Lost Souls (Soul Charmer Book 3)

by Chelsea Mueller

She, however, could read Derek. Henry might be his brother, but that didn’t mean he understood how she and Derek worked. They were a team these days, and while he couldn’t venture into the cathedral’s well with her, he certainly could be part of this. Father Henry might have taken vows of honesty, but she’d made a promise to Derek. That counted more to her.

  “I’m going to go take care of the problems up front first,” she didn’t bother saying they were going to wait for Derek either way. “You can hang out back here.”

  “I’m not sure…” Father Henry was already trying to touch as little of this store as he could. If he could have stood on his tiptoes without anyone noticing, Callie thought he would have.

  She set the cooler containing the souls from the well on the nearby desk.

  “There’s a stool behind the desk, if you want it. Make sure not to touch anything.”

  She didn’t wait to hear him stammer through another request. She pushed back through the curtain and to the guests at the front of the house.

  The men began shouting when she appeared again. Hell. Did she need to bring the priest back out here to remind them of their manners? She pointed at Miguel. “You. Start.”

  The other men grumbled, but let Miguel talk. “Charlie here is overdue by a full week,” he said.

  The man he’d brought in had six inches on Miguel, and the extra layer of donut around his belly probably gave him a full forty pounds on the soul collector. Callie wondered what moves had been used to get this man into the shop.

  “I don’t owe you nothing,” Charlie said.

  Callie looked closer. The man’s eyes were milky, the film of white deadening the iris. With signs like that he couldn’t be new to the soul rental game. “Of course not. We’ve just met. Do you owe the Soul Charmer, though?”

  “You ain’t the Soul Charmer, lady.” He spoke to her breasts.

  A heavy band of tension clapped against Callie’s belly.

  The other man in the room unbuttoned his suit jacket. “I’m here waiting for the Soul Charmer. When is he going to be here?”

  Another thick band snapped against her stomach. Dread bit into her like some industrial strength rubber. She glared at each man in turn. “He put me in charge today, so if you owe him money, you pay me. If you want a soul, you pay me.”

  Miguel dropped his grip on Charlie. He was back near one of the incense tables in half a breath. If he moved any farther away, he’d be wrapped in a wall tapestry. At least someone could read a room.

  Suit guy stepped up to the counter. “Why would I pay you if you can’t even give me a soul?”

  The cables crushing her abdomen frayed and snapped. The edges igniting darkness and power and action in her blood. Rosewater filled her lungs. Iron, her mouth. She stared pointedly at the businessman’s chest. He squirmed. She stepped closer, and he mirrored her steps in the opposite direction. “You’ll pay me because I decide what souls go in you. You’ll do business with me because if you keep looking at me like you’re in fucking charge of me, I’ll borrow your goddamn soul and send it on with any person who looks like they could commit a mortal sin. You’ll give me some fucking respect or I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life on your knees in a pew working out a never-ending debt of prayer and penance to scrub the fucker clean.”

  If Suit-and-Tie could have sucked his head into his neck like a turtle, he would have. After several failed attempts, he whispered a “sorry.”

  It said a lot about the type of people who rented souls that the man didn’t leave. She’d literally threatened him with eternal damnation—not that she would actually do that—and he’d found a chair near the wall and sat. He even had choirboy posture.

  Callie turned her attention back to Charlie. His deep brown skin had sallowed in the last few seconds. She asked, “You were saying?”

  “I’m supposed to give this soul back.” It wasn’t a question, but his voice lilted at the end. His confidence had puddled somewhere in the floor. Maybe that’s why the carpet was squishy.

  “How much does he owe?” she asked Miguel.

  He gave her a figure, and Charlie confirmed he had it. She stretched out to his soul, the one hidden behind the borrowed one. It was shredded. She wasn’t surprised, but sad. He wasn’t going to be able to function well without another soul holding him together. His arms didn’t bear the signature track marks she associated with the men and women who went the tweaker route to cope with what was missing after abusing soul rental. It wasn’t the definitive reason they used, but part of the damn cycle. For the first time, Callie was morally obligated to offer this man another rented soul if only to keep him from crashing hard.

