Her Soul to Take (Souls Trilogy #1)(55)

I had no doubt my invasive recording would have pissed him off. But I was literally dealing with an entirely unknown humanoid species in my living room. Could I really be blamed?

Out in the yard, I zoomed in on the disgusting heads Leon had speared around the perimeter. Good God, I could only hope Inaya didn’t decide to stop by unannounced. It may have been the beginning of October, but even under the guise of Halloween decor, the skeletal heads were alarming. Their smell bizarrely wasn’t as bad as when they were alive, but a moldy, rotten aroma still lingered around them.

Who could I possibly show these videos to? A priest? A demonologist? Cryptozoologist? I knew fellow Youtubers who would be fascinated by them, but I didn’t need to inspire fascination. I needed help that didn’t require selling my soul.

Once again, my thoughts went back to the Hadleighs.

Was Leon really lying when he told me they were my enemies? I kept trying to remind myself not to underestimate him, that surely a demon would be out for himself above all else, but that was getting harder to keep believing. He’d played to every masochistic fantasy I had, but not once had I felt unsafe. I trusted him — but I somehow still doubted him.

After all, his bargain was still the barrier between me and being guaranteed his protection. At the end of the day, he was pursuing me for his own ends.

The Hadleighs were my only other possible link to help.



Leon slept through the rest of the day and into the night, not stirring even when I cooked dinner and put on the TV. He remained curled up under the blanket, still as stone except for his occasional slow breathes. Cheesecake, despite my best efforts to stop him, hopped up on the couch and promptly made himself comfortable against his new demon best friend, kneading the blanket with loud purrs before he curled up against Leon’s side.

Having him down there made me feel safer as I climbed into bed, but I still spent a few minutes staring out the bedroom window through the curtains, watching the trees. The crickets were singing, the night was empty. Maybe those heads really would keep the Eld away.

I lay in bed with my music playing softly until sleep finally took over. The darkness behind my eyelids deepened until consciousness was right on the cusp of slipping away…

“Lawson.”

The voice was deep, masculine — unfamiliar. I paused, unsure what I’d even been doing that required me to stop and listen. It was cold. Almost completely dark. The smell of damp earth was heavy in the air, the strong mineral aroma of wet rocks making it difficult to breathe.

Where was I?

“Lawson. This way.”

I turned. I was staring down a long, narrow tunnel. The ceiling was low, and a series of wood and metal tracks were laid out on the ground — as if for a cart of some kind.

Far at the end of the tunnel, a little light glowed. It seemed to float in the air as the voice called again, “Move it, Lawson. Boss says we’re heading down to the new level.”

Dread knotted up in my stomach, but I couldn’t be sure why. I trudged forward, my body feeling heavy and clumsy, unfamiliar. I looked down — leather boots, stiff jeans, some kind of thick overalls —

I wasn’t me...this wasn’t me...this wasn’t my body.

I followed the light, bouncing slowly ahead of me. I could just barely see the outline of the man who held it: big, bearded, a pickaxe looped through his belt and tapping at his leg as he walked.

“Ya’ know that level ain’t stable.” My tongue moved, my voice produced that sound but – it wasn’t my voice. It was gruff, deep and unfamiliar. “Smells down there too. Like dead fish.”

“Leighman don’t care about that now, does he?” The voice ahead chuckled. “He’ll be down there today. Thinks the boys found a new vein. All hands on it.”

The tunnel was coming to an end. A structure of bare wooden boards was suspended over a deep, dark shaft, and the man I was following stepped onto it, the wood groaning under his weight. I couldn’t stop my own feet; I was merely along for the ride as I stepped onto the platform beside him. My stomach sank at the knowledge of what lay below — nothing but deep, endless darkness.

The ancient elevator jolted as my companion yanked back a lever. “Down we go.”

Down...down...down. In my peripheral, the man stood silently. I desperately wanted to see his face, but it was too deep in shadow. “Ain’t got a good feeling about today, Kynes.”

He nodded. “Aye. I’m with ye’.”

He lifted his lantern a little higher, and finally, my head turned. But instead of a face, the man who stood beside me in the lift was utterly blank. No eyes. No mouth. No nose. Nothing. As if his flesh was clay, smoothed over and forgotten.

I wanted to scream. I wasn’t supposed to be here. This was all wrong. Dreaming...yes, of course, I had to be dreaming, I had to be —

Something cold hit my face, and I looked up. Water...water was dripping from above...and the smell of brine, of stagnant sea water, of fish lying beached in the sun —

I awoke with a jolt, gasping, trying to gulp down enough air to fight off the sensation of drowning. I was lying in bed, the pale light of day spilling in the gap in my curtains. I got up shakily to push the curtains back, my bare feet cold on the floor as I looked out on a rainy morning.

It was just a dream. It had only been a dream.

Then why had it felt like a memory?