Borrowed Souls (Soul Charmer #1)(15)

He caught her look and flashed his gold teeth. “Sliding scale for frequent customers.”

The Soul Charmer was every bit as bad as a corner dealer. A fact worth remembering.

He stashed the cash in a pocket and beckoned the woman closer. “Deep breath. You’ll be able to relax in a moment.”

The Charmer rubbed his gnarled fingers across the jar’s lid four times before opening it. He cupped his palm over the opening and stretched forward. “Deep breath, and hold it,” he instructed.

He jabbed the container squarely between her breasts. Her shoulders shook, but instead of revulsion at the cretin grazing her chest, the woman’s jaw went slack. A soft light began to emanate from inside the jar, and within seconds the glow had lit the skin of her arms, neck, and, finally, her face, as well. Soul magic had given the woman the kind of healthy glow earned from all-night sex. Her posture was relaxed, a peaceful countenance had replaced her earlier scowl, and her skin was now positively radiant. It wouldn’t last—no high ever did—but at this rate Charmer’s store could be reclassified a spa.

The Charmer set the presumably now-empty jar on his table, and pressed his thumb against the woman’s forehead. “Breath out.”

As she did, he blessed her with the Holy Trinity. Callie’s stomach flipped. A wink and a nudge from the church was one thing, but did they know he was acting as clergy? One more reason to limit her involvement.

If only it were so simple.

“Euphoria,” the woman muttered, before catching herself and following with a more standard, “Blessed be.” The Charmer sure was selling elation … that much was clear.

The second the woman was out the door, the Soul Charmer squeaked his way across the room to Callie. He held a hand out, palm up. He better not expect her to hold his hand. He had not even earned a handshake, and even if he’d successfully tricked people into thinking that soul-renting was the same as a spa retreat, she would much rather use a mud mask than get a facial via Charmer. He stopped in front of her, arm stretched outward, his knuckles almost grazing her navel. She stared at his hand. Studying the patchwork of lines and fading scars was preferable to meeting his gaze. Callie had just watched him perform magic. Real. Legit. Magic. And it was goddamn unnerving. He opened and closed his hand a couple times, like a small child begging for a treat on the countertop just out of his reach.

“The flask,” he spat. What was she, his secretary? His irritation did nothing but stoke her own frustration.

She thrust a hand into her pocket and yanked the metal and stone container out, slowly placing it in his palm. There was no reason for her to be afraid of touching his skin, but the same part of her that locked her car doors as soon as she got in her vehicle told Callie that flesh-on-flesh with the Soul Charmer was not in her best interest.

Once he had the flask, she buried her hands back in her pockets, grabbing at the cotton fabric as though it could cleanse her skin. The flask didn’t taint her—as far as she knew—but being in the shop, so close to an angry mystical man, made her skin pinch and writhe. She was going to exhaust the water heater’s stores when she got home. The longest, hottest shower would purify her. It had to.

“It’s empty.” The accusatory tone of the Soul Charmer’s statement punched her in the chest. Forget showers. She needed an ice pack and a bottle of whiskey.

Callie steeled her nerves, and lifted her gaze, expecting those beady eyes to bore into her. They didn’t, because all of the Charmer’s ire was directed at Derek. Callie’s quasi-partner towered over the geriatric man. If he fell atop the Soul Charmer, the man’s brittle bones would probably turn to dust before he suffocated him with the mass of his torso. Their size disparity didn’t matter; the Soul Charmer was more than human. Father Gonzales suggested magic workers were prophets. The details were a mystery, but in this room where magic had been performed, the air vibrated with supernatural menace. The Charmer was no man of God, that much Callie knew instinctually. Her insides squeezed in discomfort. Derek had to have been in pain as well, but if he was he didn’t show it; he simply locked his jaw and returned the old man’s stare.

“There were complications.”

“Her, you mean?” The Soul Charmer sneered in Callie’s direction. He really might be part reptile, she thought.

“No,” Derek answered quickly. “She did fine. I mean, the soul wasn’t there for us to retrieve.”

The Soul Charmer hissed.

“The POS said—” he added, and glanced at Callie, though she had no idea why he thought she might be able to help him. “He said the ‘chakra massage’ lady took it.”

“Unacceptable.” The Soul Charmer suddenly huffed, and shuffled away toward his worktable, the air in the room immediately losing its malicious edge.

Callie sucked in a deep breath, surprised to find herself a touch lightheaded. Derek gave her a slight, quick bob of the head. Nods must be like grunts to him. Eventually she might be able to decipher their meanings. For now, she simply nodded back and hoped it was the right answer.

“Well, this worked out well for you, didn’t it?” It took Callie a moment to register the Soul Charmer was talking to her. His hands were busy beneath the table, doing God knew what.

“Not exactly.” She glanced to Derek, but he didn’t offer anything but a chiseled jawline.