  “Do you want to swap out for another?”

  “That’s what the Charmer does,” he muttered.

  “If you’ve got the cash, that’s still what the Charmer does. I’m just doing the hard part.”

  They brokered the deal, and before Callie knew it she’d taken a soul from this man, put a new one in, and was up a grand. All while the other man waited patiently for his turn. Miguel stood guard.

  The businessman wanted a week’s rental for a casino trip. If Zara had still been working her game, he would have been the perfect mark. He had the cash, and he was determined to do wrong. That was the best kind of person to steal from. Callie wasn’t in the con game, but in this moment she could understand the appeal. She didn’t need Suit-and-Tie’s money to feed herself, but she didn’t hate the idea of there being consequences for his pride and gluttony. She overcharged him for the “quality” soul he demanded. She wasn’t putting anything immaculate in that man.

  When the businessman was gone, Miguel said, “You want me to stay up here and keep watch for you?”

  She might have scared him too with her rant earlier, but there was no ambiguity in his voice.

  “That’d be great. I’m going to go check on Derek.” And Father Henry.

  The Shepherd brothers were together in the office.

  Derek whistled when she walked in. “I’m pretty sure I heard those guys pee themselves from here in, Callie.”

  She angled up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Someone had to put the fear of God into them.”

  “Pretty sure that’s Henry’s job,” Derek said.

  Father Henry laughed. “It’s more about saving mortal souls than necessarily scaring them into obedience, but what you told that man wasn’t exactly wrong.”

  “I thought he’d leave, honestly,” Callie admitted.

  “Be careful or the Soul Charmer might be proud of your work.”

  Callie moved around the guys to the desk, and tugged the still sealed cooler closer. She’d used the Charmer’s wares for the customers. The shield doors on the cabinet were still open. She started placing the souls she’d obtained on their own shelf.

  “You going to mark them?” Derek asked.

  She shuffled the souls onto a center shelf. “No, I know which ones are mine.”

  “Mine?” Father Henry’s incredulity was probably warranted, but she understood Derek’s urge to slug him.

  Callie ignored him. “Do you have information for us, Father Henry?”

  “Some, and call me Henry. I left the collar at home.” He was still clad in all black, but sure enough he was off duty in as much as a priest could be.

  “I showed him the quill,” Derek said.

  Callie stiffened, and Derek moved closer to place his hand in the middle of her back.

  “And?” she prompted.

  “It’s clearly one of Petro’s artifacts,” Henry answered.

  Callie hadn’t gotten a good chance to read the book. Clearly Henry had, though. Derek supplied more context, “Like the knife.”

  “A quill and a knife that can collect souls? Those are rather random objects.”

  “Not really. St. Petro was a monk who tended the original soul well in Seville. He was tasked with devising a way to protect the Cortean conquistadors as they journeyed to explore the new world.”

&
nbsp; Callie folded her arms across her chest like it would get her distance from this weird-ass history lesson. “That knife was not a conquistador’s knife.”

  “No, it was a monk’s knife,” Henry explained. He was leaning closer to them with each word. It was clear he really loved this shit. “St. Petro imbued a number of items within the monastery with the power to help protect the explorers. If we trust his journal—and it sounds like we should—those tools would allow the transfers of souls.”

  “Why’d they need to borrow souls while on a mission of expansion?” Good question, Derek.

  “Expansion is a bloody thing. The leaders found peace in doing necessary, but horrific things in the name of extending the Cortean empire. They had not found the well here yet, but as you know that’s how Gem City became this continent’s seat for the Cortean Catholic Church.”

  Callie was not about to remind this priest—her boyfriend’s brother—that normal people had no clue that the soul well is why the church was here. She vaguely remembered hearing the stories about this being the place the conquistadors found salvation, but she’d thought it had merely been the place they’d been when they got tired of walking.

