Unturned- The Complete Series

by Rob Cornell

  I had to use a parking deck across from the stadium. Street parking was a big no go at that time of day, creeping close to rush hour. I stood outside of the stadium’s entrance labeled Gate A as Angelica had instructed. The afternoon sun had a clear shot, no overcast, and had melted away the little bit of snow we had gotten. If not for the biting air, I could have convinced myself it was spring looking up at the sky.

  Kitty corner from where I stood in front of Ford Field, home of the Detroit Lions, sat Comerica Park, the Tigers’ ball field. A massive screen faced out from the ballpark, currently blazing an ad for Ford Motor Company. A pair of striped tiger statues stood along the top of the screen on opposite sides, each frozen in mid-prowl. From street level they almost looked real.

  The smell of grilled meat and savory grease wafted over from the Elwood Bar and Grill directly across the street from me. Because of the abrupt timeline Angelica had given me, I hadn’t had a chance to eat. My stomach growled, and my mouth watered.

  I didn’t have to suffer the glorious scent long. A limo quickly pulled up to the curb in front of me, tinted windows all around. They must have been watching for me to arrive. The driver came out, his barrel chest ready to bust the buttons of his dress shirt. His tie hung too short because most of it had to wrap around his thick neck.

  Without a word, he opened the back door for me.

  I hesitated. The last time I got into a limo it had belonged to the mastermind of the Ministry conspirators, a man who had tricked me into trusting him, despite the trust issues Fiona had left me with.

  The driver cleared his throat in a menacing way. At least, that’s how I interpreted it.

  I raised my hands. “I’m going.”

  When I slid in, I expected to find Angelica’s mother. But nope. Looked like I was riding solo.

  A confused vertigo came over me when the driver climbed in behind me. He had a cloth clutched in one hand. No. Not a cloth. A black hood, which he yanked over my head. The hood had a drawstring, and he jerked it tight enough around my neck that I began to hear my pulse thump in my head.

  “I can barely breathe,” I said.

  “Barely is good enough.” He tied the drawstring at my throat. A second later, the door slammed shut.

  I scrabbled at the knot with my fingers, but I couldn’t dig in enough to loosen it. The driver must have been a damn sailor in a former life.

  Thankfully, the hood smelled clean, but I felt certain I was going to suffocate every time the fabric got sucked against my gasping mouth. The new age music the driver listened to the whole time didn’t help. He kept the partition between the back and front open as if he wanted to torture me with the noise. Lucky for me, I made the thirty or forty minute trip without dying. But if I heard another electronic xylophone any time soon, I’d tear my ears off.

  When the engine quit, the music finally did as well. Sweet mercy!

  I heard the partition whirr up behind my head, then the muffled sound of the driver’s door opening and shutting.

  I waited for him to come back and let me out, too. Instead, I sat in the hood’s darkness for at least another ten minutes. At least the wait was silent.

  Finally, the back door opened and let in a gust of winter air. What little filtered through the hood felt wonderful against my hot cheeks. I listened as someone entered the limo. Then I felt the seat shift as that someone sat next to me.

  The door slammed shut, blocking out the wind.

  “Hello?” I asked. “Can you take this thing off me?”

  I heard a distinct snick that took me only a second to recognize.

  Switchblade.

  “Relax,” my companion, a woman, said. She tugged at the knot and cut off the blood flow to my brain. Then the knot snapped loose.

  I grabbed the top of the hood and whisked it off my head. I tossed it to the floor of the limo and turned toward the woman with the switchblade.

  Again, I was struck by her uncanny resemblance to her daughter. She looked too young to have birthed Angelica. Witches weren’t born with magic like sorcerers. Which meant they aged like any mortal, unlike sorcerers. And it would take more than plastic surgery to maintain her authentic youth. She used magic, no doubt, and using magic to stay young usually meant that extra life force came from someone else.

  I tried not to think about it.

