Lost Souls (Soul Charmer Book 3)

by Chelsea Mueller

  “Miss Delgado, I would not ask this of you if it weren’t vital.”

  Callie had spent her entire life attending the required catechism courses and getting her butt in the pew regularly. Zara had made it clear it was required. The citizens of Gem City took strong stock in attending the Church. Callie hadn’t attended services since she’d been fired from the retirement home. She no longer had to win the favor of society by looking respectable. The dual rituals of prayer and confession were exhausting. Now she had access to facts that dictated faith. She’d pulled away from the routine of showing her face at mass, but now believed. That was the mindfuck. She wasn’t about to start coming to Derek’s brother to shill her sins like the tally on her soul wasn’t earned.

  Only now she had a priest begging her to help him. That pleading tone from a man she’d only ever seen on newscasts before the Charmer led her down the winding stairs to the soul well. Father Giles was the hardened face of Cortean Catholicism in Gem City. He was stern and demanded devotion. Or at least he was on TV. Now, on the speakerphone, he was something else, someone else. He was a human, a believer, a man in need of help.

  Callie’s answer rushed from her mouth before she could overthink it. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Bless you. I will be waiting in the sanctuary.”

  Of course he would. No pressure. Callie tapped the button to end the call, and then looked to Derek.

  “You’re going to go, aren’t you?” he asked.

  She hesitated. Her face pulled tight like it, too, couldn’t decide how to feel. “I think I have to?”

  His agreement was slow to come, but there was no question in his tone. “You don’t have to do anything, but you should probably do this.”

  “What about what’s happening here?” She inclined her head down, like Lexi and Beck were below their feet.

  Caramel and kerosene clashed in Derek’s throat to give her a “not your problem” sound.

  “But customers…”

  “But nothing, doll. They’ll wait. The Charmer knows the demand is there. He’s made people stand out here for an hour before.”

  She almost pointed out that he wasn’t here, but those were words too dangerous to speak aloud. Even here. Even with only the two of them. “Okay.”

  “I’m going to call Henry, though.”

  “I can talk to him at the cathedral if you want.”

  “No,” he snapped.

  Callie flinched.

  “Sorry.” He meant it. “I don’t want anyone but him to know about the quill. I don’t think his bosses would be cool with him having that book we gave him, either.”

  “We gave him?” She sucked her lips in to keep from smiling.

  “You got a problem with shared ownership of our fucked up life?”

  “Not even a little.” She skimmed the back of her fingers against his.

  Derek wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed. “If we’re dragging Henry into this, I want to limit how much hits him.”

  “Agreed.” Callie didn’t need anyone else getting burned by Nate or the Soul Charmer or any other awful person waiting in the shadows.

  “Plus, I’ve never gotten him to come into this place before. So that’ll be fun.”

  Callie understood the pettiness of siblings. “You’re going to light extra incense, aren’t you?”

  His grin was brilliant and warm and needed. “He’s going to reek of it for fucking days.”

  “Call him, and I’ll go distract his boss with my mad nighthawk skills.”

  “You almost sound excited.”

  “I’m faking it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Nighthawk skills? Who was she kidding? Callie’s mark began itching far before she even arrived at the cathedral. She’d stayed at the Soul Charmer’s shop long enough to let Derek phone his brother, and to convince him that it wasn’t a terrible idea for her to drive herself to the church. Now, though, as she accelerated into an icy corner, her wrist was acting up and her stomach was making loud protests about its perpetually empty state. She finally had enough cash for decent food, and was too stressed to eat. That was some shit.

  The cathedral sparkled at the center of the plaza. A shimmering layer of snow coated the grounds. The holy statues lining her path to the front steps wore the flakes like cloaks, and spotlights added to the ethereal brightness. The stone was too brilliant, too alive. The saints were watching her. Her feet moved faster. She hopped over a patch of ice, and then darted up the stairs.

  Father Giles stood waiting next to the very last pew. His left hand was balanced on the back of the bench, fingertips fat against the wood.

  He stepped forward and took her hand in his. “Praise be.”

  “In his name,” she said automatically, but the ingrained words left dry wood on her tongue. She swallowed hard.

  The priest didn’t look like he did on television, but most people didn’t. He also didn’t look like the man she’d met before. He had carried himself with an air of nobility then with the kind of stance that said, “I miss the ways of 1800s Spain.” Now he couldn’t meet her eyes. His attention was snapping around the room. His hair was an unkempt mat, but his vestments were pressed to perfection.

  “Come, come.” He urged her forward, and she recoiled at his ripe odor. His mistook the move for hesitation, thankfully. “We cannot wait.”

  He hurried ahead, and she tried to wonder about priorities that put bathing behind ironing one’s clothing. She didn’t even own an iron.

  The hawk mark on her wrist heated. Raised white drops poured into the black ink until the dark bird became something brilliant. She approached the gateway, and the mark grew brighter. The glow was a reminder to start pushing with her magic. She did not have time to be felled by metaphysical barriers. She and Father Giles moved through the gateway and down the stairs efficiently. He didn’t say anything about the relative ease in which she passed through the invisible partition, but simply nodded like he’d made a very good decision. Like he’d done anything that got her into this place. It wasn’t his magic, and she was doing him a favor.

