Borrowed Souls (Soul Charmer #1)(27)

“Figured a stiff drink would help calm some of the nerves,” he whispered.

“Do I look nervous?”

He must have mulled the question for thirty seconds, but he kept his mouth next to her ear the entire time. “Not nervous. Uncomfortable.”

“And you want to comfort me.”

His grunt said yes, but the words that followed were more complicated. “Adjusting to the magic, this lifestyle ain’t easy. It’s not fair to throw you in the deep end, and hope you know more than a doggy paddle. Just want to help, doll.”

Callie wasn’t ready to deal with the implications. Did he sympathize or pity her? Did he actually have issues with this situation on her behalf? Was he working some sort of con on her? “Why do you call me that?”

“What?”

“‘Doll.’”

He hiked his huge shoulders up in an exaggerated “whatever” move. The move made him look like a teenager, and Callie smiled. “Feels right,” he said. “Plus, I figure you don’t want me using your name in public.”

If this was a con, it was working.

Phoebe set their drinks on the counter, and then moved to help another customer. Her diligence earned her some kind words at the other end of the bar, but Callie quickly began to suspect the hustle was more about avoiding Derek’s questions than upping her tips.

Derek pulled away from Callie, and settled himself on a black cushioned stool. Callie sat, too, and gave her margarita a cursory sip. Derek had called the concoction a stiff drink. He was right. It was heavy on tequila, and Callie relished the momentary burning of her sinuses when she took a longer pull. The familiar sensation hadn’t changed since she’d had her first taste of the liquor.

Josh had gone through a baseball phase when Callie was fifteen. She’d nipped out of school early to drive down the mountain for the minor league game with him. He’d placed an Isotopes cap on her head and tucked a mini-bar bottle of tequila in her pocket. She’d coughed and sputtered at her first covert swig in the stands. Josh laughed conspiratorially and slapped her on the back. Then they’d sipped their contraband drinks and hollered at the opposing team for hours. She’d felt brave and grown-up that day—more so than managing the bills had ever done. Like being an adult could be an escape, and not just a litany of responsibilities. When Josh was sober again, she told herself, she’d take him to a game. Minus the booze.

“Our man is here.” Derek had flipped to his scary, gruff voice. Callie should have been more unnerved than she was that she could recognize the difference.

She would give this target credit: He didn’t turn tail upon spotting Derek at the bar. His footsteps slowed, but he continued his initial trajectory. Derek stood, and indicated Casey should take his freshly vacated seat. What was Callie supposed to do, stand? They hadn’t discussed protocol for this. A list of basic rules of engagement for dealing with those who didn’t return rented souls would have been nice. So, not knowing what else to do, she remained seated, but put her glass back on the bar. The last thing she needed was for her fingers to go all icicle-like and drop the booze in her lap. Party fouls were much worse in mixed company, at work, and when you weren’t even drunk. She’d hit the trifecta if she flubbed here.

Casey followed Derek’s instructions with obvious false bravado. “Long time, no see, bro.”

The whites of Casey’s eyes were milky, but Derek met them without flinching.

“That’s true. Usually you’re better about coming back to the Charmer’s.” Derek sounded like a disappointed older brother. Callie was all too familiar with the tone.

“I meant to, really, but you know how it goes.” How had Casey landed a girl like Phoebe with game that bad?

Callie slid her hand into her pocket and thumbed the flask. It might have hummed under her touch, but she wasn’t willing to say it was anything more than her imagination yet.

“I don’t, actually. Why don’t you tell me?” Derek’s frustration began to show. Or was that part of his game, too, like the charisma with the bail bonds woman earlier?

Casey opened his mouth to offer additional bullshit—his cheekbones threatening to pop through his too-taut skin—when Callie realized Casey was only a foot and a half away from her, but her hands weren’t heating. In fact, they were getting colder. Wasn’t he supposed to have a borrowed soul inside him? What. The. Fuck.

“He doesn’t have it,” she said, mostly swearing to herself. She let go of the flask, which was frigid in her grip.

Derek tensed as he saw Casey’s eyes go wide and fists clench. Callie rose. If this was going to get messy, she wanted to be solidly planted on her Chucks.

Casey had one foot off the floor, in an obvious attempt to scramble backward, when Derek’s meaty hand grabbed him by the front of the shirt. The gingham fabric twisted into a ball of blue wrapped around the collector’s fist. “Care to explain?”

“Who’s she? You going to trust some rando?”

Derek thrust the arm holding Casey outward, and then yanked him in close. “I asked you a question.”

Callie preened at how Derek had kept her concealed. She wasn’t dumb. She wasn’t exactly hidden in this half-filled café. But they didn’t know her secrets or who she was or what she might be to Derek. A breath had caught in her throat when Derek had let loose his anger, but now her breath was steady again as a veil of acceptance draped over the violence. It should have been concerning, but her options for security were getting smaller by the day. Better to be on the side of the Big Bad Wolf than left meandering with all the sheep.