Borrowed Souls (Soul Charmer #1)(7)

The drive to the Soul Charmer’s storefront only took about ten minutes. Halfway there, street lamps became sparse enough that clusters of transients could take shelter against the crumbling, graffiti-tagged adobe buildings without drawing the attention of passing vehicles. Her mother had told her she’d get mugged living in a neighborhood “like that.” But her mom’s place wasn’t any nicer. She’d just lived there long enough to know all the neighbors.

Callie debated how close to park. She didn’t know how they’d be finding those who reneged on their deal with the Charmer, and even though renting souls was technically legal, the cops undoubtedly did drive-bys of the place. She didn’t blame them. Criminals used rented souls. She would know; she was on her way to being one of them.

As Ford explained it to her, the first step toward making soul renting illegal was convincing local legislators that borrowing a soul was directly related to criminal activity. Even though it was assumed most congressmen were like everyone else, and enjoyed a little taste of sin without suffering the eternal consequences. Rented souls obscured the proof of the crime, and that made it easy to pass the buck. Once concrete evidence eventually emerged, the truth would be out, and it would be near impossible to change public opinion. The lawmakers would have to fall in line.

Ford had said he had it on good authority that Gem City Police were close to linking the two. They had enough hard data to bury soul renting once and for all, and making soul magic illegal would make criminal activity in the city that much harder. That couldn’t be allowed to happen, he’d said, and that’s where Callie would come in. Once she got her rented soul, she’d be the one stealing their research. Ford said he would take care of the researcher. She didn’t want to know how. She was already too deep in this shit.

In the end, she’d opted for parking beneath a street lamp two blocks away. Far enough that she hoped she would avoid police attention—her inspection sticker was four months out of date—but not so buried in the bad part of town as to have her tires stolen. Fingers crossed.

“You’re late.”

Callie involuntarily stepped backward at the gruff voice. There was so much debris on this street, and so much on her mind, she hadn’t looked up once as she walked to the Soul Charmer’s shop. Something else to add to her long list of recent mistakes.

She corrected her gaze now to assess the new threat. He stood at least six feet tall, and the black leather of his motorcycle jacket helped amplify the width of his shoulders. Her petite form barely equaled half his muscled frame.

“And that would make you …?” She didn’t bother with formalities, or even to point out that she was actually two minutes early, since it mattered so much to him.

He scratched along the harsh edge of his jaw. He had a handful of years on her, making him maybe twenty-eight or twenty-nine. Old scars crisscrossed his knuckles. That bulk beneath the leather and denim wasn’t borne of the gym, then.

“Derek.” He said his name like he hated it. Or her. What a great way to start a working relationship. But really, what had she expected from a person shady enough to work for the Soul Charmer?

“Oh.” She swallowed the ‘you don’t have to be a dick’ lingering on the tip of her tongue, and collected herself. “Then I guess I’m your temporary partner.”

She watched as he took her in, from the ponytail right down to the Chucks on her feet. She’d concealed her figure beneath the hoodie, but she’d been ogled enough times at bars to know he wasn’t assessing her like that. She shifted her weight, unsure what to say next, and glanced around her. The alleyway they were in smelled terrible. Was he going to say something, or were they going to just stand there all day?

Derek narrowed his eyes.

“You bring the flask?” He was all business, she thought. Was that a good thing?

“Yeah.” She’d tucked the onyx in her pocket earlier, and it was still chilly to the touch. Even now she could feel it through the denim of her jeans.

“Let’s see it.” Did he not believe her? No one said tests were part of this gig.

Then again, maybe he was as much in the dark as she was. She sighed and pulled it out. “See? All ready to go.”

He grunted. Callie’s gut twisted. Derek was nearly impossible to read, which meant two weeks of working together would probably be a total fucking delight. Apparently finished with the small talk, he turned his back to her and stalked down the street with silent footfalls that belied his size. She slid the flask into the pocket of her sweatshirt. The extra layers muted the icy sensation of the stone.

“You coming?” He didn’t bother looking back. The Soul Charmer must have told him how desperate she was. Or maybe he’d recognized the guilt hiding behind the deep brown of her eyes when he’d given her that visual dressing down.

Callie took a few long strides to catch up to him. He stopped next to a well-loved, old motorcycle. He held out a matte black helmet for her, but she didn’t take it.

“Just put the helmet on.” Did he think he was talking to a toddler? Callie wasn’t going to survive fourteen days of stilted orders.

“My car is just down the street.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “I can drive.”

“I drive.”

“Congrats, that makes two of us. I’ll follow you.”

“Doesn’t work that way, cupcake.” He watched as Callie stared dubiously at the twin chrome exhaust pipes. “Don’t look at the bike that way. Jobs like this require nimble rides. This is it.”