  All that righteous anger evaporated the second she saw the soul well.

  When she’d sneaked in before, the well had been full. The grey veil between worlds stretched across the top edges of the black and gold pool. It was no longer contained by the boundaries of the bricks. The grey barrier stretched out, up, and over the well. The layer separating here from purgatory heaved when she walked into the room. She knew there weren’t bodies on the other side, but swore handprints were pressed against the taut material.

  “You can see we need you to get to work.” Father Giles gestured to the well. Helpful. Like she hadn’t noticed the nebula shoving itself into their world.

  She’d found a small cooler inside the Soul Charmer’s desk. It had contained empty soul jars. She’d brought it. “How many do I need to remove?”

  Father Giles was standing on the opposite side of the room from her—an entrance to purgatory roiling between them—and he still had the audacity to scoff at her. “You’re the hawk.”

  Now was not a good time to call herself a baby hawk, but it was tempting. “Not the hawk, a hawk. A new hawk. I wasn’t your first pick for a reason, Father.”

  The Church liked to preach about kindness and offering aid to those who needed it. Father Giles must have forgotten, because the next words out of his mouth were, “If you can’t figure out what needs to be done, the consequences will be on your soul.”

  Her soul? Please. “I have no shame in wearing the scars I’ve earned.” Sometimes she slapped on the ones for her family, too, because it was right. “But make no mistake that this well and your lack of knowledge about it does not make anything that happens all my fault. You chose to rely on the Soul Charmer. I’m here to help. Maybe you could be less of a dick about it.”

  “I—I—I—”

  Yes, she’d just called a priest a dick. And while technically she’d done so in a church, it was
beneath the church, which felt like less of a blasphemous way of thinking about it. “I’m here to help. I’ve got nine jars, and I’ll do what I can.”

  Father Giles stopped his gaping. “Thank you, and I gather your mentor did not tell you much about this well.”

  Mentor? She might have laughed if her nerves hadn’t been shot. “He made me promise to tend it, but didn’t say much more.”

  “Yes. Part of our responsibility—your responsibility—is to maintain a balance between here and the other side of this well. These souls are brought here as part of an act of contrition.”

  “What if they just sit on a shelf and don’t get rented?” That was too much trust to put in the Soul Charmer’s abilities.

  “Being in our world without a host is not a pleasant experience. It is considered to be a provoking part of the journey.”

  “So does the Charmer return the souls to you after a certain amount of time?”

  “He can release them after a period, yes.” Father Giles stiffened. “But now is not the time to worry over such things. This well is a problem. Get it back into its bounds before it burdens my church and the parishioners.”

  How it would jack up the cathedral crowd, Callie didn’t know. Luckily, she also didn’t have enough energy to care right now.

  Callie carried her little, soft-sided cooler closer to the well. Who knew the perfect packaging for a lunch tote was also great for gathering souls. Versatility was key, she supposed. Her levity vaporized. Her own soul was suddenly too big. It was as though it had doubled and redoubled within her chest until she had so much soul in her body it was tightly caged and only her bones kept it from flashing out and escaping.

  The well roared.

  Voices upon voices upon voices called out. Some called to her, others simply screamed. Languages she didn’t know and unintelligible keening assailed her. Fight or flight was riding her hard and the urge to drop the cooler and cut out grabbed her. Her fingers began to loosen on the handle when she heard a lone voice amid the cacophony.

  “I’m ready, please,” it called.

  The soft words among the hungry many caught her attention. This wasn’t about the magic or about escaping for a night of sin for these souls. This was about redemption. What kind of asshole would she be if she let this go on? Father Giles didn’t want to share the particulars about what happened if this well was ignored, but Callie could imagine souls who weren’t ready escaping. She could picture them bypassing the whole atonement bit and sneaking around the law. As much as she was a fan of flipping the bird to the rules, she wouldn’t want more people at risk. She didn’t know if those souls would sneak off to be reborn or latch themselves onto unsuspecting people or simply disappear, but none of those options were acceptable.

  Callie knelt next to the well. The floor was cold, and despite the denim she wore the stone bit into her knees. She unzipped the cooler and removed the jars. She lined them on the ground next to her. The well heaved and jerked toward her. Her own ward snapped up to block it. The well surged up the invisible shield in front of her, and poured over top. She blocked that, too.

  “Climbing on me without consent has never ended well in this world, and isn’t going to end well for you, either,” she said. Father Giles shifted uncomfortably, but she wasn’t talking to him. If she’d had a knife on her, she probably would have brandished it, too, to make a point.

  The swelling edges of the veil receded enough to let her focus. She uncapped the first jar, calling to the polite soul who promised it was ready. It stretched forward. The shining strands pierced the gelatinous barrier, and slipped into the jar. A second soul wrapped itself around the trailing threads. It knotted itself into the other soul. The other souls bashed against the border, begging for release.

  “Do you want him to come with you?” she asked the first soul. It didn’t seem to be bothered by the second soul hitchhiking. Could one find family in purgatory? Seemed like that’d be counter productive but hey she wasn’t the man in charge.

