “You’re dodging my question. Please.”

  Fuck. She needed to give him the truth, and instead she was thinking with her heart—and maybe her lady bits. The realization of her accidental asshole move was as good as ice cubes down her back.

  “Sorry. Not intentional.” She hadn’t even meant to divert. Maybe that was a Delgado gene.

  “So why are they after the good souls?” He didn’t even sound disappointed with her. She was too fucking lucky.

  “‘Good souls’ is relative, but I wasn’t lying that we need those. If these Anonymous people take the high-value ones the Charmer will go apocalyptic.”

  He waited. Maybe lucky was the wrong word. That bastard knew her too well.

  The hem of his shirt had ridden up during the momentary make-out session. Callie rested her hand against the smooth skin at his hip. He let her, and the access reminded her they were a team. “The case back there that was empty held the heavily used souls.”

  Derek’s grip on her hair released. “How much is heavy? The Charmer said it’s ten rentals max.”

  “Over twenty.” Ish.

  “That could kill someone,” he snapped. Derek’s eyes were wide, panicked. Callie brushed her thumb against his skin in slow circles. She wasn’t the one who was dealing those souls, and he needed to remember that. A breath later he was steadier. “You saw what happens with a bad match.”

  He didn’t have to remind her of the trip to the hospital. The rented soul needed an escape, and it thought taking out its host would get it there. Now that Callie understood some of the shop’s souls came from purgatory she understood. Maybe the fight wasn’t worth the get for some.

  “I remember.” She pressed her index finger against his lips. It wouldn’t hold back the details, but he understood. “The Soul Charmer warned me about those souls specifically.”

  “Do you think he knew someone was after them?” he said against her finger, a breathy kiss.

  “I hadn’t considered that.” Honestly. “It was more like he was batting my hands away from a hot stove.”

  His eyes softened.

  “Okay. Yes, he probably would let me touch a hot stove, but the analogy stands. He was warning me not to bring those out for renters. They were only for specific people.”

&n
bsp; “People he wanted to kill?” Derek asked the question Callie could only think.

  “He didn’t say that.” But would he?

  Derek eased back. The space between them growing, but never cooling. “Do we think they were stolen on purpose?”

  “I’m not sure it matters. If they knew they were buying the most tarnished goods, then they’re out to kill people. If they thought they were crashing and pocketing whatever they could reach, they won’t know enough about the magic to avoid damage anyway. One way or another the idiots who rent from us are going to get hurt. Those souls won’t be enough to pick up the slack. Either they come back for round two or they have to start stealing from people to fill the demand.”

  “You think people will die?” That question coupled with Derek’s unwavering gaze would have made her bolt if she didn’t love him. Thank God that intensity was directed at anyone who would fuck with her.

  “You don’t?”

  He shrugged, but there was nothing easy about the motion. “They always die. I just need to make sure we don’t die. If someone did plan this, it won’t be the end.”

  “The magic around here is off. I don’t know if it was the Soul Charmer or someone else, but I think I can keep this place secure.”

  Derek grabbed her by the hips and yanked her forward. He leaned close until his mouth was next to her ear. “Hell has a special place for anyone that would go against my Callie. We can put up a good front together, but as soon as we’re out of this, you’re mine.”

  She arched against him with pure intent. “I’m yours now.”

  “Fine. Once this is over, I’m done with the Soul Charmer.”

  She rolled her hips toward his, and found his interest had only grown harder. “Ah, so you’re saying you get to be fully mine?”

  “Consider it done, doll.”

  Fucking in the front of the Soul Charmer’s store was both just right as a screw you to the boss and just wrong as a key romantic moment. Callie took one look at Derek, his elbows braced on the counter and a sated smile on his lips. It had been the right call.

  Callie pulled on her jeans. Her phone toppled from the back pocket. Two messages from Josh were displayed.

  “Docs say Mom will be OK,” read the first.

  “Going to work. Aunt Lily is driving up tonight,” read the other.

  His meth days really did make her brother short on the text conversations. Callie pursed her lips like the act would purge the pill of guilt she needed to swallow.

  “How’s Zara?” Derek asked.

  She relayed the message contents to him, and tried not to think about her mom being alone in a hospital.

  “It’s bright outside, and we have a couple hours until the soul pick up. Go visit her.” Derek was so fucking sincere sometimes it stung.

  “I can’t—”

  “You can,” he cut her off. “You’ll feel better knowing she’s solid and safe. The backroom needs a serious scrub, and I can do that.”

  “You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

  “Don’t start stealing my lines.” He nudged her toward the door. “Nah. You can’t go back there. I don’t want that blood on you, but also we need that room to Charmer level crazy.”

  Callie cranked her side-eye shade to eleven.

  “I’ve worked here a long ass time. I can make Miguel believe the Charmer magic godmothered that shit back there.”

  Callie’s laugh was real and from the belly, and so out of place in this den of depravity. Well, if she could screw in it, she might as well be able to laugh here, too.

  The suede swagger Derek was throwing didn’t fool her. She was a bird one couldn’t hold too tightly, and he was smart enough to know that stopping her from going places wouldn’t end well. Since his heart was in the right place and he hadn’t fought to go with her, she’d accept it.

  “I’ll be quick,” she said, and then barreled into him for a bear of a hug.

  “And I’ll be here, doll.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Cold air and the sharp edge of astringent welcomed Callie to St. Stephen’s Hospital.