  “How many of these artifacts are there?” At least Derek was ready to get them back on the practical side of the conversation.

  “Tough to say.” Henry sounded excited by not having a solid fact.

  Lack of facts was not helpful now. The consequences of Nate and his crew having access to tools to snatch souls were too great to wing it. “We need to know how many people could be stealing people’s souls, Henry. How many could show up at the cathedral and steal from the well.”

  Derek’s hand began to rub her back in small circles before she’d even finished speaking.

  The priest bristled. “The artifacts wouldn’t get you into the well. We’ve never let Nate in. You know that.”

  Sure, he’d told her that before. She also barely knew him, and was pretty sure Derek had also promised to punch Henry in the nose after that meeting. She was beginning to understand the urge.

  “What do you mean the artifacts won’t get you inside? They can pull and push souls from a host, can’t they?”

  “From a host, yes. Not from the well.” His words came at the pace doled out to two-year-olds.

  If he wanted to be that way, she’d prod until she got something useful. “Why not?”

  “I’m not certain,” he admitted. His patronization stopped immediately, too. “The journal doesn’t explain the mechanics of why one person is gifted with the flight and others are not.”

  “Flight?” She wasn’t a goddamn pilot.

  “You.” Was it a priest thing to be cryptic? Weren’t they supposed to explain things to people? Her local priest growing up had been big on interpreting everything for them.

  “Excuse me?”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled it forward until her wrist was exposed. The nighthawk had changed. The black outline remained, but some of the white that had pooled into the mark when she visited the well hadn’t left. White cut across the throat and ran brilliant near the ends of the wings.

  “This,” he said, “is the mark of the nighthawk. Only those who bear this mark can enter the well. Only those who have the ability of flight, who can ferry souls from one realm to another, may bear this symbol.”

  “The only people in Gem City and in this state with the nighthawk are you and the Soul Charmer. Only you and he can touch the well. Even if someone with the artifacts could connive a way to get past the requirements to enter the location, those tools would not be able to cross the veil. If you believe St. Petro, and I do,” Henry posted his hand on the desk. His breathing was slow and steady. A man of faith in action.

  “We believe you,” Derek said. His expression was open, and not one he’d worn in this room before. The brothers had a tenuous relationship, and this help could be a bridge for them if Callie and Derek could manage to keep the Charmer’s issues from burning it down.

  “So if Nate was able to put together at least a van full of souls, he acquired them without the soul well,” Callie said.

  Whether that made things better wasn’t clear. Access to the well would have damning consequences for the people of Gem City, but if Nate was harvesting souls from people that was a problem, too. If he was slinging the tainted ones from the Soul Charmer’s shelf of filth, the situation wasn’t prettier.

  “Did the journal provide instructions? Like would it have shown someone how to use the artifacts?” If they had any chance of stopping him, Callie needed to know how much Nate had learned about the mechanics of soul magic.

  “Of course not. It’s a monk’s text. This is about the nature of the Lord’s work and the tools crafted for the task, but it was not his place to share the inner workings of gifts bestowed by God. The ability of flight is a miracle and one cannot explain how when it comes to wonders.” Henry wasn’t trying to be a dick. This was a normal Cortean response.

  There were mechanics to this, though. There were rules and restrictions and dangers. Callie attempted to find solace in the fact there was not actually a guidebook for this shit, because it would have made the Soul Charmer’s ‘let’s set you on fire’ teaching style even more painful.

  “We have one of his tools,” Derek spoke only for Callie. “We’ll find out what else he has, and put this to a stop.”

  If only it could be so easy.

  Callie turned to fully face Father Henry. “How would Nate have even gotten this hands on one of these artifacts, much less several?”

  “I wish I could tell you. The Church has housed some of the artifacts, but I’m not privy to everything in our cathedral.” It was a prime gig to work there, but Father Henry was the youngest by far.

