Borrowed Souls (Soul Charmer #1)(5)
“I told him you’ve been taking your mom to service elsewhere, and he said he hoped you were finding time for confession.”
She hadn’t confessed to a cleric in five years. The Charmer had said her soul was still pure, so she guessed she hadn’t done anything to fuck things up too royally. Watching Josh sink to dismal depths had Callie less worried about her own afterlife than others in Gem City. Not that she’d ever admit it. “The church near my house is growing on me,” she lied.
Dropping in on Father Gonzales hadn’t been on her to-do list. Off the books, he encouraged his congregation to leverage soul magic. Soul magic was real, he acknowledged, which was rare enough for any cleric to say publicly. Confessing the use of magic was required, he clarified each time, but whenever she took her mom to his services, Father Gonzales preached reaching heaven by any means necessary. It made sense, then, that all but a handful of people in their state subscribed to a religion founded by a conquistador.
Callie wasn’t too superior to say she didn’t know people who had used the Charmer’s services before, and she wasn’t classy enough to pretend she’d never been in that neighborhood. However, in the decade since the Soul Charmer had set up shop and soul magic became known outside the back alley crowd, she’d never once thought she’d find herself using his services, let alone working for the snake. No matter what loophole Father Gonzales gave his congregation, it was no secret that bad things happened to people who borrowed souls.
Besides, a pristine soul didn’t wash away consequences. Her cousin Kristi was proof enough.
She shook her head at the memory and almost sliced into her index finger with the bulky chef’s knife. Kristi had a nasty husband. No bones to be made about it. She’d also had a sense of finality about marriage: once you’re in it, you’re in it, and there’s no getting out. Callie thought it was a rather fatalistic way to look at a union that’s supposed to be born of love. Then again, Callie was twenty-two and had no intention of getting married.
Callie’s cousin, though, took the shit seriously. Well, the part about never leaving. She yearned for romance (or, more specifically, good sex), and when she realized she wasn’t ever going to get it from her husband, she took matters into her own hands, and rented a soul to cheat on him. It wasn’t staining their relationship, she’d argued. Yes, God cared about her soul and yes, she should avoid sinning, but if she committed adultery using someone else’s soul, she was golden, right?
Callie had never seen the logic, but how could she argue when Father Gonzales basically condoned it? As far as reasons to rent out someone else’s soul, Kristi’s purpose was mild. From stories, Callie knew most people used rented souls for exacting revenge, violence, and murder. Still, it always ended badly. Even if one was out just to get laid.
The idea of a swapped soul might have spared Kristi the wrath of God—though Callie wasn’t quite buying that, regardless of the Church’s stance—but it hadn’t done a damn thing to stop her husband from shattering both her orbital bones and literally caving in Kristi’s face when he caught her in the act. She swore the adultery was on someone else’s soul. While it assuaged her guilt, it was more than a year before the surgeons had her back solid. They didn’t have the money for full reconstruction, though. Kristi had blown all her savings on souls from the rental service she’d spotted in the back pages of a free newspaper: the Soul Charmer.
Real world consequences followed soul rental. Callie’s slices into the onion became forceful chops. The clack of the blade against the wooden board grew louder as she focused on making each movement a prayer she’d stay whole. Her eyes began to water from her sloppy style with the onion.
That’s what she told herself.
—— CHAPTER THREE ——
What did one do to prepare for the first day as a soul collector? Pray? Drink? Sacrifice javelina? There wasn’t a guidebook for things like this. Callie had convinced herself that her work for the Soul Charmer was essentially blackmail. He might not be the source of her woes, but he’d taken advantage of her need. Close enough.
She’d changed out the maroon scrubs she’d worn to work, showered to blight the remnants of kitchen work from her skin, and swiped her chestnut hair up into a simple plait. Everything needed to be casual. Pretending this was any other afternoon would help get her through day one. The jeans, black tee, and pair of Chucks she wore should have been comfortable, but even the rubber soles pressed against her feet as though they wanted to squeeze blood from her. Just another payment she’d make for family.
The phone call to Josh the night before had gone as expected: shitty. He’d been elated to hear she was coming through. The joy hadn’t lasted long.
“Two weeks, sis? Two goddamn weeks?” The jubilation from moments before had been smashed into a hiss. At least he hadn’t called their mom. She’d tried to pawn her furniture for Josh the last time he got in over his head.
“Sorry, but I don’t have a stockpile of money to bail you out again.” Callie had liquidated her savings account for him just nine months earlier. The smashed furniture in his apartment hadn’t elicited much sympathy from her (it wasn’t that out of the ordinary at that point), but the deep, wallowing welts on his forearms had convinced her to hand over the funds. She’d paid his drug debt, and drove him directly to Blue Dove Rehabilitation Center. Four-fucking-thousand-dollars later she was broke, and her brother had somehow gotten himself even deeper in danger.