“Thank you. I’ll be quick.” Or at least she’d try.
She stepped into the booth. The door closed behind her, and Callie took the first terrifying step onto the landing. The smooth black lines of the hawk on her skin began to shimmer and sting. She reached unseeing to her right. Her hand met the slick wood. She trailed her fingertips lower, lower, lower until she found the switch. A single sconce lit at her side. A lantern and a matching lighter sat on a small table a few feet ahead.
She started to move closer, but a high-pitched whine pierced her ears. She gnashed her teeth together. Caught the inside of her cheek. Iron. Rust. The air thickened. It pushed and pushed closer to Callie. Her bones ached, and her skin tightened until she half expected her skeleton to leap out for a reprieve. She would have screamed if her jaw could move. It hadn’t been this bad last time. God. Please. She would have remembered this. What had the Charmer done before? The priest? What was happening now? She fought to still her mind, to ignore the way her body began to bow. Her muscles and flesh always returned after magic ripped at her. She would recover from this, too. She pushed aside the pain, and imagined every thread of soul magic flickering beneath her skin. Pulling them together in her mind was quick, weaving them into a wall of sense and power.
Her power.
Last time she’d been here, she’d pushed. That wouldn’t be enough. Callie shoved her power forward, imagining the wall hovering a foot in front of her. It was a glorious, glowing shield, and she kept a tight mental grip on the reins.
The air quickly dissipated to a standard oxygenated blend. She reeled the magic back into her body, and then doubled over breathless.
Once she caught her breath, Callie lit the lantern and began her descent down the winding staircase. As before, she couldn’t sense how deep into the earth she was going. She tried to count the steps, but even that distraction failed her. Her mind wandered. Derek was waiting. Now Henry was probably waiting too. Her mom. Her brother. The Soul Charmer. She needed to do this, and she needed to do it correctly.
That was the burn. She arrived at the wood-paneled hallway. The soft hum of the well already teasing her forward. Those souls deserved more than what the Charmer could give them. Why was the Cortean Church okay with this? Was it really a safe move for someone like her to take them? Without supervision? Was she damning them? She’d been told they understood the consequences. This was a volunteer gig. A round of rentals as an act of contrition. That knowledge didn’t assuage her guilt. Maybe nothing ever would.
She approached the well. The hawk at her wrist began to glow white. The flask was oddly silent.
The grey and green dome atop the well pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Was she imaging that? What had the Soul Charmer told her last time? She needed to let them call to her. There were so many voices. Soft coos and plaintive pleas and charged promises bubbled from the mystical space. The portal stretched and morphed before her, as if the souls on the other side could see her. She ignored the needles pricking along her spine. They couldn’t see her. They couldn’t hurt her. She had the power here. Or she would if she could channel it.
I got past the barrier on my own, I can get past this bullshit, she reminded herself.
Callie pulled the flask from her pocket, and thumbed off the cap. She wished it could offer a swig of something potent, but the act steadied her nonetheless. She pushed out with her senses again, and gained the space to breath, to talk, to focus.
“Okay,” she said aloud. “I’ve got room for two.”
The cacophony of cries redoubled. If her ears could have collapsed closed, they would have.
“It’s a rental gig. You’re going to be riding with…not great people.” She wasn’t sure why she told them. These souls knew the deal, and no matter what she was still shuttling them to the Soul Charmer. Maybe it was finally getting a night’s sleep that was urging her to keep her conscious at least a little clear.
Black lava rocks were stacked in a perfect circle around the well. Each dark brick glistened even in the low light. Callie took a step closer until her knees almost touched the stones. The energy in the room began to swell. Sparks like fireflies flashed in her periphery, but when she turned for a better look they had disappeared. The golden filigree at the top of the well faded in one second, and was brighter in the next. The simple scrollwork shimmered, and then reshaped itself into words in a language she couldn’t place. A steady ba-bum ba-bum ba-ba-ba-bum began beating against her soles. The room widened and narrowed in the same syncopation. It was breathing, but not in time with her. The room was brighter now. Callie squinted.
It was moving too quickly. She didn’t have jars with her, and her breath was gasping to keep up with the galloping room. Her chest burned, but no flames erupted. She checked. Too much relied on her not fucking this up. If she could do this, the Soul Charmer wouldn’t have to know. Henry wouldn’t need to tell his monsignor.
The soul well continued to slosh and writhe. She didn’t have time to be cautious, or to worry about what came next. She stepped close, and listened. A gruff take me hit her hard, and she replied okay. She focused on the harsh call as she held the flask over the tumultuous sea. Gossamer threads tracked past the gate and into her flask.
