Derek had connections to get access to the Gem City PD files. He should be able to dig into this without putting himself in danger. At least that’s what Callie told herself. Only three people knew Derek had bombed Ford’s properties: Callie, Derek, and the Soul Charmer. None of them were going to speak the words aloud, but lying low still felt necessary. Ford’s crew—was she supposed to start thinking of them as Nate’s?—weren’t dumb. They knew who had grudges, and the Soul Charmer was top of that list.
Callie needed to make a move without catching attention. She needed to do it without Derek. He could stay busy on one angle, and she’d take the other more dangerous one. It was about time she started protecting him the way he did for her.
The alerts on her phone showed four overdue souls. Three in the suburbs and one in the Railyard district had her name on them. Her scavenger hunt through Adam’s messages gave her an idea. She opened the full log, and scrolled through the locations. Beck had almost as many repos assigned, but one caught Callie’s eye. Johnny Rocks—probably not his real name—was one of the hardcore tweakers who still held a fervent belief in God. He was determined to rise to Heaven—just as soon as he finished getting high on earth. Callie and Derek had picked up from him before. Some days Johnny Rocks was docile and an easy pick up. Other days, though? You better know how to dodge punch.
Callie peeked at her watch. Beck usually hit up the Charmer in the early morning. He’d drop off the previous night’s collections, and get his face-time with the boss. If Callie could get down there soon enough, she could catch him.
It had finally stopped snowing, but the grey sky was tinged with enough green to tell her this was merely a short intermission. Someone had scattered chunky salt rock on the steps and sidewalk outside her apartment, which would have been nice if they ever remembered the parking lot. Especially as Callie’s Chuck Taylors didn’t offer much grip. She edged down the stairs slowly, and plotted a path out to her car. Once she stepped out of the breezeway, ice became the least of her problems. A trio of black-and-white police cruisers was parked near building nine. Callie lived in building ten. The cherries atop the cop cars weren’t flashing. Uniformed officers clustered at the opening of the other building’s breezeway. Yellow and black tape partitioned the entrance, and laid claim on the space. Callie averted her gaze before she appeared too interested. She was interested. She didn’t spot Grady or Ortega, which meant maybe this didn’t have to do with her. Cops at your apartment complex wasn’t ever a good sign.
Callie slowly shuffled the soles of her sneakers across the icy patches and into the parking lot. Mrs. Rios stood behind her son’s truck. She puffed a cigarette, and watched the police. She nodded at Callie. “You believe this shit?”
“What happened?” Concealing curiosity was more complex than people gave it credit for.
Mrs. Rios, who lived two apartments down from Callie, let out a long breath. Smoke and steam from the cold rushed from her lips before she answered. “That squirrelly guy with the glasses and the noisy car. You know the one?”
Callie didn’t know his name either. “Yeah.”
“He killed his girlfriend and then himself.”
“Damn.” How did people get to that point? How did that happen? Callie had done a lot of desperate things, but even at her lowest she couldn’t fathom that.
“Been listening to the cops. Sounds like the guy’s fingerprints don’t match his file. He’s got a record for something. Guess he’s one of the soul users.” Mrs. Rios shook her head. “I know this ain’t Evergreen Estates, but you’d think they’d do a background check on people before letting the move in here.”
Callie mumbled an agreement. Placating her neighbor wasn’t a priority. A soul user had killed his girlfriend and himself. If his fingerprints were still jacked, he still had a borrowed soul in him when he died. This was not fucking good. How did the match go so wrong? How did this guy get the wrong soul? The Charmer was careful. He had protocols to avoid this. He wasn’t perfect—shit—but this was bad. If they thought the cops were interested in soul magic before, the heat about was about to flip full inferno.
She needed out. She needed to find Nate, get her mom back, and get the fuck out of the soul rental business.
Beck was pacing in the front room of the Soul Charmer’s emporium. Callie’s Chucks sunk into the carpet, but any sound was lost behind the squish-suck-plop refrain from Beck’s heavy circuit.
“You okay?” she asked out of habit. Everyone asked that question these days, and everyone lied when they answered. Politeness with the promise of abdication. Those who truly knew us didn’t have to ask.
Beck slowed his path, but didn’t stop. His noncommittal shrug the same lie Callie would have offered. Where Derek was blunt bat with a metal core, Beck was lean muscle wrapped around rebar.
“Fair enough,” she said to herself. Louder, to Beck, she asked, “You waiting on the Charmer?”
Even her small talk was salty.
Beck stopped pacing. The floor whined beneath him. “Always these days. He’s double-checking the souls I brought back. Like I’d bring the wrong ones.”
Beck wasn’t as adept with soul magic as Callie was, but he had the ability to use one of the retrieval containers. Its magic did the work for him. She and Beck were the only two who could use the latent magic in the container to pull a rented soul from its host. Derek had tried to take in the Charmer’s magic before, and the result was a lot of vomit and a sore stomach. Maybe that’s why she understood Beck’s frustration. At least she was able to command souls on her own. At least she had