  She wore her black duster again, along with a skirt and knee high black leather boots. The skin on her legs was the same pale shade as her face. They looked like they’d feel soft and smooth.

  I tried not to think about that, either.

  “Mr. Light,” she said. “You are persistent.”

  “Did you bring it?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Bring what?”

  “You damn well know what. Sly’s soul. Why else are we here?”

  “I did not bring it,” she said. “It isn’t mine to give.”

  I groaned. “What are you talking about?”

  “It belongs to all the Maidens. And my children and sisters are loathe to part with it. These days, it’s hard to acquire a soul. Even a dead man’s.”

  “Then I have to ask, again. Why are we here?”

  “I had an idea,” she said. I noticed her breath smelled of mint. “When I proposed the idea to my coven, they nearly laughed at me. Nearly, but they know better. Still, I could see the amused doubt in their eyes. They don’t believe you will cooperate.”

  “I wouldn’t be here otherwise,” I said. “If there’s even the slightest chance that piece of soul can bring Sly back, then I need it. What do you want?”

  “Hm.” She turned away and looked out her window. But there was nothing to see except for a plain brick wall. I glanced out my side and found a similar view. We were in an alley somewhere, but I’d be damned if I knew where. Which, I guess, was the whole idea.

  “Will you please just tell me what you want?”

  She turned her gaze back to me. “I’m almost afraid to. I can see the rage in your eyes. It simmers in you almost as much as the fire I hear you so easily wield. I’ve always hated sorcerers. They take their magic for granted. They don’t have to earn it. Witches on the other hand…” She ran the tip of her tongue across the length of her upper lip. “We have to make sacrifices.”

  I laughed. It sounded as hollow as it felt. “The sacrifices you make are never your own.”

  She drew back as if offended. “I’ve spilled my own blood many times for my dark goddess. Don’t pretend to know us. A witch is more than what you learn in your sorcerer school books.”

  “I don’t care. I’m here for only one reason, and so far I’m not impressed.”

  She sighed and settled against the seatback. “Are you certain you wish to hear my offer?”

  “Jeez, lady, how bad can it be?” Sometimes I say dumb things. If I hadn’t known it already, her laughed confirmed it…that was one of those stupid things.

  “It’s quite simple, actually. An even trade. One shard of a soul for another.”

  My mouth hung open. My brain took a quick vacation, as if someone had bashed the side of my skull with a bat, and I had to recover before I could say any more.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” My voice cracked like I was reliving puberty.

  “I have a sense of humor,” she said. “I’m not using it now.”

  I rubbed my chest. It felt a little hollow in there at the moment. “To be clear,” I said slowly, “you want to trade Sly’s piece of soul for a slice of my own?”

  Her smile barely showed. She leaned so close, I thought she meant to nibble on my ear. “Precisely.”

  Despite the stifling air in the limo, her minty breath could have come straight from outside. I shivered at its touch.

  I glanced at my watch. I had woken up roughly two hours ago. I hadn’t eaten. I hadn’t even stopped for some morning coffee. But here I sat, making a deal with a black witch, with my soul on the line.

  Just another day in the life of Sebastian Light.

  Chapter Forty-On
e

  I wiped at the side of my face, smearing sweat down through my stubble. An oily taste coated my tongue, and no matter how many times I swallowed, it wouldn’t go away. Mint was supposed to settle a stomach, but her breath made mine uneasy. Her small smile seemed to mock me while she waited for my answer.

  There was only one sane answer to give, but it was one of the hardest things I’d had to say till this point in my life.

  “No.”

  Obvious disappointment filled her eyes. She shook her head. “So my sisters were right.”

  I wanted to grab her by the lapels of her duster and shake her. “Do you even understand what you’re asking?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then you know it isn’t a fair trade. If I hand over the smallest bit of my soul, it would give you access to a permanent source of magic. Like a battery than never dies.”

  “That is the appeal.”

