Borrowed Souls (Soul Charmer #1)(51)

“You’ve really taken to that gift remarkably, my dear,” the Charmer cooed as he scuttled toward her.

“Don’t think now’s the time to call it a gift, boss.” Derek spoke the words Callie had been thinking, only far more politely. He stood at her side as she shook and sparked, despite the threat of third-degree burns.

“Nonsense.” The Charmer waved a dismissive hand at Derek, and hovered closer to Callie’s outstretched arms. “Not everyone can wield this kind of power, you know. I told you your soul was special.” His voice trailed off, as though he was already plotting the next awful way he could use her.

Callie tried to scream, but the breathy sound she managed was probably only audible to certain breeds of dogs.

And apparently Derek, too. “Can you cap it while she’s in here? If not, I need to get her outside.” He moved behind her and cupped her upper arms, ready to steer her through the door.

“Goodness, yes. I suppose my wards really should mute that for you, but it’s so rare—” The Charmer abruptly stopped speaking and shot a dark look over Callie’s shoulder. Whatever Derek had communicated, Callie appreciated it.

The Soul Charmer cracked his knuckles, and then grasped Callie’s wrists. His hold was too close to Derek’s for any sort of comfort. He muttered words in a language she couldn’t follow, but a half second after he finished speaking, the heat disappeared and her skin looked positively human and unbroken again.

It took Callie fourteen (she counted) deep breaths to pull it together enough to fake being steady on her feet. Derek kept a hand on her. She didn’t mind him being ready to catch her if she dropped, especially since the odds were fifty-fifty.

“What. The. Hell. Was. That?” she eked through lips so taut she half expected them to crack as she spoke. Did they do that Gatorade dunk thing if you survived magical trauma? They should. She’d settle for a gallon of water to chug.

“Excuse me?” The Soul Charmer’s dazed response would be more appropriate in the dementia ward at the retirement home, but Callie didn’t buy it.

“I did not sign up for magic. I did not sign up for being burned alive—”

“You’re being melodramatic,” the Charmer said, casting a glance Derek’s way. Did he think they’d share a women laugh? Fuck him.

“That is the second time my hands have looked so completely burnt, I thought I saw bone. And then poof it’s gone. I can retrieve your souls. I can handle the stiff fingers and the tingly warmth. I cannot handle fucking fire.”

Callie was out of breath. Whether from the force of her words or the lingering panic simmering steady in her stomach, she wasn’t certain. She hauled in a few more deep breaths, and the Soul Charmer simply stared her down.

“Well?” she nudged.

That genial smile was gone. “I wasn’t sure if you were done with your childish tantrum.”

She was ready to correct him, but Derek jumped in first. “Did you take the magic from her?”

“Take it away?” The Charmer balked.

Callie opened her mouth to explain a gift-return policy to him, but Derek cut her a look, so she tempered her emotions. She should be choosing her battles, especially when creepy-ass men who can steal your soul or turn you into Fire Girl are involved. With that life lesson in mind, she muttered a few words of gratitude, and edged closer to Derek.

“I assume you brought me souls.” The Charmer’s tone had soured.

Callie managed to still her facial reaction, but she internally flinched. She’d pissed him off right before she needed to deliver bad news. Would she ever have an encounter with him that didn’t result in her making her life worse?

“Of course.” She handed him the flask. Despite whatever he’d done to dampen the juju around him, she avoided touching the inlay. Tonight had already crossed into WTF territory. No need to make it more painful.

He moved toward his large desk, lifting one of the black jars from an open drawer. He then popped the lid on the flask and inhaled. Callie hadn’t smelled anything when she’d collected them. The Charmer tilted his head from right to left and back again, a soul sommelier in action. After a few tense moments, he turned his all-too-knowing gaze on her. “Only three?”

Innocent words. Cutting words. Was there any safe answer? “Yes,” she replied, before Derek could. Speaking up might be the trick to controlling her situation. The quiet and invisible plan had already failed miserably.

His brow arched in question, without twitching another muscle on his face. How could he keep giving her the same passive face with that wicked, questioning eyebrow lifted? Creepy fucker.

“Only three were available,” she said. Derek squeezed her arm softly. He remained at her side; he’d help.

“Tess is targeting us,” Derek said, trying to steer his boss away from Callie’s interrogation.

The Charmer’s response was so profane that she’d never heard most of the expletives he unleashed. As his railing ebbed, he finally added, “Tell me what we know.”

Derek and Callie reported the basics—the Charmer’s frequent customers were being approached with promises of fixing them. She held back her encounter with Tess, because she wasn’t a moron. Derek wasn’t either, and kept quiet, too.

“She tells them she’s saving them, and they believe it?” Incredulity coming from the Charmer was new and jarring to Callie.