Borrowed Souls (Soul Charmer #1)(14)
She couldn’t give the Soul Charmer the chance to renege on their deal. “Why would he want to talk to me?”
“He will.”
She glared at him. Ignoring her question stoked her anger, but at least anger was better than fear. “I don’t know what happened back there. I’m along for the ride, remember?”
“You’re along to retrieve souls.”
“I hold a flask, Derek. That’s what I do.” Or what she was supposed to do. They hadn’t explained her role too clearly, but she had to grip on to anything she could if it meant staying out of the Charmer’s shop.
“That’s a big part.”
She choked on her instinctive laugh when she realized he was serious. “Did I screw up?” she asked, her voice barely audible.
“Tonight’s screwed, but no, it isn’t on you.” He rasped a hand down his stubbled cheek. Then, with a painful scowl, he continued, “The boss just likes his information direct. It won’t be bad.”
Easy for him to say. While Derek had had her back tonight, that same protectiveness might not carry over inside that dank, mystical store. As he edged toward her with a hand out, she knew he wasn’t going to let her run. She couldn’t have anyway. No matter how much she was squicked by all of this, no matter how much she wanted to just get away as quickly as possible, she still needed a soul to rescue Josh. Meeting with the Soul Charmer was required.
She was going to kick her brother’s ass so hard after this was all over.
They bypassed the shop’s front door, and walked around to the far side of the building. Derek slid a key into a pale grey door marked with generic black vinyl numbers—731. The simplistic look couldn’t hide the sinister sensation that coated the entrance, though. Callie’s skin was crawling before she’d stepped past the threshold.
Things didn’t improve from there.
The hallway they entered was a narrower version of the one she’d passed through the day before. Murky pictures of dead-eyed portraits hung in neat rows that covered the burgundy walls. Callie quickened her pace, unsettled, and caught Derek’s heel with the toe of her shoe.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
His bulky shoulders shrugged, but he didn’t further acknowledge her fumbling.
He opened the next door to reveal the Soul Charmer’s pristine workshop. She stepped into the doorway of the room, and every muscle in Callie’s lean body suddenly yanked tight. The heaviness of the magic inside choked her. Derek saw her stop short and wrapped a massive hand around her wrist, pulling her the rest of the way in.
“It gets better,” he whispered in her ear, and then strode across the room to knock on a heavy wooden door. Based on the room’s orientation, it had to be the one that led to the main shop.
The weight pressing on her body eased a little, but she couldn’t completely calm herself in this room. Four walls and a ceiling shouldn’t have shaken her like this, but the pressure of being watched dug into the back of her neck. The coat of ick slopped on her when she entered felt like she imagined the Charmer’s magic would. Heavy, thick, crude. She tried to focus on reading the labels on the dark black jars lining the Soul Charmer’s shelves. They didn’t tell her much. Each mentioned a gender, and presumably an age, but there was another number on each. The fraction at the bottom of the label was always out of 2000, and that meant nothing to her. She doubted the Soul Charmer cared about the average daily caloric intake of those providing his wares. Imagine if you could opt out of the soul rental business by downing a double cheeseburger. Gluttony was a sin, after all. Her lips curled up into a hint of a smile at the thought. It almost made her hungry.
“What do the numbers mean?” she asked. The hard surfaces throughout the room amplified her quiet question.
“Purity.” A single word rumbled past a mouth full of marbles. Perhaps now was not the time for questions.
The Soul Charmer entered the room, and her stomach tried to cave in on itself. So much for snacks. The elderly man with the gnarled fingers moved more quickly this time. He still wore pajamas, but this time she was doubly wary of him. Even dictators could look like genial grandpas in the right wardrobe.
His bare feet squeaked against the tile floor as he scuttled to the second bookcase filled with jars. A middle-aged woman in a beige pantsuit followed behind him. Her heels tapped out an uneasy click, clack-clack. She and Callie avoided meeting each other’s gaze.
The Charmer selected one of the jars. Its label read F37 780/2000. “This one is sure to be the right fit for you, Ms.—”
“No names,” the woman snapped nervously, risking a quick glimpse at Derek and Callie. The Charmer curled his wrist toward his chest and turned back toward the customer, pressing the prized jar against his robe.
Two seconds under his cutting glare broke the woman. Callie didn’t blame her. “Sorry. I just—” she cut a glance to Derek before turning her gaze to the container the Charmer held “—don’t want to wait any longer. I’m ready to do this.”
“I hold no ill will. You’ll be eased by this.” He held out his empty left hand. “Payment?”
She reached anxiously to tuck her hair behind her ear, but it was already coiled neatly in a bun. Her hand fluttered as she reached into her pocket and passed the Soul Charmer two folded hundred dollar bills. Callie glared at the paper money. Was that all it took to rent a soul? She’d offered that much. Was the Soul Charmer screwing with her?