Borrowed Souls (Soul Charmer #1)(16)
“You didn’t have to capture a soul yet.”
“True,” she said slowly, unsure of his angle.
“Have you ever seen a soul?”
Why was Derek backing away from the table? Her mind was racing. The Charmer turned his harsh gaze on her when she didn’t answer quickly. “Well?”
“No.” Funny how under the right circumstances, a simple question could take her rightfully earned anger and beat it down until it was obsequious fear. It made her sick the way her emotions wanted her to placate him. “I mean, I watched you with that woman a few minutes ago, but I didn’t see the soul.”
“Hmph. You aren’t lying. That’s something.” He sat one of those black canisters on the table. “Come over here, please.”
It wasn’t a request, despite the pleasantry tacked on the end. She strode to the table with all the confidence she could fake. Up close, she could tell the jar was actually made of a smooth black glass. It was a modicum less opaque than the inlay on her flask. Scratch that. His flask. She wasn’t about to start laying claim to the thing. She was working here for two weeks. Thirteen more days of terrifying shit, and then she’d rescue Josh and forget any of this ever happened.
“Where did those souls come from?” The eddying fear and anxiety in Callie’s sternum couldn’t prevent her many questions from bubbling to the surface.
“You haven’t earned that knowledge. Now come here.”
A jar couldn’t stare at you, and yet Callie was acutely aware of the container’s presence. Knowing soul magic existed, and being shoehorned into seeing it, were oceans apart. She’d already surmised the walls of the Charmer’s spotless back office were lined with souls, but now it was out in the open. Her insides squeezed as though her organs were making a mad dash away from her flesh. Like they could hide from this dirty magic business if they managed to squish themselves against her vertebrae. She inhaled a shaky breath, and ignored the warm essence on the oak table. Derek was far away, across the room. She was alone now. She might be in this room for her brother, but even that allegiance faded as the Soul Charmer speared her with his dark, cutting gaze.
“Do you feel it?” There was far too much pleasure in the Charmer’s voice.
“What am I supposed to be feeling?” Encasing herself in a wall of sass worked last time.
He grabbed her wrist with a deceptively quick motion, and pulled her palm close to the jar. When it was just a scant inch away, an orange flame surrounding the container flared, fire touching her fingers. Callie gasped, trying to pull away, but the old man’s grip was unnervingly strong. She panicked. The smell of burning flesh should have been tingeing the air, but her tight breaths only caught clove and the muted Nag Champa from the front room. Her fingers began to tingle. The tips turned a bright white, glowing. The sensation of her hands being on fire burrowed in her gut, but no matter how warm it was, the flame didn’t actually hurt and her skin didn’t react. She couldn’t tell which was more of a mindfuck: her fingers going bonfire bright or the fact that it didn’t make her scream in agony when it absolutely should have.
“What the ever-loving fuck?” That wasn’t her front of false confidence coming through. She hadn’t even realized she’d spoken. Her jaw locked and her eyes widened.
His lips pulled tight before curling into a delighted smile. That didn’t ease any of the tension in Callie’s body. She didn’t want the old man mad at her, but she also didn’t need him excited or making her damn hands glow like a raver’s party favor.
“Splendid things,” he said. The brightness of her incendiary fingertips reflected and shimmered in the Charmer’s eyes. He was a magpie spotting diamonds for the first time.
Like she could let him leave it at that. She pulled hard against his grip again. This time he released her. She stumbled backward, cradling her hand to her chest like it was now a mutilated appendage. Maybe it was. Her fingers continued to emit a soft light, which gave her charcoal sweater a heather tone. One. Two. Three. Four. Callie counted the seconds as the light faded. Sixteen seconds. Her hand had been lit up for sixteen seconds. “Didn’t feel splendid,” she snarled even though her hand didn’t hurt and her skin wasn’t mangled in the least.
The motherfucker just rolled his eyes. “I have no patience for dramatics. My magic protected you from pain. You aren’t injured. Quite the opposite.”
“What did you do to me?”
“Seeing as how you weren’t able to retrieve the soul today, I wanted to ensure you’d be able to detect them from now on.”
“Everyone’s got a soul. It shouldn’t be rocket science. Ever think that it might not be my fault?” Her bravado was returning in waves, obscuring the panic making her lungs and heart quiver.
“Oh, if only it were so simple. Most people have souls, yes.” The way he emphasized most made Callie shudder. “Don’t forget I can take the soul out of anyone, and one can live with a scrap of soul for years.”
She couldn’t keep up the front. The pressure of his gaze, the nonchalance of using magic on her without her consent, it was all too much. “Did you do something to my soul, just now?” she blurted out.
A moment later the scent of leather and aftershave hit her. Derek. She’d forgotten he was still in the room, perhaps thought he’d scurried away to let his boss do whatever to her. The anger wouldn’t come, though. She’d stoke that fire later. For now, she would be happy she wasn’t entirely alone.