  The first soul tugged the second one along with him, and all Callie got was a plea. Good enough for her. “You’ll have to unbind yourselves in the jar, though,” she said as she capped them inside with a twist of the lid.

  Souls gathered in clusters before her. A dozen charged on her like this was a football game and they were determined to break her defenses with teamwork. They slammed hard against the veil closest to her face. Her protection wobbled and heat poured through. Fire ripped across her cheekbones. She closed her eyes and slapped her hands against her cheeks. Snuffing oxygen wasn’t going to dampen these flames. She gritted her teeth, and opened her eyes. The souls on the other side were rallying. A great ball of light was forming before her, just on other side of the charcoal net. She held a hand out toward it. Flakes of black ash and sticky red clung to her body. She ignored it. Her face would heal. Souls that would pull this? They might not.

  Purgatory wasn’t a team sport.

  She shoved her hand forward and past the wall she’d erected to ward the worst of the souls’ effects on her, and punched her fist straight into the other side of the veil. She bit the inside of her cheek. They would not hear her scream. Electricity sloshing with the power of ocean waves surged up her forearm. It was dark and frigid. It was feverish. Her hand locked like all the muscles had hyperextended. She turned her arm and forced her hand to cup the soul collation crafting the ball. She snapped her fingers shut on them. An explosion flared behind the tinted wall. A mini supernova flaring orange and yellow and then cooling to an echo of white. She released her grip, and bladed her body away from the veil until her hand was free.

  Skin was a memory. Her fingers were only bone now, burned clean of muscles and tendons. Bits of flesh still clung to the back of her hand. She slammed her magic out around her body, until she was wrapped in a soul ward cocoon. She took a deep breath, and the muscles began to reappear. Two more breaths later and light brown skin started to grow in patches along her fingers. Finally, after five long seconds, her hand was back to the same status as moments earlier, down to the chipped blue nail polish.

  Father Giles prayers filled the room. He kept to the classic Spanish, and called only on the Lord to protect them. Callie didn’t mind that he was including her in the request. She would get the rest of the required souls out of the well, and then get the fuck away from anything that could literally melt her face off if she screwed up.

  The process was easier after that. The souls rushed forward alone, and she began to pick whichever ones battered the veil the hardest. Taking out the troublemakers might buy her more time. She’d prefer to let the Charmer be the next person to visit this well, but if not, she didn’t want to be in this place every other day. As she siphoned off the souls, the energy of the room settled into something less frenetic. Her organs no longer screamed from the sharp shove of her own soul. The well’s contents slowly slipped back into the boundaries. She stuffed two souls to a jar twice.

  She zipped the cooler lid closed again, this time with the eleven souls stacked safely in their jars. She stood, and looked to Father Giles for the first time in twenty minutes. He had pressed himself against the far wall, but clearly had been watching her the whole time.

  “Your hawk is quite bright,” he said.

  Was that a compliment? “Sure.”

  “I haven’t seen that happen before.”

  Sure enough, the hawk on the inside of her wrist was casting damn near disco ball radiance. “I’m sure it’s nothing.” Another lie to a man of God.

  “Never doubt a sign. You’ve done a good deed here today. Thank you, Miss Delgado.” She appreciated he didn’t bring up the whole slipping a hand into the afterlife and squashing some asshole souls part.

  “It needed to be done. Hopefully, the Soul Charmer will be available to you again shortly.” Would it be worth it to say those words upstairs with a rosary in hand?

  Father Giles only nodded.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Callie entered the
Soul Charmer’s store and the attentions of four men snapped to her. Father Henry fidgeted at the edge of the front room, a slick, styled man was pacing a tiny circuit its center, and Miguel stood near the counter with a death grip on an older man’s arm. All except for Father Henry spoke immediately. The volley of demands might have been worse than the gang of souls trying to barrel through the veil at her. Or maybe she was fucking tired.

  She didn’t stop to listen to their pleas. She walked straight to Father Henry, and took his hand. She didn’t stop moving. She plowed directly to the back curtain, towing Henry behind. She held up her other hand, and hollered, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Holding her breath as she moved through the protected hallway was habit. Callie exhaled once she was back into the newly pristine office space. The Charmer’s ward over the door was in tatters. She should put up a protection of her own while she was in here. The tarry sensation the Charmer had crafted might have seemed like a jerk move, but there were real threats. She got that now. Only she wasn’t certain how to make a ward that didn’t require her standing there and focusing. If her boss ever returned, she’d ask.

  “Have you been waiting out front for long?” she asked Father Henry.

  “Not at all. I’ve already spoken with Derek. He went downstairs for a minute.” His voice hitched on ‘downstairs.’ How much did he know about what happened in this basement?

  “How long ago was that?”

  Color dappled his cheeks. “Ten minutes.”

  The radiator hummed and the fan whirred, but no harsh noises rose from the floorboards. Whatever was happening downstairs, at least it wasn’t a fight. “I can run down and check on him.”

  “I got the impression he wanted us to talk, actually.” The priest had been trained to read the room. Did that mean he could tell how badly she didn’t want to go down another set of stairs to another set of problems?