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek while I tried to gather my thoughts. There had to be something else I could give. But what else did I have? All of the artifacts and enchanted items Mom and Dad had collected over their decades as Ministry scholars had been destroyed in the fire. The only thing that had survived was my father’s old pocket watch, and that didn’t have any inherent power anymore.

  “Is there something you’d like me to steal?” I asked.

  She drew her eyebrows together, but the lines in her forehead remained youthfully shallow. “I’m sorry?”

  “I once retrieved a powerful artifact from a dragon’s den. I could get something for you and your sisters.”

  “Kuan-Yin Chern had to leave Detroit because of that fiasco. His treasure is no longer here to plunder.”

  I thumped my fist against the door. “I meant something like that. I’ll gank whatever you want. There’s got to be something you guys want.”

  “There are many things we want.” She reached over, unbuttoned the top button of my coat, and slipped her hand in to press against my chest. “We especially want what’s in here.”

  Her touch sent a chill from the top of my spine clear down into my crotch. My skin under her hand tingled. Sadly, it wasn’t magic affecting me. Just the guy downstairs taking command. Which was why I didn’t do the right thing and pull her hand out from under my coat.

  “That’s off limits.” My damn voice quivered.

  Get a fucking grip, Sebastian.

  “What about Sly? His soul is ours because he wanted to help you. He probably would have survived that little curse if his soul had been intact.”

  I knocked her hand away. “Don’t play me, bitch.”

  She held up her hands. “Okay. But I had to try. You understand.” She smoothed her hands over her skirt. “I’ll have my driver take you back. The hood won’t be necessary this time.”

  She reached for her door.

  If I let her open it, let her get out, I let any chance of saving Sly leave with her.

  And she knew that, damn it. She was counting on that.

  I grabbed her arm. “Wait.”

  Her small smile grew a little wider.

  “What were you trying to do with Sly’s soul?” I asked.

  “That isn’t your business.”

  “But with him gone, you can’t do it now?”

  She pursed her lips and studied me a moment.

  My heart felt squeezed, as if it had to strain to beat.

  “Correct,” she said. “The vitality of a soul from a living being is quite exceptional. As you’ve already figured out, with your friend still alive, a piece of his soul was almost as powerful as the whole thing. The metaphysical details are complicated and boring. But you get the idea.”

  “And with my soul, you probably don’t need weeks to prepare, and a whole week to perform the ritual.”

  Now her smile opened up to show teeth. “Oh, no. With your soul we could finish tomorrow.”

  The glee in her voice made my skin crawl. Anything that got a black witch that excited couldn’t be good.

  But what did any of this matter? I wasn’t going hand over any bit of my soul. Was I? Was a deep part of me really considering it?

  She rested a hand on mine. “You know, we were never formally introduced. My name is Annabelle.”

  The hand she touched prickled. I slipped it away. “Annabelle and Angelica. What perfect mom and daughter names. Though I have to say, Annabelle doesn’t sound very witchy.”

  “I’m more than just a witch, Sebastian.” She scooted closer to me. “I’m a woman.”

  “You play the femme fatale pretty good.”

  Her gaze slide down me. “Seems to be working.”

  I squirmed in my seat and raised my leg to block her view. “We’re off the subject.”

  “Yes,” she hissed. “We are.”

  “I can’t give you my soul.”

  “But you want to. For Sly.”

  I tried to swallow, but a lump jammed up my throat. I didn’t know what to say next. She wasn’t wrong. I felt responsible for Sly’s death and desperately wanted him back. Imagining the hole in my life without him hurt like a heart attack.

  “It’s okay, Sebastian. We don’t need much. You’ll never notice it’s gone.”

  “What will you do with it?”

  “A girl can’t share all her secrets.”

  “You haven’t shared a damn thing.”

  She rested a hand on my thigh and gently squeezed. “I can share. I’m good at sharing.”

  I clenched my teeth and tried not to notice the hot pulse up my leg. “You can’t even give me a little hint? Something that would make me feel better about the whole deal?”