  “I can’t see Father Giles handing any Cortean relics over to anyone,” Callie said, forgetting the others didn’t know she’d met with him more than once.

  “No, he wouldn’t. Not if they weren’t affiliated with the Church.” Henry’s words came slow, but were solid. “Though Nate does have connections to be in more private areas of the cathedral.”

  “How private?” Derek asked. His hand stopped moving.

  Father Henry’s answer was plain. “If he arrives with the Ford family, he has the same access they do.”

  “Which is?” his brother nudged.

  “Everything. The Ford family is the largest patron to our church, and they are paramount in upholding the tenets of the faith.”

  Callie and Derek shared a look. Henry folded his arms and unfolded them twice. “What?”

  “You really don’t know who they are?” Callie asked.

  “He doesn’t,” Derek answered her, and then to his brother he said, “The Ford family are mobsters, Henry. I know you can’t spill the details of what people confess to, but you aren’t much of a liar either. They can’t be paragons of the fucking faith if they aren’t spending hours in that box unloading their goddamn souls. Soul renters can’t be your perfect parishioners. So they must have told you something.”

  It was good Henry was already balanced on the desk, because his knees wobbled. His fingers pressed harder against the wood until the tips of each one turned white.

  “They only confess to the bishops.” His voice hitched and the office tiles only amplified it. The truth of the situation bounced from every surface.

  Derek didn’t make a move to comfort his brother, but offered careful words. “This isn’t on you.”

  “He’s right, and thank you. Knowing what is coming could help us protect people from him.” Callie couldn’t say more without putting the priest in an even more precarious situation.

  Nate had stolen religious relics from the Cortean Church. Someone had stolen souls from the Soul Charmer. It wasn’t a leap to guess the two were related. The hard part was what would come next.

  Fixing this shouldn’t be her problem, but it was quickly becoming apparent that dealing with the Soul Charmer’s shit storms was her specialty.

 
; CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Callie left Beck and Miguel to cover the shop. She needed food and sleep, and maybe not even in that order. She and Derek picked up drive-thru tacos around the corner from the Soul Charmer’s, and had devoured them in the few minutes it took to get to Derek’s place.

  They should have immediately crashed, but Callie plopped down onto his modern-but-surprisingly-comfy couch instead. “It feels good to sit.”

  Derek only nodded.

  She slid off her shoes. He sat at the center of the couch. She turned so her back was against the arm of the sofa, and pulled her feet up onto the couch. He didn’t even flinch when she wedged her toes under his leg.

  “Today was a fucking day, doll.”

  Callie had buzzed from one staggering situation to another, but she wasn’t the only person in the thick of it.

  “Anything extra happen at the shop?” In the basement?

  “Extra?” He slid a hand behind her calf and held her loosely. “Beck and I were able to get more out of Lexi.”

  Regret reverberated in a hollow pipe within him. Callie folded her arms atop her knees. He had more to say, and she’d long learned that comfort can come too soon when you need to get the bad shit out.

  “What did she give you?” Callie asked.

  “She knew of three warehouses that could be key points. She’d picked up souls there, which could be nothing or everything.”

  They needed this lead. Callie tugged her feet back toward her, readying to get up. Derek’s hand held steady on her leg. “Beck and I both sent people to look into it. We’ll hear back if any of the locations has actual viability,” he said.

  She stilled for a breath, and then relaxed into his touch again. “That sounds almost like a plan. You know I love plans.”

  He chuckled, and moved a smidge closer to her in the process. “That you do. She still wouldn’t use Nate’s name of course. Whatever demo he did for them, it was the kind of act that melted any steel in someone’s spine.”

  Callie yawned, and didn’t bother covering the fatigue. She didn’t have to with him. “I’ll admit Nate can make a threat legit, but if he’s got the backing of the Ford family? I can imagine even his spindly ass could be imposing.”