  An orderly bumped into her. “Sorry, ma’am. Do you need directions?”

  A faint cooing caught the air. Callie looked down the bright hallway, but only saw hospital staff and a couple patients awaiting triage. No toddler sipping milk.

  “Ma’am? Do you need help to the ER?” The woman’s gentle tone mirrored the coo.

  Callie stretched her magic until it grazed the woman in pink scrubs. It’s okay. We’ll help you, was the response she got. The pleased hum was from this woman’s soul. Why the hell was Callie hearing people’s souls who weren’t on her list? This lady wasn’t even a renter. The soul chattering away was kind and generous and completely intact.

  “Oh, no. Sorry. I’m here to visit my mom.” God, the truth tasted good. “Little dazed.”

  “Completely normal. Do you want me to look up her room number for you?” The woman was attempting to corral her toward the emergency triage.

  Callie edged out of arm’s distance. “No need. She’s up on the fourth floor.”

  Concern flashed on the orderly’s face, but she quickly shuttered it. “I hope she recovers quickly. Elevator banks are ahead on the right.”

  Callie thanked her, and hurried forward. She jammed her thumb against the Up button, and waited. The directory between the two elevators let her know the fourth floor housed the intensive care unit. Josh hadn’t said anything about the ICU. He said Zara was stable. A soft chime announced the doors opening. Callie swore under her breath and charged into the elevator. A violent blast of cold pushed Callie back against the side wall. Her hands froze into tight fists. She shifted her arm up, and heard the subtle fissures of splintering ice.

  The two men inside the elevator didn’t tug their jackets closed or tighten their stances. The icy air was only for her. The older of the two raked her with a rude gaze. Callie didn’t want to reach for his soul. She didn’t need to sense it to know he was the kind of man who kept a pair of sweatpants in the trunk of his car for emergency stops at strip clubs.

  The other man was closer to Callie’s age, and managed a bored affect as he asked, “Floor?”

  Three tiny pinches at her ribs warned her not to tell them. It was a fucking floor, but in Gem City nothing was ever simple. Not even pressing a button on an elevator. “Five,” she lied.

  The older creep edged to the center of the space. He walked hips first. She wasn’t going to fall for that dare. The small screen reading out the floors was the only place she was willing to look.

  Frost clawed at her neck. How many times had these guys rented to be throwing off this kind of chill? The screen said they were at the third floor. Creep-O stepped in front of the doors, but turned to face her. That shit was not an accident. Only ax murderers and assholes made eye contact in an elevator with uninterested strangers.

  The nasty wisps of his soul began to catcall. Which circle of Hell was dominated by men who catcalled? Was there a deeper one for those who bore their misogyny so deeply in their souls that even it couldn’t resist rasping the filthy, unwanted things it’d do to her? She fucking hoped so.

  Her voice box was locked in a cage of ice. Her grating attempt to speak only earned her a prurient grin of cracked lips. The younger man was pointedly staring at the panel of buttons. He’d get a stellar seat deep below, too.

  Her magic prickled beneath the frosty layer. She didn’t need to speak to stop him. She didn’t need her hands to shove him. These men had tattered souls, though. They didn’t need to know what she could do. The screen displayed a bright, red five. Creep-O didn’t move, and his companion didn’t acknowledge the intimidation.

  Callie inhaled and pulled the energy around her in close. It coalesced into a cobbled cloak, every bit the patchwork quilt her grandmother had atop her bed. The chill began to ebb. Her limbs broke free and she stepped forward. She met the douchebag’s eyes, and delighted in the panic. He narrowed his gaze, and his arms
locked. He was readying for something, but she wasn’t about to find out what. Her magic barrier bumped his soul back, and she slipped past and onto the fifth floor.

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking back. Her magic, though, stretched behind her until the man’s soul could no longer be sensed.

  Callie ducked into the stairwell before she could run into another soul user. She didn’t care if they weren’t hostile. She needed a goddamn second. When the heavy, fire door clapped shut behind her, she let out a long breath. Hospitals used to be her favorite place. It was the kind of truth she never said aloud, both because it made her sound like a masochist and because it meant admitting she’d lost a key part of herself. Her life had been on track to saving people’s lives. She’d been living an above-board life. Now she ripped souls out of people, doled out the equivalent of celestial cheat codes, and had done enough bad shit to earn her twenty to life. Not exactly an upward trajectory.

  She began descending the stairs to her mother’s floor. This visit wasn’t about her. She wasn’t here to reminisce. No one was rubbing the loss of potential in her face. She’d came here on her own. It’d been a few years. She needed to move on, and, honestly, it could be worse. No one had chopped off any of her fingers.

  Hospital’s fourth floor was quieter. No one was lingering in the hall when Callie entered. For the best. No one would peg her as the “let’s just take the stairs” type. The television in the waiting area was on, but no one was watching. Callie used the brief moment to gather herself. She watched the news loop on the screen. The world’s problems could dwarf hers. The ticker proclaimed one of the blow-hards in the Op-Ed department of the local newspaper was calling for congress to act against soul renting. Congressmen were commenting on potential legislation holding those who pawned their souls responsible for the crimes committed with them. Good God. They had no idea how soul magic worked, and they were still trying to control it. The last thing she needed was the Soul Charmer on national television being questioned about the nature of soul rental and how to regulate it against crime. How long would it take the local diocese to get involved and quash this?