  She hit me with a Get real look. “Nothing I say would make you feel better.”

  “Then I…”

  You can’t. You cannot. No way. Don’t do it.

  But what about Sly?

  He would never want you to do this.

  I hadn’t wanted him to do the exact same thing, but he had anyway.

  This is DIFFERENT!

  “Oh, my,” Annabelle said. “I can see the war inside you.” She slid her hand a little higher on my thigh.

  That shit scrambled my brain. I had a hard enough time thinking straight without her all touchy-feely on me. Reluctantly, I lifted her hand and placed it in her own lap.

  She sighed. Her minty breath lingered in the air. “I’ve never had a sorcerer before.”

  “I thought you hated sorcerers.”

  “Hate never stopped me from making love.”

  “Well, it ain’t gonna happen, so back the fuck off.”

  She laced her fingers together, straightened her back, and sat primly like a dutiful wife from the ‘50s. She made a terrible June Cleaver.

  “As you wish,” she said. “But I can’t spend much more time here. I need an answer. Do you want to trade, or not?”

  No!

  “What would I need to do?”

  “It’s a simple process. And, believe it or not, it won’t hurt a bit.”

  Did it really matter what they did with it?

  Then I heard Gladys’s voice loud and clear in my mind.

  This is how worlds end.

  Wasn’t that kinda melodramatic?

  I stopped my thoughts short, realizing I was desperately trying to talk myself into this horrible deal. But the whole argument came down to one question—

  Bring back Sly, or leave him dead?

  I owed him so much. So damn much.

  “Fine,” I said. I cleared my throat, trying to break loose the cement block in there. “We’ll trade.”

  Annabelle smiled wide. “Fabulous.”

  “But you better be careful what you use it for,” I said with gravel in my voice. “If you put this city or any of its people in danger, I will come after every one of you black bitches.”

  Her smile never faltered. “Oh, I’m sure.” She winked. Then she rapped her knuckles on the partition.

  The engine started up immediately, and the limo pulled out of the alley. T
he second we were clear, I knew exactly where we were. The limo pulled out onto Cass Avenue. I coasted by WSU’s School of Nursing building, then turned left onto Ferry Street and stopped in front of the Maidens’ apartment. We’d been right around the corner the whole time.

  I felt like a complete tool. “What was the point of all the subterfuge?”

  “I thought it might soften you up.” She gave me another salacious up and down gaze. “Turns out I needed to do the opposite.”

  She laughed as she got out.

  This better bring you back, Sly. And you damn well better appreciate it if it does.

  I got out behind her. The limo pulled away, and I followed Annabelle into the apartment building.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  I shuffled into my house a couple hours past dusk. I felt tired, a little light-headed, but otherwise Annabelle hadn’t lied about the procedure—having some of my soul extracted hadn’t hurt a lick.

  I clasped a clear bottle with a cork stopper. Inside, a ghostly light swirled like a wisp of glowing smoke—Sly’s soul.

  The lights were out. I snapped on the wall switch just inside the door. The two lights still working on the ceiling fan cut most of the dark, but still left that eerie slice of shadow the third bulb would have lit up. The Lawrence Block book I had tried to read before bed lay where I left it on the coffee table. As did the TV remote. For some reason those items sharpened the empty silence in the house for me, like a pair of abandoned vehicles on the side of a desert highway.

  “Mom?” I called. “Odi?”

  No answer. Not that I had expected one. I could tell by the quality of the silence, no one was home.

  My grip on the bottle tightened.

  I wandered down the hall and into the dining room, flipping on lights as I went. I found a note on a yellow sheet of paper written in a feminine script—but not Mom’s.

  I set Sly’s trapped soul on the table, gently, as if handling a live grenade. Then I read the note.

  Dear, Sebastian,

  Please don’t be angry. I have taken Judith and Odi to a safe place. I will contact you soon with their whereabouts and what we hope to accomplish. I’m sorry I’ve lied to you…again. But I hope you will understand when I explain it all to you.